[System]
Gender: Female Human
Intents: Searching for a job, Chef in specific.

Equipment:
-Satchel full of scrolls and books of various subjects
-Magic 'Tool' kit, typically hidden in the satchel somewhere. Used to help ID, make and unmake magics.
-Steel dagger
-Cloth clothes
-Coin Purse
Skills:
-Expert Longsword Skill, Bloßfechten and Harnischfechten, most comfortable with the Oakeshott Type XVIIIb.
-Proficient Dagger Skill.
-Proficient Cook
-Mediocre Cleaner

Magic:
-Magic Bestowed by Another: Master Summoning Magic, two known Summons.
--Black, a defensive Knight, wielding a Shortsword of unknown make, and a shield of unknown make.
--Green, an offensive Knight, wielding a standard Arming-sword, and a Bec-de-corbin Polearm.
-Magic through Study: Basic Magic, overall knowledge.
Appearance:

[User]
The Clock rings five times.
It is evening. As the sun sets early, bringing the darkness and the cruel winter, the men and women lock their doors against the horrors of the night. The peasants huddle around the fireplace for warmth against the cold. They stir their stews, one bowl for each. A warm meal, for a cold night. The nobles sit at their six meter long tables, preparing for a full course dinner. Guards watch the walls.
As the night sets and the long dark comes. Winter has arrived. To the North Frost Isles, they ride their longboats to raid the Central Continent. To the Western Deserts of Lesrek and Dushai, nomadic warlords set their sight eastward. The southern pole stirs, glowing eyes lighting ruins that have been long since forgotten. The sea-leviathans of the south migrate northwards as colder waters begin to set around the globe. Within the Central Continent itself is no safe haven. Black bile secrets from the ground. Creatures of the dark and of sin wander the night. Cities fortify their walls. Villages arm their militias. Travelers set their perimeters. Sometimes the only sound in the night is the occasional scream of death. These are recent events. The people are unused to war. To fighting a foe that commands fear. Where they come from, nobody knows. The world is at unrest. Yet none of this seems to reach The Tavern. The creatures avoid it. Nobody knows.
The Clock rings five times. And sets on The Star. Hope. The Long Dark is usually fraught with dread but this night, the people can sleep soundly. They dream of the summers and springs, wheat fields and flowers. The Sun. The Star. They dream peacefully, yet not all of them would wake.

---

Ihri spent the last few hours cleaning the kitchen, primarily the spit and the oven. She would need those. Before she went into the kitchen to make dinner for everyone, she told the Warforged that she would do the examination over dinner time. In the meantime, Black would keep him company. Black was not a very talkative person, but he did consider himself strong. Maybe a tad bit weaker than a Warforged... It wasn't long until he put his elbow on the table for tests of strength. Arm wrestling, for a start.

Luckily the kitchen was still stocked with a few things, smoked fish and pork, dried wheat and oats, some candied nuts, and an uncanny amount of alcohols. The lack of ingredient variety meant that she couldn't make much, but gruel was an easy make. After half an hour, the gruel was ready. It wasn't particularly much, certainly not a meal for kings, but it did the job. Bits of smoked fish and pork would make it tastier as well. She grabbed a few bowls and washed them, walking out to the bar with the bowls and the hot gruel, she put them on the table. Along with a plate of the smoked meat.

"Gruel with meat?" The aged bartender asked, "Is that all we have?"
Ihri gave a rather dejected, "Yeah," fearing that she hadn't done a good job.
"Good work. We'll send someone to get supplies from the city in the morning." The Bartender took out an ink pen and a small notebook, writing in a reminder. Ihri smiled, walking back to the table that the Warforged and Black were sitting at. She put a bowl of gruel, topped with some pork on the table and let it sit. Grabbing the magnifying glass, she spoke up to grab their attention.
"Now it's time for your examination." She sat the Warforged down, stepping back a few steps and peered at him with the magnifying glass. After a few minutes, she spoke up, "Whoever made you didn't do a very good job. I should be able to patch you up, but it might take a while...

[Assistant]
Sabara hovered near one of the tables, looking for something to do. Being what she was meant that physical concerns were nothing to her anymore, but she still needed to do something to stave off boredom. That was why she worked here; that, and the chance to meet new people.

The floors hadn't been swept in a while, she noticed, so that was next on her agenda. She found a broom and essentially dove inside it, causing it to sweep the floor seemingly of it's own accord. She had to admit, it was a power that came in handy rather often, even if it wasn't as flashy as true combat magic.

[User]
When Ihri left the table to head for the Kitchen, Kitten took a few steps after her. After looking back and seeing that his friend was still at the table he chose to return to him hopping onto the empty chair and watching as Black put his elbow on the table.

He saw the gesture from the Knight in black and turned to Kitten. His tale was wagging lazily, and he cocked his head to one side. If he could have smiled he would have "Ok, Kitten" he said as he locked his hand in with Black's. Kitten leet out a WOOF!  and he began trying to force the Knights hand to the table. It was more difficult than he had expected, which caused his eyes to glow with excitement and joy.

While he thought he had the slightest u per hand in the match he was content with calling this match a draw when Ihri returned to the table. He followed her instructions once she began the examination and then she spoke confirming what he had suspected. He was poorly made. While he knew this was not his fault it still left him feeling poorly. His sad mood did not last more than a second however, she said she could fix him. He hadn't felt this happy since finding Kitten. All he could manage to say was "Really? Thank you." He had made up his mind. He had made two new friends, and if she could fix him he would let her pick his new name.

[Assistant]
"Really? Thank you." The Warforged thanked,
Ihri scratched her cheek, "You're welcome, but... Yeah, it will take some time." She admitted once again, "I have to find what kind of 'language' was used, then which 'dialect'. There's all sorts of different kinds of magics for the same things because of cultural differences. The spell for fireball might be completely different than the one for a fireball in another land, but they both produce a fireball. In this case, I can't add my own magic to the one already in you because the two 'languages' will be incompatible and bad things will happen. Although... I'm not sure what those bad things are." She chuckled nervously, scratching her cheek again, "So I have to study what is already in you, figure it all out, and then I can start adding or altering. It's..." She placed her magnifying glass into the box and closed it, the symbol changing again. She opened it, revealing several pieces of parchment and several pens with numerous inkwells of various shape and size. She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and began to draw it out. First a box, and circles in the box.
"It's like this," She pointed at the circles, "There's lots of empty space between the circles." She drew another box, but this time, squares into the box, "And this is what it should be, no empty space. It stacks and gives a good foundation for growth, the circles would move around and it would be hard to put things on it and expect it to stay." She went back to the box with the circles, and filled in the empty space with four pointed stars, greatly reducing the amount of empty space and locking the circles in place, "But we can do this and fix it." She smiled, "Something like that. It should be something like that." She glanced upwards, finally done with her explanation.

She sat down and started on her dinner, hearing a brushing sound. She looked over and found that a broom was moving itself to sweep the floor. After a brief moment of befuddlement, she spotted the ghost. "You're a ghost!" She exclaimed the obvious, it was relatively easy to miss the apparition, her translucence ensuring that. "Are you... Making the broom move? Are you a magic practitioner?" She questioned, putting the bowl down at the table.
Black put his elbow on the table and rested his forehead on his palm. How she would ask if the ghost was a mage first and not question if the ghost was malevolent or not was beyond him.

[User] Sabara popped herself out of the broom, which, no longer commanded by her, simply tipped over and laid down. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Sabara. Yes, I am a ghost, and I was a mage's apprentice in life." The ghost floated over and hovered just off the floor, glancing at Ihri. "But what I want to know is more about you. Who you are, why you came to this place, and how come you know so much about magic yourself." The ghost flicked a stray hair away from her eyes. She may have been incorporeal, but old habits died hard.

[Assistant]
After thanking her, she began a very long explanation. She was trying to tell him why the repair process would take so long, but as he feared, he was having trouble understanding what she was saying. 'Languages and dialects?' He thought. He was trying to keep up but he was losing hope. That is until she began to draw.

Pictures he could understand. He loved pictures especially blue-prints and building plans. So when she began drawing the circles and squares he was able to keep up. He even understood the need for the four pointed stars and began nodding along. When she was done with the explanation he said " it's ok if it takes time. I'm just glad someone will try."

After that she went back to eating. Shortly after she began talking to the broom and the broom talked back? He turned to look at the broom when she first spoke. He was surprised when he saw the woman come out of the broom stick. Sometimes it made him extra happy he was warforged. This was one of those times. If someone would have been able to see is surprise he was sure he would have been embarrassed. As always though he relaxed when he realized Kitten was still calm.

Kitten stood up and began to stretch. He was getting restless and now that the wolf knew he could trust Ihri he began to sniff to see if anything interesting could be found. Sniffing the air to double check his suspicion, he trotted off after the scent. The trail lead him up the stairs to a bed room, which he sniffed thoroughly. Nothing. He followed the scent back down stairs and to a door that lead to the basement. Kitten went down the stairs and paused at the landing.

[User]
It seemed to take forever and a day and Ember had lost concentration on more than one occasion but she had finally managed to stabilize the water in the basement bathhouse. The glyphs on the bottom of the large bath stopped pulsing and glowing and water was no longer spewing into the air. The pixie was proud of herself and but was also a little drained. She floated down to the ground and sat on the edge of the bath, dangling her feet down towards the water. She was so small that her legs barely reached to the top of the water and she gently kicked at the surface with her toes.

The bath was working again but the place was filthy and as Ember had touched down she kicked up a small cloud of dust. It swirled around for a second or two before it finally reached her nose. The pixie's face scrunched up in a way that made her look far less attractive than she actually was then settled. She repeated this action again and was pleased when she didn't let out a sneeze. She was taken entirely by surprise when a sneeze finally erupted from her mouth and nose, causing her entire body to tense up. She let out a noise so loud it seemed unnatural for someone so tiny to produce.

With the blasted dust finally free of her nose, Ember quietly groaned and said to herself "This place is filthy....And smelly to boot."

[Assistant]
A real ghost! Ihri recalled what her Uncle had told her about ghosts. There were many different kinds, some locked in an endless repeat of their final moments, others vengeful for what had happened, some had unfinished business, and many more reasons. Most of the time people who died would unintentionally become ghosts and end up not realizing that they had become ghosts, resulting in some strange occurrences. The ghosts to watch out for were the self-aware ones, like Sabara standing in front of her. They knew of their ability to phase through solid walls, their transparency, some even had the ability to possess inanimate objects. Particularly powerful ones, even living beings. Where fear and caution should be, only curiosity stayed. Ihri as a small child had witnessed her Uncle speak to ghosts before, but she had never seen them. Her Uncle said that they could shroud themselves entirely from people they did not want seeing them, and while they enjoyed little Ihri's company, they thought that their gruesome appearance would frighten her.

Sabara did not look gruesome at all however. Ihri wondered why she became a ghost, an injustice? Unfinished business? An oath perhaps? She was a mage apprentice in life, perhaps this was intentional? The ghost floated closer.
"But what I want to know is more about you. Who you are, why you came to this place, and how come you know so much about magic yourself." She spoke.
The ghost had a point, not many mages had as much knowledge as she did. A grand majority studies under a single master, who studied a single craft in a single language, usually with the local dialect. Those that travel and witness other magics are not always so open minded to leaning the new magics they see as well.
"Ah, well, I um," She blushed lightly. She wasn't very used to this sort of talk, about herself. Most people were uninterested, and the ones she travels with are rather quiet, "I'm Ihri Vozal, I study magic under..." She thought, Uncle Bones had a formal title, what was it? "Tzud'Khozok the Undying Watcher, but I just call him Uncle Bones. He had something to do so he sent me here to find a job. He's spent his whole life studying the magic of the world, he started to teach me when I was small."
The Bartender rose an eyebrow at the mention of the name. He continued to wipe down the bar.
"An old friend said to me, 'a mile long but an inch deep'. I know lots about magic theory, but putting it into practice is harder." She gave a shrugging smile.


[System]
False ID Name: Marie Duboius

Nationality: Italian

Age: 27

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 167 lbs

Appearance:

Other Appearance: Rather remarkably for a field operative, Maria has sustained no injuries that would cause her to have a scar or other such feature, and has refused multiple times to have a tattoo.
Superpower(s): Whilst research on superhuman individuals are few and far between, Maria seems to be within one of the smallest types of powers; psychic ones. She has the capability of reading the mind of any non-powered individual that she comes into direct, skin-to-skin contact, although cannot access any information the individual gained after she has made contact. This is an extremely mentally draining feat however, and is liable to cause her pins and needles in her extremities, numbness in her extremities, migraines, nosebleeds, temporary paralysis, permeant paralysis and death if she overextends herself.

Skills: Maria is classically educated and is fluent in three languages, her birth language of Italian, her second language of English, and the language she has more recently started learning in preparation for their mission, French. Her weakest language as of right now however is German, of which she knows very little.

She is also a capable cook, as was expected of her, and can play the piano with a number of years of practise behind her from her childhood. Other than this, she is also trained in a number of interrogation techniques, should she encounter a superhuman whom she needs to extract information from.

Personality: Despite being a trained spy, Maria is no James Bond. She hates killing in cold blood and has no stomach for alcohol; she'll stick with her cigarettes thank you very much. On the other hand, when it comes to superhumans, especially those experimented on by Germany, she is almost motherly, and has an enormous personal stake in her organisation, and is almost more afraid of one of them dying than she is of dying herself.

History: Maria Bianco has quite a history behind her. Daughter of an Italian businessman, she was recruited by Italian pre-war military intelligence agents when her unique abilities were discovered. Unlike the Nazis who were determined to investigate and experiment on superhumans, the Italians trained them for their own military.
Being able to read minds was an obvious asset in covert activities, and so when the war started, she was sent to London under the guise of her fleeing an Italy at war, being fluent in English due to her training. Whilst living in London however, she became disillusioned with the Nazi regime that she was working for and began to distance herself from her command, before breaking communication with them around 1940.

This lead to a series of events that ended with her murdering a German superhuman spy who had been sent to check in on her, and she went on the run from the English officials, before being captured. When her background was discovered, she was handed over to OSS, where they were surprised to find out she was cooperative with their agents, and assisted them at every turn.

After this incident, she beseeched Brigadier John Carmond in order to set up an orginisation she had envisioned for two years now; the Westminster League Of Extraordinary Individuals. Blackmailing the Brigadier General, she got the go-ahead for the operation, and, well, you know the rest.

Equipment: All the standard gear for a British field agent, but most importantly she carries the Welrod silenced handgun, a bolt-action British made gun that is so quiet that the action of the bolt is, in fact, louder than the shot itself. She's never used it, but she knows that dropping into occupied Europe isn't exactly one of the safest options in the world, and her power isn't particularly combat-oriented, so this is the only real method of self-defence she has.

[User]
Entirely engrossed in his writing, Henry was unaware as the young woman sat beside him. His notes consisted of rough calculations, scrawled notes, and the occasional squiggle of ink after his biro had frozen up. Having never parachuted in his life - let alone into enemy territory - he was attempting to work through the logistics of such a feat, and regrettably coming up short handed.

As he took a moments break from his writing Henry looked up to glean some form of inspiration from the rather uninspiring interior of the truck, and to his surprise noticed the girl to his side. With a hand covering her mouth she appeared to be... Laughing? It certainly appeared that she was laughing, but no sound was emanating from her mouth. For a split second Henry considered that he may have lost his hearing when the sounds of chatter from outside of the truck assured him that he was not, in fact, deaf.

Henry was about to ask the girl if she was ok, but in his hesitation observed her smile gradually fade. Suddenly she looked far more serious. As discretely as possible, Henry observed her from the corner of his eye. She was plain, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. Her height gave him the impression that she was young, far too young to be going to war, but her dull hazel eyes said otherwise. Certainly the girl was still young, yet her eyes betrayed her physical appearance and conveyed a strange sense of wisdom.

"My name is Henry," he said, quietly as not to surprise her while she was in thought. It was not usual for him to strike up conversation where it was not needed, but under the circumstances he decided that isolating himself was not in his best interest. Already he could see that the men and women with whom he would be sharing this experience were vastly different to himself, and so he decided at that moment that he would have to make a conscious effort to engage with them - to do otherwise may be to sign his own death warrant. In war, camaraderie is valued above all else. If he was to survive, if these people were to have his back on the battlefield, then he would have to gain their trust and respect.

"What's your name?" He asked.

[Assistant]
Ying-mei stood quietly at the back of the room, listening to everything that Ms. Bianco said. She was painfully aware of the fact that she was looked, well, different from everybody else who was gathered for the briefing. She was used to this, of course, having spent many years in American universities and cities, but still-the very nature of what she was here for, the very nature of what she was about to do...it made everything just twenty times worse.

Ying-mei herself had known very little about the Nazis before being brought to this base. She knew what the Americans were saying about them, yes, but she had been more concerned about the Japanese invading her home country. Ying-mei was thankful that her family had fled to safety in the southern portion of China, and she could only hope that the war with the Japanese ended soon.

In England, Ying-mei had heard plenty about the Nazis-how they invaded Poland and killed thousands of people, how now they had taken control of France and many eastern European countries, and even how they were targeting specific groups of people (specifically, the Jewish). That thought did not sit well with Ying-mei. She had a Jewish classmate in America whom Ying-mei was extremely fond of. Her classmate had expressed worry for her family in Luxembourg in the past, and Ying-mei had done her best to help, relating it to how her family was living in a China overrun with Japanese soldiers, but still...the reality of the situation hadn't fully hit Ying-mei until she was introduced to the Westminster League of Extraordinary Individuals.

Ms. Bianco continued her speech, adding a short note at the end about how backing out was an option. Ying-mei wavered. Ai ya, what am I doing here? I am no soldier, nor am I...a spy, if you will. I am the daughter of a Chinese politician and I am fated to marry a powerful man with a splendid wedding and I will bear him many children. How am I to fight Nazis with healing? Ying-mei was uncertain if that was what she truly wanted in life, but what choice did she have if she wanted to honor her parents?

Yet there was no going back now. Ying-mei did not know how the rest of her family would take the news of her unexpected supernatural abilities, nor if the news had spread to other influential families in China (most likely not, due to the war, but one could never know), and once the news did get out-these things always did-Ying-mei knew that there would be no marriage to a powerful businessman or politician for her, no matter how large the dowry. People will say that I am cursed, that I am an abomination. No, this is the only path I have.

So Ying-mei kept quiet like she always did and followed the rest of the group outside to the trucks. She, along with the other "special" individuals, were about to be air-dropped into France. They were all wearing rather loose trousers and plain shirts that were commonplace in Western fashion. Ying-mei would have preferred something from home, but unfortunately, a traditional qipao in the middle of occupied France would have been much too conspicuous. At least she had been allowed to bring her makeup-Ying-mei had never been one to wear an excessive amount, but she was well-versed in lipsticks and blushes and the sort, having been raised in a wealthy political family in Shanghai.

Ying-mei took a good look around at the group as they walked. Their leader-Maria Bianco-had a porcelain complexion, straight, dark hair, and blue eyes. She looked to be a fairly young woman; not as young as Ying-mei herself, but not even close to middle-aged, either. There was a blonde, bespectacled young man who couldn't have been older than twenty, and another young man who looked a bit older that had black hair.

The only person smaller than Ying-mei was a brown-haired girl who looked to be...fourteen? Fifteen? Her height made her look like a child, though her facial features indicated that she was older than ten or eleven. Last but not least, there was a man about Ying-mei's age who had dark hair and the largest sideburns that Ying-mei had ever seen. He seemed to be particularly nervous, stammering out a question to Ms. Bianco. The black-haired man moved to reassure him, which seemed to help a little bit.

Ying-mei settled down on a wooden bench across from the diminutive brunette and the tall, blonde-haired man. If Ying-mei had to be perfectly truthful with herself, she had absolutely no idea what she was getting herself into. She could heal, yes, and she supposed that was all that was expected of her, but how the hell was she supposed to walk around occupied France without being noticed? She was Chinese, for Pete's sake. Her features alone made her stick out like a sore thumb.

Well, I suppose that there's no turning back now. I must hope that we shall discover a solution in the near future, thought Ying-mei pensively.

Ying-mei was startled when the petite young woman across from her put a hand over her mouth as if she was trying to stifle a giggle. What could possibly be so funny? Ying-mei wondered. Her thoughts were cut short as she watched the blonde young man she was sitting next to begin to talk to her. Ying-mei turned away, letting them converse, and took a closer look at her surroundings. Hopefully being air-dropped into France wouldn't be too terribly frightening.

[User]
Jean stood next to the truck. He looked quickly and made a fast, overall glance, and many of the Westminsters were still gathering or walking towards their transports. Their faces told all one thing: they all were nervous or afraid. Not one had probably seen a day of combat or fired a rifle in anger, Jean thought. They hadn't seen a dying comrade or faced German Panzers, but they all had had different stories and tragedies behind them.

"Hurry it up!" Jean shouted to the rest of their small League, in a very stern voice, almost demanding. "We don't have all day, and we are burning daylight The boches are waiting."

Jean climbed to the truck and a few other already sat on the benches. He tried to take a more reaffirming tone with his voice, saying: "Try not to worry too much. I've been training parachuting for months, and the falling down is quite a fun experience. Just don't look down when you jump, or you'll freeze at the door." Jean took a glance at each one of them. A woman as tall as a child, a blonde Brit with glasses and a Chinese woman of almost meek appearance.

"By the way, the name's Jean, the sniper of this troupe." Jean again measured each one with his eyes. They all look green, he thought in his head. "How are you feeling? Nervous? Afraid?"

[Assistant]
Maria felt as the troop carrier jolted, a soldier quickly hopping into the cab at the front. She sighed and anticipated the question already, tossing her cigarette neatly out of the rear of the vehicle, the white stick twirling neatly and landing in a patch of mud. First, she turned to the Spaniard, he had to know about his… Added weight. "Oscar, you're carrying three bars of near-solid gold. Be careful, yes? Before you ask, it's because paper notes can go out of style, but gold? Gold is always worth something. We're only humans after all." She smiled and rubbed her hands together, feeling every pothole and rut that the truck drove over painfully through the seats.

What else… She had the Welrod, the field agent kit was tucked away in her sausage bag inside the plane, along with a few other important pieces of equipment. Mostly money, some identification papers that would be needed to get around. The unusual nature of their group would make any travelling damned hard, but she reckoned if they split up and went in small groups, they could easily make it through the checkpoints. If she went with the Englishman, and the Polish girl came with them, they would just look like another family. The Spaniard would cause some serious issues; men like him were normally in the army, but she had the documentation to show that he had an exclusion pass to the military…

The Jew. Fuck. If they gave him a closer look and even so much as suspected that he was part of the persecuted group, they were all fucked. The same with the Gypsy too, although he, at least, had the benefits of being Irish. Irishmen in France weren't rare per say, but It would still be an unusual sighting when they moved away from Paris and started heading towards the German border. Also, there would be the small matter of Hydragruppe. As soon as reports of superpowered individuals attacking Nazi soldiers came, they would be out in a flash.

So much to worry about… She had known about this of course, it would not be her first time in command, but she felt personally responsible for these men and women. Most of them didn't exactly have a choice on this operation, and she didn't want them all to end up in coffins, or worse, a camp. Of course, they all had the S-Pills*, but she wanted to avoid using those if at all possible.
~~~
Hydragruppe was certainly an interesting little group. Three Germans, one naturally superpowered, two wholly devoted to the cause, and one who it was doubted even knew, or cared, what had become of himself. Then you had the foreigners, most of whom had been subjected to torture in order to cause their latent powers to activated… It was certainly not the best group morale wise, but it would do its job, especially with the so-called 'Angel of the Reich' walking with them. Smiling with her bright blonde hair, she was the very symbol of the perfect Aryan woman. Debates were going on whether it was a good idea for her to conceive, but for now she was still a powerful individual.

*S-Pills: Suicide pills. A small capsule hidden on the agent somewhere, sometimes within reach of his or her mouth, that when ingested causes death in between 30-60 seconds. Vital for anyone who doesn't want to end up being tortured by the Gestapo.


[System]
Age: 17

House: Stark

Family:
Mother: Lady Maege Stark, formerly Lady Maege Umber. She is a proud woman of about 48. She cares greatly about her family and would do anything to protect them. She believes that the greatest weapon one can wield is their words and she is skilled with hers.
Father: The late Lord Brandon Stark. He was taken by fever two years ago, leaving John as the reigning lord of the North and of Winterfell. He was honorable and proud, never backing down. He served as the former king's Hand.
Brothers:Open
Sisters:Open

Skills: John is skilled with a sword, having been raised by a noble family. Likewise, he is a good horseback rider and a somewhat skilled archer, though it is not his best skill and he would much rather use a sword. Other than that he is quite diplomatic, and is good at keeping peace between enemies, though that may not work in the upcoming war between Lions and Dragons.

Weaknesses: John has been cursed with Stark honor. He refuses to go back on deals unless it is an absolute necessity. He won't fight an unarmed enemy and he can be somewhat naive about the workings of politics.

Weapon:
John wields the ancestral sword of House Stark, a Valyrian Steel sword called Ice.

Title: Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and soon to be Hand of the King.

Personality: John can best be described as a Stark. Because that is what he is. He's honorable, smart, and proud. He's kind to peasants and lords alike but he isn't afraid to stand his ground against the likes of the Lannisters, a House that he has no love for.

Bio: John was born as the winter was slowly fading into summer. He was the first born child of Lady Maege and Lord Brandon and as such he was spoiled rotten. When he was eight years old his father accepted the position of Hand of the King for the then king, Jaehaerys Targaryen, and he went with him. He spent the next eight years in King's Landing, going back to Winterfell only occasionally. As such he became good friends with the now king, Daeron, and he considers him one of his closest allies. The two would often play together in the Red Keep, scaring his mother's handmaidens and spying on the small council meetings. When John's father fell ill they traveled back to Winterfell where his father died three months later, leaving him as the new Lord of House Stark. Since then he has been trying to make a name for himself as someone who respects his subjects but will fight for what he believes in.

Other:John is the owner of a direwolf named Shiera, after one of Aegon IV's bastards, a woman who seduced many men and was considered a powerful sorceress. His mother gave him the idea after he stated he wanted to name the animal something powerful. She said that most women find power in words not in weapons, and then told him the story of Shiera Seastar.

"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die."

Name: Daeron Targaryen]

Age: 17

House: Targaryen

Family:
Mother: His mother is Queen Olenna Targaryen, formerly Lady Olenna Tyrell. She is a courageous woman, not afraid to fight for her family in whatever manner possible. She is the same age as Lady Maege Stark and the two grew close while the Starks were in King's Landing.
Father: Daeron's father was the late King Jaehaerys Targaryen, a man who was praised for his strong leadership. Jaehaerys died at the age of 49, when he fell ill and died in quick succession. He was a brave man, riding into battle fearlessly to defend not only his claims, but his men as well.
Brothers:Open
Sisters:Open

Skills: Daeron is a skilled warrior, excelling at sword fighting and archery especially. He is also quite skilled at getting information, using his charm and the many resources at his command.

Weaknesses: Daeron can't ride a horse. It's never been appealing to him. and he never learned the skill. He is also known for having a short fuse, and can snap very quickly, making him easily manipulated by his anger.

Weapon:
Daeron is known for utilizing a sword that was forged in the times of Daenarys Targaryen, Athdrivar, which is the Dothraki word for death.

Title: Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms/King on the Iron Throne/King of Westeros.

Personality: Daeron has always been described as ambitious. He's always wanted power. Lucky thing he was born into the royal family. However he wants more. Some think he is too hungry for power, others believe that ambition will protect them. Whether or not they are right may soon be revealed. Daeron is also known for his temper, and could be described as obnoxious during his outbursts. However, he is a kind person to his friends and tries to be kind to his subjects as well.

Bio: Daeron was the first born child of King Jaehaerys and Queen Olenna. He was doted upon from an early age and given anything he could possibly want. Unlike some noble children, he refused to squire for a knight, stating he was too good for a position of servitude. His parents didn't press the subject and he continued on with his life. Now he is king, and he is blind to the games the Lannisters are playing, seeing as how his eyes are set across the Narrow Sea, in the land of Essos. Daeron is a true Targaryen and he lusts for the conquer. Whether he follows through or not is the million gold dragon question.

Other:"When you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die."

[User]
Lord John Stark of Winterfell

John was nervously sipping his wine and stroking Shiera's head when he was approached by his vassal, Lord Cullen Sunderland. The man greeted him solmenly, his head bowed in respect. John's spirits were raised at the sight of a fellow northerner. Cullen had been a good friend of John's father and was currently a god friend to John, even one of his most trusted advisers. "It's alright Cullen. You didn't miss much except for the announcement of the new Hand. Also known as the man you're staring at," John said, sighing before taking a swig of wine from his cup.

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

King Daeron Targaryen of Westeros

Daeron smiled as his cousin, Gwayne, came up to him and offered his congratulations. He and his cousin were close but the age difference between them always kept them distanced. Daeron had known that Gwayne wanted the position he had just rewarded to John but he felt more trust for the Stark than his cousin. "I hope there are no hard feelings about the announcement I just made. It was quite a difficult decision but at the end of the day, I know John better than I know anyone. I can trust him to help me run a kingdom," Daeron said, his face flushed with intoxication.

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

Lady Gemma Baraetheon of the Stormlands

Gemma wasn't entirely surprised at Vernan's response to her plan. It was no secret that the lions hated the wolves but she still thought he could put that aside for power. No matter. The Frey had presented a good plan. If they could get the Martells behind them then they may have a shot at winning this war. "Alright Frey. Find allies, then a king. Sounds good. With that I bid you farewell. People might begin to think we're conspiring over here," Gemma said, flashing the knight a smile before drifting away.

[Assistant]
Cullen Sunderland
Cullen's eyes widened as he looked up in surprise. For John to be named Hand of the King meant he'd have to stay in King's Landing. A place Cullen knew was not for his Lord. This place was home to liars, plotters, and cowards. This was no place for a northman much less the Lord of Winterfell. Things were changing and not the way Cullen had hoped. "Congratulations my Lord. I assume this means you will be staying in King's Landing?, he asked. A serving girl came near with cups of wine but Cullen waived her away, "Forgive my boldness my lord but this place is not kind to men like us, the powers that rule here could make The Red Wedding look like nothing. With you here in King's Landing who will take charge of Winterfell?". Cullen made sure not to speak so loudly so as not to attract the attention of unwanted listeners. His hope right now was that he'd be able to convince John to step down from Hand of the King. The North needed John more than these southerners, besides the king could choose another Hand. The boy was sure to have a long list of people waiting to kiss the king's ass.


[System]
Age: 24
Position: Security? Cybersecurity? Neural Networking? Electronic Warfare man.
Appearance/Clothing:
- 1 tac-gray baseball cap made of kevlar with a spun titanium core, with holographic display and headset included
- 1 red No Piston Inside long-sleeve tshirt
- 1 tac-gray kevlar tactical utility jacket (plus a backup), includes a battery pack and a universal charger for drones (he has a drone)
- 1 chort-leather set of utility cargo pants (tan-colored pants shown)
- 1 tac-gray kevlar tactical utility cargo pants (gray colored pants shown)
- 1 worn Shia LaBeouf Just-Do-It brand tennis shoes (plus backup)

Skills:
Hacking,
shooting,
running,
more running,
running on things he shouldn't run on (parkour),
rudimentary skill at driving [and maybe crashing] anything with wheels or gravitronics (anti-grav stuff),
knows lockpicking and welding pretty well (sometimes you have to pick an actual lock, other times you gotta just cut through it),
Knows how to make a mean peach-cranberry cobbler.

Crimes Against The Alliance: He once hacked into a backdoor of an AI on one of the big cruisers, and got it to think that the entire crew were enemies. Another time, he hacked into some rich guy's (he had like this laser pistol or somethin, someone tried to steal it and everyone left one of the displays unattended) bank account and took nearly all his money, and then redistributed it to the Gay Power Association of the System (GPAS), and a whole bunch of other smaller-scale hacking stunts, like reprogramming an ad AI to display random videos of The-Earth-That-Was, such as a recovered "Actual Cannibal Shia Labeouf" video, which gave the Shia LaBeouf Clothing Manufacturer a jumpstart.

Additional Information:
- Paranoid about certain things
- Obsessive about other things
- Can get very, very deep in thought sometimes
- Absolutely horrid at making metaphors or similes

Weapons:
- Fists
- Feet
- Elbows
- Knee
- M34 Combat Sidearm
- SAT-K23 Combat Knife
- Charming personality

Possessions:
A small drone he affectionately calls "Garry"
Some ammunition for his handgun
Various computers, cords, and devices
A very worn but cared-for lockpicking kit
A bunch of electrical replacement parts
A blanket he occasionally wears over everything else, that was white with blue borders, quilt-style

Personality:
To be roleplayed? He's unique. Really.

History:
Ask him about it!

[User]
April scrambled out of the way of the (somewhat anticipated) wrench. "Hey, woah, grease monkey! Look, I know yall does dirty things to these engines when nobody's looking, but it don't mean nobody else can take a look at them. Maybe we'd actually get somewhere if you wasn't this ship's crazy, jealous ladyfriend!"

April put her hands to her hips, fully prepared to have another spat with the engineer, when the com box beside her crackled. "April, get your narrow behind out of there before Cyrek throws a wrench at you! Well, before he throws another one!" April rolled her eyes and spoke back to the box. "May be narrow, cap'n, but I can do great things with it." She turned and left the sputtering engine room and its fuming guardian.

Moving back to the cockpit, her eyes half dulled with boredom, she happened across the captain talking to a stranger. From the gist of it, it seemed like the man was asking for transport on the ship, and was prepared to pay for it with ordinance. Approaching as the man sealed the deal with the captain, April extended a hand, offering a confident smile. "You flying with us? My name's April Cooper, I'm the pilot. You're more'n welcome aboard as far as I'm concerned, but, uh..." She leaned in slightly and offered a mischievous grin, tapping him on the chest with two fingers. "When I say hold onto something? Hold onto something."

She turned and saw Chang'e, the companion, also speaking to the captain. "Oh, hey Dajie. You got another date? Want me to drive?"

[Assistant]
Hannah had been returning to the cargo hold when she heard her name in the buzz of conversation—she paused at the doors to the catwalk that led down into the hold, head cocked to one side as she listened further. A new passenger? She brightened, careening down the ramp past the Captain and finally skidding to a stop with her hands clasped behind her back. April had emerged from the bowels of the engines, apparently, and was talking with the Companion who had been onboard for a while now. Hannah always felt like a bumbling elephant around the elegant woman—she wished she had that kind of grace and charm. She gave a little wave to Preacher, too; she wasn't devout by any means, but she'd been raised on Christ and bourbon and she kept up both traditions.

"Hi!" she said brightly, holding out a hand to shake to the newcomer. "Hannah, that's me. I can show you your bunk and the mess and all that. You said you had ammo? What kinds? I'm always looking for more. Got any large calibers?"

[User]
The captain shouted back to her crew once again before accepting Silas as a passenger, explaining where he'd be staying, and dismissing him in the same breath, before returning to the ship to avoid the in coming preacher.

"Wènhòu," called the Shepard, bowing as he spoke.

"Hello," Silas answered, nodding in a return.

"My name is Iean, I look after this flock. If there is any type of spiritual needs that have gone unattended then please allow me the honor to guide you to the enlightenment of your choosing," Iean said kindly.

"I think my spiritual needs are all seen to. Thanks though," the gunsmith replied, clapping the other man on the shoulder for a moment. Like most folk from Dyton, Silas was technically Roman Catholic. The brunette usually didn't make it to Mass unless it was a holy obligation day and he confessed even less than that. "I'm Si--"

"You flying with us?" Called a small red haired girl as she trotted down the main ramp. When she got to the bottom she reached out and shook Silas's hand. "My name's April Cooper, I'm the pilot. You're more'n welcome aboard as far as I'm concerned, but, uh..." the pilot paused her a leaned in closer, dropping his hand to prod at his chest with a tiny finger while grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "When I say hold onto something? Hold onto something."

"...Right," Silas said, pulling his hand back from the red head. 'Well, that was ominous,' he thought as he watched the pilot prance off before he had a chance to tell her his name. 'She's the pilot? She doesn't look like she's even old enough to have her license.'

"Sorry father. Like I was saying earlier, I'm Silas," the gunsmith continued, glancing back over to where Iean was standing, before catching sight of another person barreling down the ramp. Silas was sure he was going to have to catch her to stop the newcomer from face planting, but she stopped short, holding her hands behind her back.

"Hannah, that's me. I can show you your bunk and the mess and all that. You said you had ammo? What kinds? I'm always looking for more. Got any large calibers?" She asked excitedly, extending a tan hand in offer of a handshake.

"Silas," he told her, gripping her hand in his own and chuckling at how excited she got about the prospect of new ammo. He instantly liked her. "I've got almost anything you could need for a traditional gun and the biggest thing I have are my 50 caliber sniper rifle slugs. I don't have anything for laser guns or rocket launchers," Silas said the last bit with a grimace, forcing himself not to glance in the direction of the goat farmer. "I'd appreciate you showing me what's what, but can you tell me where to stow my merch first? It'd make me a might jumpy to leave them outside."

[Assistant]
Captain stopped in her tracks, the cigarette nearly done she held tightly between her lips as Chang'e caught her attention. She inquired to when they were departing and Captain shrugged before she set the box down she had picked up to move into the cargo bay. "I have no gorram clue. I am waiting on Cryek to get this boat in the air. What? Some man on this dustball want some fun time with you?" she asked; taking the last pull from the smoke and tossing it to the ground and stomping it out with her boot before turning her head to the side and blowing the smoke away from her through clenched teeth. Seeing April come over she groaned slightly. "Yeah, you take her and keep the com open, if we get ready to leave high tail both your narrow behinds back here post haste. And bring me back something to eat," Captain said quickly before hefting the crate back up and tucking it under one arm and turning to walk off.

 "Hannah, get the boy settled in and stow the explosives. I don't want another whoops boom in the cargo bay!" she shouted as she walked off towards the cargo bay to stow the crate of food rations she had acquired earlier in the day. Once that was done she moved quickly through the ship to the engine room and stopped at the door, leaning against the frame as she crossed her arms over her chest.

 "When the hell you gonna have my ship ready Cyrek?" she asked as she took another cigarette out and lit it. "I want to break atmo by dusk. Oh and we have a new passenger, do don't throw any wrenches until we are in outer amto okay? Don't want the little bloke running before I get some type of payment," she said taking a pull from the cigarette and smirking, holding it out to him.


[System]
"It's a... trap?"

Sprite:
Nicknames/Title: Having never lead his own congregation, Heike has no official or unofficial titles.

Gender: Male

Marital Status: Forever Alone

Age: 18

Sexuality: Not so much Asexual as unexplored and annoyed by the idea.

Family Ties: His former Master, Werthmann

Class: Ex-Priest

Weapon Mastery(ies): Staves (Not in use), Spears

Inventory: Iron Spear
Vulnary x3 (2)

Personality: Heike is an open book when it comes to his current mood. Whether it be annoyed, excited, depressed, or angry. Despite this he isn't particularly prone to mood swings, and generally adopts a fairly neutral disposition. He is also a man of firm conviction, perhaps a little too firm. His allies will always be his allies, his enemies will always be his enemies, right will always be right and wrong will always be wrong. It takes the most extreme of circumstances to change his mind, however it's not impossible. In fact, it's happened at least once in his past.

A past he is not comfortable speaking of. Despite being an open book on his emotions, his history is a door he prefers to keep firmly shut. He will shoot down any attempts to uncover it with a smile at first, and then with escalating irritation and anger quickly afterwards. He's lost more than one traveling companion over the other being too nosy.

Aside from this, his history as a priest has instilled him with a great passion towards the sick and wounded, and he always tries to carry healing supplies with him into a fight, sticking close to his friends in case of an emergency. While he has steeled himself towards a more bloody path in life, he will stop fighting to tend to the wounded if the situation is dire, even leaving himself open in the process. It's resulted in him receiving scorn and praise in equal parts.

Biography: Heike was given to the priesthood of one of the many churches in the capital of Frosspeak at a young age. He was one too many mouthes to feed for his family, and they were compensated fairly for his future service. While many followers became monks, illuminating the darkness of the world with the scriptures and magic, Heike was taken instead to be raised in the arts of healing. A talent he excelled at from an early age. In the middle of the city, there was no shortage of illness, especially in the area his church was located. He spent years practicing with herbs, and studying the scripture, until he finally earned his right to use a staff.

At that point in his youth, not even saving a life filled him with as much pride as carrying his own staff.

It was presented to him by Master Werthmann, a figure of authority within the church, one said to even associate with His Holiness from time to time. He was a man built like a berserker and gentle as a mother. Their first meeting inspired Heike with awe, and he threw himself at the large man's knees, begging to be taught under him. All the pride he had been filled with at receiving his staff was cast away from that one chance to follow this man.

And follow him Heike did.

They left the inner city, and he found his new home in largest church in Frosspeak. It was a massive cathedral where, if the congregation was blessed, His Holiness would even preach a sermon on occasion. Here Heike found his new home, with a new teacher, and a new purpose.
Sadly, that purpose seemed to be more scripture. While the monks honed their magical abilities for the assistance of others on the road, the Cathedral was in the wealthiest part of the city. Very few sick that weren't nobility ever made their way to the building. Instead, Heike's skills rotted while he was taught to give sermons, eventually destined to lead a congregation instead of healing the sick. It was never a fate that sat well with him, but it was a fate he resigned himself to all the same.

Everything changed very quickly for him on his sixteenth birthday though. Prince Alexandro of Jotenvarr had fallen extremely ill, and Master Werthmann was dispatched as an emmisary to assist the Kingdom's priests in their efforts to cure him. More as a measure of goodwill (and Heike now suspected, a bit of espionage) than anything else. The Kingdom's priests were competent after all, and doubtless didn't want Master Werthmann directly treating the prince for security reasons. Heike accompanied his master on the journey, and stayed in Jotenvarr for the better part of a month while the prince recovered.

Meeting the man who would rule Jotenvarr changed Heike's life, and likely destiny. They didn't speak often, but there was a... magnetism to the prince that drew Heike to him. A genuine goodness, and powerful charisma. It was the same sort of awe that took hold of him the first time he met Master Werthmann. Alexandro was a person to admire, a person to follow. That, and being able to help someone sick again had helped remind Heike why he had fallen in love with the church in the first place.

It was what he considered the best month of his life, and upon leaving Jotenvarr he felt... empty.

Almost to the day, one year later Heike left the priesthood, in such a violent temperament it was muttered about for weeks afterwards. He managed to make his way out of Frosspeak unaccosted, despite expecting to be killed before he even left the Cathedral. Once his homeland was behind him, he snapped the head of his staff off, as a final breaking away from his old life. He did work in a border town for a time, trying to find a purpose for his life. When the calling came from the palace to find guards for the king, Heike didn't hesitate to set on the road towards the capital. He had a blacksmith fit his former staff, now a walking stick, with an iron spearhead, and he practiced fighting with anyone that would travel with him on the road.

By the time he reached the capital, he was far from a seasoned warrior, but his burning determination would hopefully make up the difference.

[User]
Hiro Anu

---

Hiro looked around as the bandits had come out of no where, it had been a well placed ambush this entire time and he had to applaud them for managing to accomplish that. However, this as squad Quinque, they had some of the best teamwork that he had ever seen and this certainly would do nothing to dissuade that. The sniper then watched as their leader showed himself, then hearing Tybalt's orders being given out before he had gotten injured. Hiro did notice, however, that Tybalt was in no true danger after that scream of pain. He then proceeded to take a pot shot at a charging raider, landing an arrow straight into the knee of the man. That would hopefully incapacitate the raider before he could truly do anything to harm the squad. Hiro ran back to Tybalt and asked [/b]"Is everything under control over here?"[/b]

[Assistant]
Chunks of dirt and grass shot into the air as the axe blade buried itself into the earth, luckily without Mikhail in the way as he rolled to the side towards his lance. Not so much struggling as taking his sweet time, the warrior delayed on removing his weapon from the ground to instead observe his foe's next action. Unfortunately for him, his choice to wait was the wrong choice, as the tip of Mikhail's lance punctured the side of his throat. An attempt at a cry of war and pain came out silent.

What!? An attack from such a vulnerable position!? How could he have thought that would work!?

No matter the likelihood, it was undeniable that the warrior had in fact been struck. He clasped his right hand over the wound and doubled back. However, instead of calling the fight, he reached down and picked up the massive axe with his left hand and lifted it onto his shoulder, ready to retaliate against Mikhail's next move.

[User]
Mikhail Fuast

Mikhail knew full well that there had been a good deal of luck involved in his strike actually hitting his mark. Normally he would have counted all of his one lucky stars, but he had to move. The axe fighter backing up gave the lancer time to roll over and rest on one knee. He's off balance. Good, let's keep it that way.

His breath was ragged, his lungs on fire, but the cavalier knew what he had to do. "I grew up with an older brother that was much bigger and more experienced than me," his voice was hoarse and labored. The royal guard's bewildered look and defensive stance told Mikhail that he had his full attention. "Whenever we got into a scuffle, I never won by fighting fairly. No, I had to be unexpected and lucky." His grip on the spear was tenuous at best. He could only hope that the adrenaline coursing through the axe fighter would be enough to muffle the sounds of the horse that was approaching from behind the man. At least until it was too late, at which point Mikhail would be able to strike at him again if he were to turn around to face Rollo, who was well on his way to run him into the ground, quite literally.

[Assistant]
Kalim

 From the outset of his journey, Kalim made it a point to not question the flow of time. Even if the seconds blended into years, he kept his eyes forward and his feet moving on the road. It wasn't without it's hardship; having to defend himself from wayward brigands, finding places to sleep during the nights, and working at random townships for food and supplies. Overall, he made a modest sum, or at least enough to keep him on his path. There were two things that he did stop to make time for: patching his armor and sharpening his blade. As his adoptive father taught him, 'A warrior without a weapon is a fool, and one without armor is inviting death to his door.' Words that continued to echo in his mind as he stripped and salvaged what he could to keep his equipment in order.

 The trek wasn't all trials and woes, some courteous merchants and caravans offer to carry the man a way... However, many dismissed him at the nearest town. His quiet demeanor and intense stare were enough to disturb lesser men, finding Kalim waking up to nothing but wagon trails and horse tracks. Still, he never turned down the ride nor did he forget where he was going. In time, he found himself on the home stretch: the road to Jotenvarr. Already the scenery was much different from his homeland; vast stretching deserts with sparse oasis dabbed across the monochrome canvas turned into lush green grass field and forests dense and lush with foliage. However, even the new and unusual sites were but a momentary distract for the man. Onward he's push, with no hesitation in his step.

 After an indeterminate amount of time, there stood the great city of Jotenvarr upon the horizon. Just this site alone steeled the man as he continued his stride, but he began to notice something... It's true the war had ended some time ago, but the stigma of his garb and his skin were obvious. As he had made his way further into the interior, he noticed some people recoiling or moving quickly out of his way. Once a woman snatched her child from his path and proceeded to hug the boy tight to her form while staring up at Kalim. True, his recent ventures gave him the complexion and look of a brigand, but he never raised his sword to anyone that had not tried to do him wrong initially. Now he was encroaching on the interior of the capital, and all the while guards would eye him over while keeping their hands upon their weapons. This continued all the way to the palace until a duo of guards stood before the vagabond.

 "Hold!" The older one spoke, hand on sword as he stood erect at his post, "What business have you in the palace?" Eyes narrowed, tone strict, posturing, but his grip on his blade is weak. All these factors Kalim took in at first glance, though it seemed like his eyes never waivered from the guards.

 "I seek employment." Kalim's reply was short, though he kept both arms at his sides and his hands away from the sword and pouches on his side. Last thing he wanted was a confrontation in the place he intended to call home. Though he did his best to keep his agitation of his voice, he felt it creep through slightly.

 Seems the guard caught wind of it as well, eyeing over Kalim with a slight sneer, "Then help the merchants or brandish your sword as a bouncer for an Inn."

 Kalim gave and audible sigh, closing his eyes slightly as he attempted to retain his composure. 'Step forward. Grab sword hand and trip. Draw blade and strike down. Stab through heart quickly and ready for next combatant. If unable to withdraw blade, retrieve opponent's and retreat to cover. Familiarize yourself with the weight and length. Let your opponent make the first mistake and then-' It was at this point the guard before him cleared his throat, snapping out the man out of his trance as his eyes focused ahead once more.

 "I represent former general Musaludin. He plans to settle here in Jotenvarr. I'm here as a sort of... Good-will ambassador." Kalim replied, attempting to put on his most courteous tone. His gaze however remained pointed and directed at the older man before him. After a moment of silence the man before him motioned with his head to the guard behind him. In an instant, the younger man nodded before slipping inside the palace.

 "We'll see what General Davos says about all this. IF you wish to serve Jotenvarr's guard, it will be his call."


[System]
I R L
Age - 20
Place of Origin - Alberta, Canada
Occupation - Freelance artist

A V A T A R

Character's Name - Alex
Pathos Affiliation - Drox
Role - Ranged DPS
Profession - Craftsman
Weapon of Choice - Bow
Domains - Wind / Conjuration, Enhancement

-

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Frenetic
With a pep to his step and a patter permanently engraved in his speech, Alex is the sort of person to always be doing something, and desperately crave doing something whenever nothing's going on. His impatience and eagerness can sometimes get the best of him, but he sees them as a double-edged sword, with many of the best moments in his life originating from decisions with no foresight involved.

His hobbies are hands-on, creative activities that reign him in well. Carpentry, plastic arts, sewing, anything that gets the gears in his brain spinning and keeps him busy.

Frank
Alex likes to talk. A lot. It's something not everyone discovers, as he is outstandingly awkward during first encounters. The people who've stuck around, however, eventually realize he doesn't have a voice in his head telling him to stop. He overshares, states what shouldn't be stated, and asks all the questions someone his age would agonize over but ultimately suppress out of a fear of looking foolish. None of this is ever done intentionally, he just marches to the beat of his own drum.

Adaptable
Not everyone can dive into the world of freelance art and make a decent profit, and not everyone can toss themselves into the commercial thunderdome of a virtual reality game and come out friends with various NPC denizens and enough money to leave the combat to his brother's guild half the time. Alex's impulsive ideas aren't easy to trust from an outsider's perspective, but he finds himself succeeding where others would fail through high energy and a good work ethic. Conflict with others rarely bothers him as well, and he often finds himself spearheading cooperation with the people he's warmed up to.

B E N C H M A R K S

I can't die if they don't hit me, buddy
Rather than protect himself with anything bulky, Alex has instead opted to use a combination of light armors, long range attacks and solid athleticism as a means of avoiding damage. This newfound athleticism, consisting of speed and reflexes, helps him duck and weave through blows that would have otherwise sent him soaring.

Jack of all arts and crafts
Alex's craftsmanship had already been passable prior to his introduction to Pariah, but the game has now given him ample time and resources to cut loose. While not an expert in any one field, he's found a niche making light armor and robes. The finished pieces aren't on the same level of glamour as what other crafting wayfarers can offer, but hey, it works.

Quantity over quality
Alex's signature ability is being able to fire arrows in disturbingly rapid succession, tearing opponents to shreds. This leaves him vulnerable when taken to machine gun-like extremes, however. His combat style plays off this ability for the most part, favoring fast and powerful arrows over anything slow.

Heads or tailwinds
His domain over wind allows him to rely on small bursts of it in and out of combat. Whether helping him jump a bit higher or throw off a lighter opponent's balance, he's managed to find couple of utilitarian uses for it besides thrusting his arrows.
  | Physical Description
Alexis Barnett's appearance had always been underwhelming and… begrudging, to sum it up in a word. Brown hair kept at medium length as a concession with the rest of the world, minimal cosmetics, the occasional cardigan or modest skirt in between rows of jackets and jeans. Shirts, too, followed a similar goal. Shirts that a woman would reasonably wear, at a size baggy enough to conceal a small bust.

Accessories, if any, were always tossed on haphazardly, as last minute additions spurred less by their wearer and more by questioning family and friends. That's not to say they were a bad thing. You could wear the baggy and dull clothing you wanted, Alex discovered, if you wore enough pink jewelry to shut people up.

Alex has been pessimistically aware of his appearance since adolescence, so it's no surprise to see that his avatar in Pariah has a lot in common with his real self, from his height and frame down to the color of his hair and eyes. His features could be described as "pleasantly average", a likely result of him wishing to not stand out and blend in. Within Pariah he dislikes wearing anything that restricts his movement and regularly wears comfortable merchant's clothing, as it's extravagant enough to signal his wayfarer status to others without having to adopt any of the flashy accessories everyone else seems to be so fond of.

Pariah's avatar system was keen enough to pick up on Alex's true feelings and assign him a male body, a contrast to real life. That ended up being a fun thing to explain to his brother Logan. Or in his own words, "Shit."
Character Conceptualization
While it could be said that the bulk of Pariah's playerbase had been well acquainted with the conventions of video games, Alex was an exception. Dragged into it by his older brother, he accepted with lukewarm enthusiasm, more interested in the prospect of untouched nature or trying his hand at art made through a new kind of medium. Logan would do the embarrassing tryhard LARP shenanigans he always did with his friends whenever a new competitive game came out, and Alex would go for walks in the woods and do medieval arts and crafts. That had more or less been the plan, until Logan dragged Alex into another one of his games again, the world of PvE.

Under his care, Alex learned the ins and outs of the "glasscannon" "ranged DPS" "kit" his brother orchestrated for him, with the understanding that Alex would leave for a guild more suited to his interests past a certain point.

Despite his initial insecurities he adapted quickly to Pariah. He focused on crafting armor to support himself financially, on the days he wasn't being made to train or serve as an auxiliary member to their guild's activities. Mostly robes for the magically inclined, but he began stepping into leathers and furs as he grew bored of doing too much of the same thing. In time, he began to make a name for himself among the denizens and wayfarers of Pariah.

It felt silly to admit it, but he was starting to understand his brother and every other player that was using the game to live their biggest fantasies. Having so many people finally appreciate your art, even if it was mostly just clothing after a while, was a thrill he had never anticipated.

Spells & Spell-like Abilities
Conjuration fletching

Conjuration ability that allows the user to create an arrow out of arcane energy for next to no energy expenditure. This ability can be "charged" to create a stronger arrow, but is slightly more demanding as a result and requires more time to employ.

Forest hunter

Conjures a heavier arrow with a tip that expands into a net. Can trap entities that are roughly humanoid and smaller for a limited amount of time. The conjured net dissipates after receiving enough damage.

Blowback roulette

Envelops the user in a small shield of wind for a very brief moment. Any projectile or magic attacks that hit them during the shield's duration will instead transfer into the ability of their next arrow.

Heads or tailwinds

A burst of powerful high-velocity wind channeled from the user's body. Used to make an arrow travel faster and hit harder, or simply help the user move. Can be used to throw an opponent off-balance, although physical contact is mandatory for this. Can be channeled for longer-lasting effects, with the consequence that it will exhaust its user far more.

Other Information
Although technically a member of his brother's guild, there's friction between its competitive bloodthirsty members and Alex, who only joined to learn the ropes. Alex is expected to leave after having proven himself capable enough. |

[User]
---

"'M...fine, Raylll," Alja slurred out, surprising herself with just how indistinct her words were. Somethin's wrong. Somethin's wrong. Still, she tried not to let her concern show on her face, attempting to get up again before falling back down in a gross display of miscoordination. "'M jus'...dizzy for sum reason. Dunno why." She rubbed at her eyes aggressively, trying to will her vision back to clarity and somehow being surprised when it didn't work.

She tried to stand again, and this time she managed to make it to her feet, supporting herself on the table and breathing deeply as a denizen came over, concern on her face. Alja waved her away, but removing one of her hands from her support table had the reasonably predictable outcome of her barely managing to stay on her feet. She turned to face Graves, frowning as she found it difficult to see his face clearly; it kept swimming in and out of focus. "'S gotta be...debuff or som'thin,' righ?'. 'M real dizzy..." she brought her hand up to her face, feeling the heat rushing through it as her normally fair skin was suffused a bright red by...whatever this was.

She sat down again, grunting in mild irritation as the waitress continued hovering out of something like concern. And, it occurred to Alja, there was something she could use at the moment. She waved the waitress over and, voice still slurred, asked: "C'n you get me some water?"

She nodded and scurried off, and Alja slumped back down, her eyes drawn as if magnetically to the blurry image of a tearfully happy Luci being congratulated by everyone in the bar, and Aaginim standing next to her. She looked on, the previously confused expression on her face replaced with what seemed like an almost comical melancholy. "Sh'd b'mm," she mumbled, her face lying sideways on the table and distorting her mouth to the point of incoherence.

Then--for the first time in a long time--some of her IRL self leaked into Alja, and she pivoted her head until she was looking at Graves almost piteously. And in that moment, she looked almost as small as her real-world counterpart. "'M I gonna be okay, Graves?"

Then the moment passed, and she slumped back into the table with a dizzy groan.

[Assistant]
Location: Wayfarer's Retreat -- The City of Thorinn, Aetheria

---

An incredulous look crossed his face. It was something he had dismissed out of hand, but now that he was watching Alja talk and move up close, it seemed less and less outlandish by the moment. Drunk assholes were a familiar commodity 'round the gas station and his home alike. There were more than a few instances when one of his siblings would come stumbling into the living room, sloshed out of their mind- it looked a lot like Alja did now. Damned if it made any sense, though.

"'M I gonna be okay, Graves?"

He took her by the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The irony of it wasn't lost on him. "You're gonna be just fine, pal. Nothin's been done to you, you're just..." He paused a moment. "I get the feelin' you don't drink too much IRL. This is that. Now, I'unno why you're feelin' it in here, but I think I've got a fix for it."

With one hand he lifted up Alja's palm into his. With the other, he unsheathed just an inch of the greatsword hanging from his belt. Just enough that he could nick the tip of her finger. It was a cut he'd practiced a hundred times for diabetic strips, only piecing enough skin for a droplet of blood to slip out.

'Focus. Only pull out what's needed. Don't want her to hit me.' Graves turned his hand over, motioning toward the wound with a single finger. A tiny stream of oddly colored blood began to be coaxed out...


[System]
Gender: Male

Appearance:
Sophos' robes are a much brighter blue, however. Almost like you'd see in a children's book. He stands at around 6' tall, and is a light 150 pounds.

Age: 62

Race: Terminian Human

Skills: Alchemy, Knowledge of lore.

Magic Abilities: Time Magic, near mastery. Sophos is incapable of creating stable portals as of now, however. His most successful attempt managed to last about three seconds before collapsing violently on itself.

Weapons: N/A

Inventory: Alchemical reagents, a satchel to carry them in, a book with every recipe he's ever used (Caboose it did other stuffff but I forget T.T) a magical floating chair, and a wand to help focus his magic with.

Bio: Sophos grew up in Termina, in Clock Town, and had an uneventful life until his marriage. He made a living by working in the town's library, and creating potions for people on the side, although he never charged much more than what one would need for ingredients. They had two children, but when Sophos was on a trip on day, a man broke into the house, killed his children, and impregnated his wife. Sophos saw the man when he returned, but out of concern for his family, he did not make chase. Unable to suffer the thought of bearing another man's child, his wife ran off into the mountains, giving birth to the boy in her last moments. The son was adopted and raised, his existence unknown to Sophos until much later in his life, and vice versa. After his wife and children's deaths, Sophos became a bit more reclusive, but still offered his services to those around him.

Nearly a decade later, while he was travelling to Hyrule for ingredients, he encountered the man who'd murdered his family. Rather than killing him, he alerted the guards, who arrested him promptly. At his execution, Sophos stood silently as the man returned the populace's insults, claiming that only Sophos had a right to kill him. After the execution, Sophos found a bit of closure, but he was still much of a loner, spending his time with books and alchemical ingredients.

Name: Gaios (Occasionally referred to as "The Fatherless" by other Templars.)

Gender: Male

Appearance: Armor

Face
He stands at about 6'1", and weighs around 200 pounds.

Age: 32

Race: Terminian Human

Skills: Excellent swordfighter, great with his magic, not much else: he's bred for combat.

Magic Abilities: Earth magic. Gaios uses it in a bit of an unorthodox manner, electing to use platforms and discs of earth to move and attack rapidly while evading being hit rather than tanking attacks, although his elemental affinity still makes him extremely durable.

Weapons:

Inventory: A red potion

Bio: Found almost frozen to death by a pair of mountain-dwelling folks, Gaios was raised under the name of Lucidon, learning how to make a living in the mountains, mainly through hunting. When he was little older than 12, his magical abilities manifested themselves, and his parents made the decision to send him to Castle Town in Hyrule for training. He learned under a charitable master who fed, sheltered and taught him so long as he made himself of use. At first, Lucidon joined the Hylian Guard when he became an adult, quickly earning favor among the locals for his kindness towards them.

When the Templars came around, Lucidon was quick to jump ship and join them. His talents were quickly recognized, and he was brought into the elite echelon of Earth Knights. As time passed, the Templars became more influential, and he was seen as a calming presence when he was in Castle Town. However, one day when he was chatting with locals, he overheard talk about an old man who frequented the area, by the name of Sophos Ailred. For some reason, Lucidon couldn't help but listen to his story. After learning of the fate of Sophos's wife, he was stunned that something so horrible had happened to somebody so kind and beloved by people he rarely even met. Hearing about the killer's execution did little to assuage the pity and grief he felt for Sophos. This man had had everything he loved ripped from him, and yet he continued to make the long journey to Hyrule for his service to the residents of Clock Town.

Soon, Lucidon was a touch obsessed with Sophos and his story. He'd listen to what anybody had to say, and even managed to collect a group of pictographs of Sophos, his family, and the man who destroyed all that. And then he looked in a mirror, changing his life. When he compared the photos, along with the timeline of the events, the similarities were too great to be coincidence. He'd known he was found as a child, rather than born to his parents. It bothered him little, as they still raised him lovingly. But now he knew something that shocked him: he was a child unwanted, burden to his mother and product of a heinous crime. With this news, he rechristened himself as Gaios, refusing to accept his biological father. To him, Sophos was more of a father than the man who sired him. He never blamed himself for any of what happened, but the revelation certainly didn't help his obsession with Sophos, who he'd learned was also a worshiper of the Goddesses in Termina.

When Thallus began his heretic hunt, Gaios used his influence and ability to join a task force specifically made to hunting down heretics to the One God. After discovering that Sophos was travelling with a group of heretics fighting against the Templars, Gaios's obsession lead him to an impasse. Would he betray the Order, or his birthmother's husband, the man he'd spent so long learning so much about?

[User]
Demoko turned to see Sophos and Gaios, he put the spell book he had in his hand down as he greeted them both. "I would say I am happy to see that you both made alive, but you know I am quite incapable of producing positive emotions. Though in terms of just vocabulary, yes I am happy you both made it." He then proceeded to pick up his spell book once more. There temporary headquarters was built in the ancient ruins beneath Castle Town and had a concealment spell that prevented them from being detected. "Link, Regol, and Caelan went to collect supplies from someone loyal to our cause, but they have not return oddly. I risk not pursuing until I know with certainty something has happened to them."

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

Regol believed they could pull it off. Fiona very seldom walked about the castle just for the hell of it. She would no doubt be in the grand throne room awaiting Father Thallus' return. This plan would work, it had to work, and a determined attitude was half the battle right? The map disappeared and Regol took the lead, ushering for Link and Caelan to follow behind him like an escort of sort. Once they were in formation he walked quickly down the hallway. The interior of the castle was quite large, the hallways with large chandeliers, armored statues, mosaic windows, and long eloquent red carpets were quite impressive for those unaccustomed to the royal lifestyle. The hallway they were in alone could fit 5 horses side by side.

As the group hurried to their destination at what seemed like an eternity of fast walking down a few random hallways, they finally made it to the central staircase. Four Templar Castle Knights stood guard, but didn't both to look at Regol, or Link and Caelan who were in their Templar disguises. As they approached two staffs locked and prevented them from entering. "State your business... Oh my...? Brother Regol??? We had been informed you died in great battle against the heathen pirates! How... Wha... How come your return was not announced..." One of the Templars asked, now becoming more suspicious, Regol raised his hand nonchalantly at Caelan as to usher him to speak on his behalf. Caelan seemed to be the wittier on the spot thinker here compared to Link, at no offense to him of course.

[Assistant]
MEANWHILE
in the Lost Woods...
The green-haired boy stooped down, two fingers gingerly testing a patch of dried mud on the cobbled stone floor.

The Forest Temple was a mythical place, even for the Kokiri. They respected what it represented, but rarely went near it. Even Dilly, one of the oldest who was still among them, had only stepped foot in the temple one other time before. Then, as now, it was as part of a mission to understand what was happening in or around the Lost Wood. These were strange days, prone to stranger nights, and the Kokiri were anxious about what they didn't know of the going-ons beyond their forest.

Stalfos were known to walk the temple courtyard at night, and the eerie light of a poe's lantern could be seen flickering like the will'o'wisp, so the boy had been careful to approach the Forest Temple in the light of day. Which meant that the light coming in through the entrance to the temple marked a very real countdown, by which the boy would need to take whatever there was to learn here and be gone.

"Someone was here. There was a struggle of some kind," the child noted aloud, as the amber light of the orb fairy drifted overhead.

Black splotches on the stone. Blood. Someone had been hurt. Possibly more than one 'someone.'

"I can't tell how they left," the boy mused, continuing to air his thoughts aloud as he examined the individual clues and tried to use them in his mind's eye to understand just what he was seeing. Someone came in here. Three, maybe four? A struggled ensued, but there were no bodies. Nor evidence of bodies having been dragged away.

It begged the question of whether they'd left at all. They could still be here, their souls trapped in the poe's light or shambling about as Stalfos.

Or worse, ReDead.

"I don't sense the presence of the Sage of the Forest," Ayala noted, the melodic voice echoing in the back of his mind, even as he looked up and contemplated the vaulted ceiling above them.

He remembered Saria. Her absence from the Kokiri Village had diminished them, and he found the notion that she occupied now a place alongside the Great Deku Tree as a protector of the Forest less comforting than he probably ought to have. Because she wasn't with them, she was here.

And, seemingly, she was not here either.

A shadow by the door prompted the Kokiri into motion. His footsteps silent as he crept into the shadows of a support pillar. The outline of a wolfos was cast upon the far wall.

Had the pack he'd encountered earlier managed to track him here this quickly?

That question was frozen in his mind as another shadow overlaid that of the wolfos. Gasping, his breath stuck in his throat, the boy risked a peer from behind the pillar.

"Moblin," he uttered softly.

[User]
Was the direct route better? Should they still try to somehow sneak around? Even with the disguises Caelan wasn't abundantly certain they would go unnoticed, the only certainty was if Fiona found them they were as good as dead. Falling in line with a man like Regol only did so much to calm his nerves as they moved through the halls and he expected for Fiona to be around every bend, yet she never appeared. Glancing back over his shoulder a handful of times he'd occasionally catch a glimpse of a Templar patrol passing along but nothing struck him as alarming, so far they were safe. Maybe they really would make it to the Princess without any trouble, and really that was the hardest part right? Getting out was still a whole different matter but he just had to trust that Regol, or Demoko, somebody had a plan in mind.

Everything was going just fine until they arrived at a central staircase leading up to the topmost reaches of the castle. Stood at the stairs were four armed Templars diligently minding their posts. Was Regol going to try and dispatch them like he had the others before? Or were they going to be found out? Caelan's skin grew clammy as they approached the guards and his heart all but stopped when they were told to halt and state their business. Then the confusion set in as some of the men recognized Regol which only served to further Caelan's confusion on the matter: just who exactly was Regol again? Stiff as a board his eyes slid to the corners as he watched the man for any signs of what they would do, preparing to cast a spell at a moment's notice. When a gesture was made he was almost ready to cast something when it clicked in his mind what Regol was asking of him, his jaw going slack before hastily composing himself again. Why was he getting left to sort this out?!

"Brother Regol... Wanted to be certain they were dealt with. He's been working alone trying to bring down the heathens and he's been doing so in secrecy. As far as people are aware he is dead, its part of his cover. So long as the pirates believe he's dead they won't be on the lookout for him, its a perfect cover." What were they even talking about? What pirates? For all he knew he'd just declared that Link and the others were dead but he'd already opened his mouth and he had to commit at this point, otherwise everything was going to go south very quickly.

"We happened to run into him out on patrol today and he's asked us to bring him along. He explained he needs to speak to the Princess and that its supposed to be a private meeting, so his arrival wasn't announced. In fact the only one who probably knows he's here is Fiona." That should save their skins if he claimed that right? No one was going to go causing trouble if they thought they would get in trouble with her. Unless they went to confirm this with her, then his story would fall to pieces in a second. Caelan could only hope that they wouldn't question it considering Regol seemed to be a pretty big name around here and with luck they'd take his word for it. If not... Well, they could probably grab the Princess and run at this point!

[Assistant]
Gaios was the first to respond to Demoko's news. "If you'd like, one of us could go out there and act as a scout, see if there's been any movement among the Templars in the event they've gotten themselves into trouble. As long as the news of my defection hasn't become total public knowledge, I could probably leverage the lower-level Templars for information regarding our...allies."

Sophos was quick to react to that idea, however, displeasure evident in his voice. "And if everybody knows you fought alongside us against General Onyx, you'll be attacked on sight up there. We will need to be more careful than to show our faces directly." He put his hand on Gaios's shoulder, sighing. "Demoko, when we were on the bridge, you gave us rings that could disguise us. Do you have any more of those, or perhaps some magic that could shroud us from view entirely?"