[System]
Gender: Male

Appearance: Aside from a slightly crooked posture and a zit on his nose, Gork looks like an average goblin.

Personality: Gork is grumpy and easily irritated due to his high intelligence (at least, for an average goblin), finding the other goblins as dumb brutes who only want to feed and procreate. He wants to dedicate as much of his time as he can about learning about the world around him, especially about something he only knows is called a "human", as he remembers learning in a dream he had at birth. He is quite protective of the cup he has made from carving a round rock, as he uses it to mix his concoctions.

Past Life History: In his past life Gork was a scientist who buried himself in books, intelligent and ambitious as he was. Shame that he was absentminded too, as a shelf packed with far too many books came to be his demise as it fell down on him, followed by his laboratory exploding due to a vial that was left to overheat.

Talent:

* Human Language - Gork can read, write and speak the human language at a basic level. He is able to make stilted, but passable conversation with any human. That is, if any human is willing to speak to a goblin in the first place.
* Chemistry - Gork is quite adept with his rock cup, and provided the right ingredients, is capable of mixing various kinds of potions and poisons to aid in the survival of his clan.

Skill(s):
* Dark Eye - Allows one to see more effectively in the darkness. (Passive) E-Rank
* Absorption - A monster specific skill. This skill allows monsters to gain the skill(s) of the creatures they devour. The amount of skills gained in this process is limited to a 6 time usage. Choose your stolen abilities wisely. Uses will reset to 6 upon Ranking Up regardless of the amount you have used. (Remaining Uses: 6)

[Assistant]
When Briex first opened her eyes she almost immediately wanted to close them again as the light still hurt. Her curiosity won out though and she instead kept her eyes open until they started to adjust. When she could see the young goblin inspected her body instinctively knowing the name of every body part as she saw it.

When that was done she changed focus to her surroundings. Most of what she saw was lifeless rock except for one strange area that even more light came into, but she quickly realized there were also other goblins around. Since they might be hostile she decided to hide.

She silently dragged herself to a nearby dark shadow and tried to disappear in the darkness, unaware that her light skincolor rendered her attempts futile. Believing she was hard too see Briex continued to observe the other goblins, most of which were lying on the cave's floor.

One of them though was somehow balancing themselves on their legs. Impressed with that seemingly impossible feat Briex decided to imitate them. Using the cave wall as support the day old managed to stand up on shaky uncertain legs.

[User]
The cave and the hazy memories. That was all Et truly had at this point, like many of the other goblins in this cave. It was truly interesting to see that they all had just come to be, strange even to see this spectacle. Though, Et was not going to sit on her rump all day and do nothing, no she needed to be useful. That is why she silently thanked the light for coming to save her from this darkness, she opened her eyes and let them adjust.

Slowly, Et got up and gave nice long stretch so that she may go and do whatever she needed. She had been in this place for three days now and it still was exceptionally strange with all these different goblins around. She looked around the cave to see the other goblins; some sleeping, some waking up, one imitating another. She gave a sigh at these people before going off to search the cave walls for anything that seemed like the metal from her memories.

She wanted to make something, bend something like what she had been doing in her memories. Though, nothing would glisten and nothing wanted to just show itself to her. However, that did not mean she would simply give in.

[Assistant]
The endless abyss which enveloped him had consumed all of his senses, the whispering that had once been silently chattering to him had been silenced with a single boom. One that which dug him from up from his slumber, with the ocean of shadows enveloping his form had now pushed him to the top to hear a single command from somewhere. "Wake up..."

With the uttering of those words, the next things he could even roughly remember wasn't anything significant as the light flooded his eyes from his nap. The day of light burning them as they began to adjust to the sudden exposure, with the cave's darkness being sort of a comforting haven to him still. With three days worth of time wracking his brain over the memories in his head along with the fact of the other goblins around in the cave with himself whom he spent the last several days with. He felt different from them and gave a sigh out loud as he stood up from the crowd. Falling down shortly after with his shaky legs still unused to walking, however, with the assistance of a branch which he found among the edges of the cave. There were other sticks and twigs among the floor along with rocks and pebbles but this branch was perfect for his height with a few branches still on it and with a few snaps, it was mostly fine. Using the wooden branch as an additional limb to support him for walking, taking notice of other goblins beginning to stand as well.

Continuing to use the branch as a crutch, he slowly but surely exercising his muscles as he walked slowly outside of the cave to reach the outside. Poking his head silently as he peeked from left to right, with his eyes already adjusted from earlier before but he remained still at the opening of the cave unsure if he should go out further.


[System]
6 or High Powered

Higan (pronounced Hee-gan)

Race: Ramor (prounounced Ra-more) a race with a number of similarities to humans, they are humanoid mammals with the same number of appendages. The only significant differences are that they are more tolerant to temperature extremes and can last for longer periods of time without water, oxygen, food and sleep. Essentially they are an all-round hardier race of people. Their skin is thicker than a humans, and regardless of climate always dark olive in complexion. The average height for males is 5ft and females slightly higher, and their eyes are somewhat larger on average than a humans. Their life spans range around 60-70 years, even with their modern medical technology.

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Height: 5ft 2"

Weight: 80kg

Appearance: Higan has the characteristic dark olive skin of the Ramor, with broad shoulders and a noticeably muscular body. His eyes are green and his hair is buzz cut and dark brown. He has wide friendly features with an honest looking face, though splashes of scarring tend to mar this image somewhat. The scars are small and livid, running across both of his cheek bones in a seemingly random pattern. They came from exploding glass. In his cockpit he wears a simple pilot outfit which is dark green in colour. The technology of the Ramor has allowed them to produce high-durability weave armour, so despite the seeming simplicity of his clothes they provide him with roughly the same protection as a Kevlar vest.

Personality: Course, honest, rough, determined, intelligent, witty, good humoured.

Physical Traits: Higan is physically impressive, though well within human capability. He can bench roughly 300kg and run at 15mph, his extensive endurance training allows him to remain fighting fit for extended periods of time. His senses are roughly similar to a humans, though he has slightly greater vision, especially in low light conditions.

Skills: Higan is a soldier of the 12th Division, a.k.a L.A.S light armour and support. He has been trained for roughly 10 years to become adept at a number of combat orientated skills, namely.
Hand to hand combat
Firearms training
Endurance training
Scout training/Survival training
Ranger/Sniper training
Demolitions
Artillery
Armoured Support Platform (ASP) piloting

Background: Higan is a member of the 12th division of the Grent Republic's Army, a militaristic state in an alternate earth torn asunder by war. He is unmarried, after recently breaking up with his girlfriend and fiancée of three years, he was born in the republic to an officer of the army and found his path marked out for him.

Equipment: A.S.P
14" Steel Combat Knife
.50 calibre revolver, 6 shot chamber, 6 additional rounds.
Survival Kit (first aid, GPS, flare gun, etc.)

Higan's main combat capabilities are drawn from his A.S.P, or Armoured Support Platform, which is in colloquial terms a one-man mechanical unit with walker capabilities. It looks roughly like the image below.

A.S.P (130)
The A.S.P is actually in Ramor terms relatively low-powered, serving in a support and scouting role alongside mainline forces.
Height: 12ft
Width: 5ft
Weight: 30 tonnes
Length: 4ft

Armaments: The A.S.P is equipped with primary, secondary and tertiary armaments for a number of different combat scenarios.

Primary: 105mm Rifled A.S.P Gun (basically a tank gun) capable of firing HEAT warheads (similar to 3BK-31) smoke canisters and anti-personel rounds (which fire multiple flechettes). Due to the relatively small storage space for ammunition on the A.S.P 130 it may only carry five of each of these rounds. It can fire roughly twice per minute. Rounds are ejected when spent underneath the barrel through an automatic sliding door.

Secondary: 40mm anti-material rifle, RPM 20, 100 rounds, can be separated from the Mech without breaking, but it weighs just under a tonne and can't be fired by anything other than the mech.

Tertiary: Anti-Personnel Suppression, Chaingun, .50 cal, 300rpm, 1200 rounds.

Armour: The A.S.P 130 is constructed using plates of titanium sandwiching plates of depleted uranium with alumina tiles worked in (similar to Chobham armour). This gives it a relatively light-weight body while offering significant protection from anti-tank measures. The RHAe values for the armour are as followed.

Front: 800mm
Back: 400mm
Sides: 300mm
Arms: 250mm
Legs: 500mm
Optics: 100mm
Joints: 100mm
Top: 200mm

The Armour is specially designed to resist heat. It does not conduct electricity into the electronics or pilot area. Internal heating systems can adjust for extreme drops in temperature up to -100 degrees, at the cost of hydrogen fuel.

The A.S.P is also equipped with an Active Protection System, which, like modern day tanks, is capable of confusing heat-seeking and other guided missiles with large concentrations of infra-red.

Damage control systems: The A.S.P is equipped with a number of automatic systems similar to those seen in a modern day tank, ammunition is kept in self-contained storage spaces linked to their respective weapon, reducing chance of self-destruction. Fire is automatically fought by internal systems.

Filter System: The A.S.P is essentially a mobile bunker, filtering hostile elements from the air.

Optics: The A.S.P is augmented with an optical sensory unit with a 180 degree depth of view directly in front. This includes a zoom function of up to 60x, night vision, thermal vision, and electric vision. The main weapons are connected to this system and can target and adjust in 0.20 of a second. The pilot still has control over when to fire, and can over-ride targeting systems to manual control if they wish.

Computer System: Linked to Optics, the computer system on the A.S.P can provide the pilot with data based on a rough estimation of a target. It can estimate things like, thickness, speed and weapon calibres.

It has a backup system in place in the case of damage to main optics (which are located roughly where the head would be on a human.) where the armour peels back from directly in front of the pilot's head, allowing him physical view of around 90 degrees in front through a bullet proof double paned window. This is obviously a major weakness, and is only to be used as a last resort.

Physical Traits:

Strength: The A.S.P only has one available hand unless it abandons its secondary weapon. Regardless, with just the one hand it can lift up to twenty tonnes of weight. The crushing grip of the hand can easily bent metal or destroy rock. The legs of the walker are significantly stronger, capable of lifting up to 50 tonnes of weight each. Though the machine can't 'kick' it can jump up to fifteen feet into the air.

Speed: The A.S.P has been clocked moving at speeds in excess of 70mph, which is impressive for a walker, it is the fastest Armoured Support Vehicle in Ramor. Its acceleration is 7 seconds 0-70 mph.

Agility: The A.S.P is capable of manoeuvring in tight quarters, but regardless its size is still a limiting factor on its agility. Though far less cumbersome than a tank, it takes almost twice as long for an A.S.P to turn around than an ordinary human, it can however adjust its weapons incredibly quickly and its arms can move at roughly human speeds.

Speaker System: The A.S.P may project the pilot's voice through external speaker systems on the chest plate.

Comm Link: The A.S.P has com links similar to those in use in the modern day military.

Power System: The A.S.P is fuelled by a Ramor speciality, hydrogen gas fuel canisters with an effective life span of 20 hours in active use. They are stored at the rear and bottom of the mech (obviously protected by the back armour) and are roughly 60cm in diameter. They will explode if hit. This fuel source can be detonated by a self destruct sequence if the Mech is rendered inoperable or the user does not wish to be captured.

Entry Points: The A.S.P is entered normally through the front carapace, the Mech kneels while in disuse and the driver climbs the legs to enter the cockpit. If the Mech falls on its front special procedures blast a hole in the back armour for quick escape.

[User]
There was a sudden explosive sound of displaced air that dissipated in the surrounding forest in an eerie fashion. It was as if the land was so quiet and expansive it consumed all noise. Certainly the place would serve as an interesting answer to the age old riddle, if a tree falls in a forest and none should hear it, does it make a sound. In the Forest of the Lost, nothing as vibrant and changing as sudden sound could be permitted to exist. As if to disprove such philosophical musings, there was a devastating cracking and creaking of destroyed wood, and suddenly a great oak plummeted to the ground.

"Oops." The bearded pilot laughed, after his great metallic Walker's sudden appearance caused the premature demise of a once mighty tree of the forest. Perhaps heralding the coming of true modernity, with the power of steel and all its other great and terrible innovations, Higan had arrived in typical explosive fashion. Controlling the mobile A.S.P, or Armoured Support Platform, through a rift had certainly been an interesting experience. He was way off mission and he knew it, but the slimy bastard he was after had made it personal. Computers re-adjusted to the new terrain all around him, flickering through numerous vision types to track movement and anomalies, or rather, it was learning what was normal and safe for its pilot. After a few seconds of such analysis it could pick out the anomaly in milliseconds should it make an appearance.

It was called an Anomaly back in the Grent Republic, an outsider that had come through a rift and began causing havoc. The rifts were becoming a bit of a bastard, and the creature that Higan was chasing was a particularly nasty bugger. He'd taken to calling it 'Slimy' for reasons that were probably fairly obvious. There was bloodshed involved, and Higan didn't like it when his people got caught up in weird shit. He was going to go in and give the bastard hell.

Of course, he still had to find it, and he couldn't help but think that his task was going to be a trifle more difficult than he at first summarised. Entering a massive forest in the early hours of the morning was not what he was expecting on the other side of the rift. Once he found the thing though, well, the rifle in his Mech's right hand and the chain gun attached to its left would see it ripped asunder, and the tank gun mounted on its right shoulder would blow a hole in it wide enough for his A.S.P to sit in. It was a comforting thought, as he slowly swivelled his double man-height Walker hoping for the computer systems to whine at him. He knew things were getting serious when he actually had the voice software unmuted.

Inside the cockpit of the horrendously well-armed Mech the relatively short but stocky Pilot checked over his systems and equipment. He had a revolver on his hip and a knife at his breast. Though his only armour was a simple green pilot uniform that matched the camouflage of the A.S.P it had unnaturally dense qualities. He was about as ready as he was ever going to be, now it was just a matter of picking up a trace. Systems flashed at the corner of his eye on the screen in front of him, alerting him to a discovery of vital importance. Higan's tanned face lit up with a vicious grin.

"Game on."

[Assistant]
As if on cue, maniacal laughter cascaded through the foliage, shattering the quiet like thin ice. It dipped and swooped in maddening pitch, as if some cross between a loon and a hyena were screaming down a distorted tunnel. The caterwaul would descend into hysterical, burbling sobs, the likes of which would raise the hackles on the back of any half-sane man. Nothing on this green Earth or on any other could have, should have made such a noise.

It was far, but not more than a mile. Like likely far less. Absolutely no other life stirred. No bugs nor birds or bears. Nothing. The trees seemed to lean in as if to stare down on the foreigner. They would not be Higen's allies. They would block and obscure his sight, slow down his progress. This was gonna suck.


[System]
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Nationality: Russian
Tent: D

Reason for Joining The Sundown Company: They offered him a new arm.

Specialty:  Being a gym rat. Sasha excels at hand to hand combat, if not just by brute strength alone. He is, however, genuinely skilled at fighting. He's got a right hook like a freight train.

Personality:

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

But, despite being a killer for a living, Sasha isn't an evil man. The softer side of Sasha isn't something many people get to see. For one, he doesn't have many people to show it to, outside of his very small friend circle. Afraid of getting too close to other people, lest he be jaded, Sasha doesn't associate with others a whole lot. But when he's decided that you're his friend, a warmer, gentler giant begins to emerge.

Appearance:

Sasha is a very large, muscular man. He stands at six foot seven, has pale skin and dirty blonde hair that is kept in a neat buzz cut. His eyes are a gray-ish blue, and usually cold in appearance. They go just right with his perpetual frown. Sasha has several tattoos. His most notable tattoos are a compass that points West on his left chest, and a line of words in Russian on his arm. The words are now difficult to read due to a scar from a knife wound that runs right through the middle of them.

His right arm has been replaced with a high tech prosthetic. This bionic arm reads signals from his brain neurons and receives them just as his flesh and blood arm does. It's slightly stronger than his left arm, which is pretty strong.

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

History:

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

He did well in the military, got several promotions, and made a life for himself. However, it all came crashing down when he lost his right arm to an explosive. Sasha was dismissed from the army due to his injury. He became aimless, having done nothing else since he was a teenager. That's where Sundown found him.

The Sundown Company offered to pay him a very expensive, experimental prosthetic if he agreed to work for them. Sasha, having nowhere else to turn, did. A few months later, he was at Camp Sunshine with his shiny new arm.

[User]
Dustin

As the packed bus made its rough journey to Camp Sunshine all Dustin could think about is his mother. Why did she agree to move to the city, but then take her own life on the moving day? He could have began a new life with her. He clenched his eyes shut trying not to cry in front of his comrades. It's only been a few days since the suicide. If he already began to cry before they even made it to camp he would be seen as weak. While his eyes were shut the moment replayed in his mind. He saw the sunshine illuminating the perished crops and gnats dancing around in the air. His heart began to ache when he remembered the warm breeze as a loud clap exploded through the sky. As he felt the tears coming up through his stomach a mans voice distracted his thoughts. Something about South Africa and the weather. Dustin quickly wiped the moisture away from his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping that the men pressed up on both of his shoulders wouldn't notice. The smell of body odor didn't affect Dustin much due to his time on the farm dealing with fertilizers and animals.

When the bus rolled to a stop the man who talked about South Africa was the first to jump off. Dustin stood up and waited for most of the people to exit before grabbing his things and making his own exit. His legs still felt shaky from the rough bus ride in combination with his close break down. As Joe spoke Dustin slightly smiled. He saw Joe as the man who will allow him to begin a new life. With that, he felt excited for the camp activities to begin. Dustin analyzed the bulletin board for a little while longer than the other campers. He never got a good education with the death of his father and being the only farmer. When Dustin entered Tent C he noticed two bunk beds, one of which had a windbreaker on top. He walked to the unclaimed bunk and climbed on top, leaving his belongings under the bottom bunk. As Dustin laid on the very firm mattress his eyes began to water. He could finally let his mind wander and think about the tragedy, now that he was alone.

[Assistant]
The young woman peered out the window. Nothing but thick jungle for the last few hours. And the humidity, she couldn't possibly forget about that. Liliana had been fortunate enough to snag a seat adjacent to the window, though she was sandwiched in from the other side by some muscled man. What little breeze managed to find its way inside did nothing to help, the suffocating feeling not leaving her. Sure, she was used to living in a tropical climate for all of her life, but even the weather in the island wasn't anywhere near as humid. It was hot, but not in a torturous sense.

What the hell have I gotten myself into... she thought to herself, wondering for a split second whether they were heading into something much more insidious than they were originally led to believe. Lili had brought the only picture she had of her parents on the trip, and it was safely tucked away in the bag sitting on her lap with what little belongings were in her possession. When they hit a bump, Lili instinctively tightened her grip. At the moment, that bag meant the world to her.

Some time later, she noticed they were arriving at the camp. Lili couldn't wait to get off the bus; her body ached from sitting in the same position for so long and the trip had made her restless. She was dying to stretch her limbs, regardless of her petite frame she required as much space as the next guy for ultimate comfort.

The bus eventually came to a halt, and Lili stood up and followed the others outside. She pushed some wisps of hair away from her eye, curiously looking around the camp before a man stood in front of the group and introduced himself as Joe. Lili couldn't help but smirk. Okay Joe Schmo, so this is your camp... Lili listened to the man's instructions, which were rather straightforward and to the point. Somehow she was expecting something a bit more intense.

When the group was dismissed, Lili waited her turn to approach the bulletin board. She noticed she had been housed in Tent D with three other people, and she didn't waste any time heading in the direction the map had guided her to go to. If anything, Lili hoped to get a bottom bunk. Given her lack of height, she didn't feel like exerting much effort whenever she wanted to jump into bed, or jump out of it all the same.

[User]
It is so damn hot. The heat, the stifling humidity... All of this just screamed at Ramses to run away...

To be fair, Ramses comes from a hot place as well. It is just that the heat he grew up with and trained in is of the dry variety. This wet jungle heat is not doing him any favors. Sitting in a packed bus overflowing with what is essentially testosterone didn't help either. From his own perspective, every single passenger in the bus is a trained killer. He was one, and to be recruited into going to this 'camp' most likely meant that they were at least as good as he was, if not better.

Tugging at the canvas sack he brought with him, he started wondering about what the camp would be like. Would the organizers of this place really put a bus full of elite military personnel through group bonding activities? Fuck that. There isn't need. Everyone is trained to follow directions, to work as a team, to complete the objective through whatever means necessary.

The rickety rumblings of the bus came to a halt. They had arrived at their destination. About time. Ramses waited for his turn to fall out. Once on the ground, Ramses instinctively stretched out and groaned. Shaking out whatever rust the bus just gave him, he fell in line with the rest of his camp mates when a man named Joe stepped up and addressed them.

General military scare tactics. Don't die, don't run, my word is the only word. All that shit. Ramses had heard it a million times, well now a million and one. In any case, when the welcome speech ended, Ramses approached the bulletin board, and checked out his tent assignment. Tent D. Saving the best for last?

Heading over the his tent, he saw a short woman heading the same way. He approached, and spoke in a calm, but direct voice "Ms. Garcia I take it? I'm Ramses, it looks like we're sharing a tent?"

[Assistant]
Garrett
When one of his bunk mates entered the tent Garrett stood up, but the man just nodded at him, clearly he didn't wish to be bothered. Poor guy must be car sick. Some people don't do good on bumpy vehicles rolling through dense jungle humidity. But he did say a. "Hello. I'm Garrett, heading to the range, have a good one." It was a quick barrage of words, and then a half wave thrown over his shoulder as he shoved open the tent flap, and went back out into the humidity.

In order to keep himself tip top, he did a quick jog to the firing range. Kicking up little puffs of dust as he went. Passing other campers, and giving them a half wave as he passed by. In a camp full of cutthroat killers, it does help to be the one who was polite to the others. As others were scattering to their tents he made sure to file down their faces for later. They'd either be potential allies, or bitter rivals as inevitably the camp instructors would pit them against each other. It was a common tactic of training schools to pit groups against one another. As he passed, he was trying to determine who was going to make the cut, and who would end up a wash out early. But they weren't his problem yet.

When he finally made it to the range, and inspected it. He couldn't help but chuckle, some things no matter where you went never changed. And firing ranges were one of those things. You could be in South Africa, The United States, or some jungle camp for hardened killers, to be turned into mercenaries. And it'd still be the same. He walked over to admire the wide selection of weaponry but he settled on just two. The M16A4, and the classic Kalashnikov. Most modern military's base their platforms on both weapons so practice with either could possibly be with either of these weapons. After getting a few extra mags of 5.56, and 7.62 respectively he hit the range, starting with the 25, to 50, to 100, then to 300 meter targets. Hitting his targets with accuracy with single fire, and burst fire. Both weapons were smooth, and he could see why they were used so often. But it didn't compare to his standard weapon of use back home. The camp was soon filled with the rapport of his gunfire, as he practiced his day away.


[System]
Age: 33
Race: Terran
Homeworld: New Terra

---

(Image coming soon)

Adam is roughly 6' tall and weights about 180 lbs. He has dark brown hair and green eyes. He typically keeps his hair short on the sides, a little longer at the top but usually slicked back. He has a lithe, muscular frame thanks to his constant training in swordfighting, parkour and freerunning.

Childhood
Adam's life on New Terra never suited him. Born to a rich family made richer from their numerous investments globally and off-planet, Adam had everything in life handed to him. Being the youngest and most dolted upon, Adam developed a rebellious streak which often landed him in police custody or under house arrest. Finally tired of getting caught, he started training in parkour and freerunning.

By the age of 20, Adam had started his short-lived career thieving. He started off picking his targets carefully, making sure they were wealthy and very well off but on the other side of the planet. Eventually, his overconfidence caught up with him when he tried to steal a precious family heirloom from a counsellor. The counsellor happened to be good friends with his parents and Adam was made instantly. He was arrested and charged with grand larceny. His parents were furious. Adam had used their money to pull off the heists he had done in the past, including this one. They had enough and refused to bail him out.

After Adam was sentenced to 10 year in prison, DefCom intervened at his father's behest. The recruiter gave Adam two choices, either enlist or spend the best years of his life in jail. The decison was a no-brainer.

Military Life
Adam discovered while he wasn't the best marksman in his class, he was one of the best in close quarter combat. He had also taken up swordfighting as an elective and just like CQC, he scored at the top of his class. As he went through OCS, he found his strength laid in tactics and strategy but only did average with command.

After being briefed on the various areas of service, Adam chose to be a pilot. Always hoping that he would get off New Terra someday, he saw this career path as the best--maybe the only opportunity he would get to do so.

After graduating from flight school, he had joined various squadrons. Most of the time his squadron was on stand-by to help escort unexpected visitors, or they're patrolling a trade lane. One day, Adam was given the option to join the combat squadron Wylde Fyre to help investigate the mysterious disappearances at the fringes of League space. Just like 13 years ago, he accepted the transfer without hesitation.

Adam loves to smile, but he can't help himself when he's nervous or in an awkward situation. This tends to cause confusion with his friends and squadmates. Adam avoid explaining it, mostly out of embarrassment.

Adam is quite protective of his friends and squadmates. Some of his squadmates find his over-the-top desire to protect patronizing. Some find it misleading, thinking he protected them out of a deeper interest in them.

While military training and life have taught Adam to be more disciplined, his excitable self tends to show through when he has nothing to do. It's typical to see him with infosec testing simulations or scouring through data, or with engineering as a second set of hands.

Adam is the type that won't be satisified with things given to him. He's had enough of that in his childhood. It's one of the reasons why military life agreed with him better than people had expected.

* Standard issue pilot suit
* M47 tactical sword & M36 tactical knife
* M29 Combat Shotgun
* M8 Kenaz Combat Pistol
* Smoke Grenades

A hand wielding a sword, the blade pointed towards the nose of the fighter. The motif is located below the canopy and on both sides of the fighter.

[User]
Erien listened with some pride and satisfaction as her pilots reported in promptly. She gave a slight smile as she heard their comments about the situation, lauging softly as Nick's words come through:

"Roger that, 7. I'll make sure to give you the map next time, over".
Nyx checked in next, and she laughed again before she replied.

"Roger that, Four. Let's just shorten it down to four, that ought to help you out, over".

The others checked in, leading to the full squadron present. Control replied and confirmed their status.
"Wylde Fyre squadron, looking good. Ready for launch; catapults charging and hatches open. Brace for launch!"
The tunnels ahead of each fighter lit up with the receding circles of blue lights, and a final yellow one framing the launch doors themselves. There was a vauge tingling sensation Erien recognized as the magnetic charge built up around the fighter. As the repulsing force increased, the weight came off of the launch arm.
"Launch!" came the same voice, and with a sensation like a blow to her chest, the fighter blasted down the tunnel, the light blurring together into a blue haze, before the blackness of space burst into view around her, the ship receding in the rear cameras.
"Okay folks, tighten up into formation. Let's make this look good, since we're the first ones out here".
Ahead, the bright sphere of the planet loomed, partially occluded by the dusty, grey-brown of the worlds' moon. She held her course as a point of reference for the others around her to home in on, while she scanned the surroundings for the Claymore they were meant to escort. Moments later, as her helmet-mounted display tagged the shape of the multi-role heavy craft, the comm channel came to life with an unfamiliar voice.
"Hey there, Wylde Fyre squadron. This is Claymore callsign Eagle Eye. Good to have you with us and watching our back. We're steady on course for our recon flight, care to join us?"
"Roger that, Eagle Eye. We're coming over to join you right now, sit tight".
Erien lightly caressed her controls to change course, puffs of manoevering thrusters pointing the Sabre onto the right heading to meet up with the distant shape of the recon-fitted Claymore.
"All right, boys and girls. Split into two groups; three in close escort to Eagle Eye, four of us in two pairs in a wide spread ahead and on either side to intercept anything coming in. Olarin, Mallory and Wallon, stick with the Claymore. Hel'Kayik and Cavernmaw, you're together. Miles, you come with me. Keep your eyes peeled, everyone. We know there's something weird going on out here".

***

The planet now filled the full panorama out of the Sabre's canopies, and their orientation had change to match, settling in on course to escort the Claymore on its' recon flight over the settlements on the planets' surface below. "Beginning sweep," announced the same voice as before. A few minutes earlier, the carrier had announced it was holding between the moon and orbital distance, with reinforcements waiting.
"First scan complete," the Claymores crew reported, as the minutes crawled agonizingly past. "Moving onto next location. You still with us, Wylde Fyre?"
"Roger," replied Erien. "Still here, and watching out. Anything interesting, over?"
"Not yet, we'll keep you informed, over".
Erien clicked the mike in reply and shifted in her seat. The balance of keeping alert in what was essentially a 'do-nothing' role at the moment was taxing. She grumbled to herself and took a sip of water from the mouthpiece in her helmet, easy her dry muzzle a little. She was about to call and check in with the others, but a warbling beep from her instrument console and a flashing icon on her helmet display caught her attention.
"What the?" she murmured to herself, as she highlighted the icon. Her eyes widened as the image resolved into an inbound unknown contact... then several contacts.
"Eagle Eye, this is Wylde Fyre Lead. We have multiple inbound contacts, unknown origin and intentions. All Wylde Fyre units, stand to - looks like we have company. Miles, with me. Hel'Kayik, Cavernmaw, take spacing and follow us in. If they jump, stand by to jump back. The rest of you, keep that Claymore safe. This might be a decoy!"

She shifted her course and flared her engines, the extra thrust driving her onto an intercept course with the incoming vessels. As they grew closer, the Sabre's targeting systems resolve the fighter against its' onboard database; Arrow medium fighters. There were six in the group ahead, and as Erien closed in, they split into two groups, four diverting to head for four closing in on them with the remaining pair driving hard for the Claymore.
Definitely A diversion, she thought to herself. They wouldn't attack in such odds if it wasn't.
"Olarin, Mallory, Wallon; eyes to the rear. I think they're trying to bushwhack us, over"
Little sooner had the words left her muzzle than the fighters approaching began scraping space around them with their targeting systems, the electromagnetic emissions highlighted by the Sabres' systems. A harsh buzz indicated Erien had been locked onto and she hit her countermeasures and spiralled through evasive manoeuvers.
"All craft, craft are bandits, inbound and hot! Light 'em up!"

[Assistant]
Gurjan silently fiddled around with his control panel, the commander hadn't really said much directly to him, so he assumed everything was A-OK, still, couldn't hurt to keep a close eye on the ship's systems just in case something did go wrong. He perked up when control announced they would be launching. He had only once made the mistake of not bracing himself for launch, and that time had seen him hurtling through a training flight like an aimless fool. He stared straight ahead to the launch tube. The magnetic launch charged up, a feeling that made his fur stand on end.

Gurjan always liked to play a little game to keep his mind from dozing off in the moments before a launch. Guessing when the fighter would launch exactly. Mentally he counted down from three... Two...one... Nothing. Approximately two counts later, he was pressed into his chair by the acceleration. It was this moment for which Gurjan had signed in the first place. The feeling of being free from any larger mass, to be but a small speck hurtling through the Stygian black of space... He would have to write that one down after the mission. With learned movement, he wrested the sabre into formation behind the lead craft. It wasn't long until the mission objective reported in. Orders were clear, stick close to mission objective. One arm adjusted the sabre's throttle, another gently nudged the controls around to move into the new formation. For a few more moments, the Isorlai adjusted course, just one or two degrees at a time, before finally being satisfied with the angle with which he was following eagle eye

The minutes passed by slowly. As important as this mission likely was, it didn't change the fact that it wasn't particularly mentally engaging. Gurjan was somewhat struggling to keep himself fully alert. He knew that when things went south, a split second could mean the difference between success or failure. And yet he couldn't help himself dozing off ever so slightly. It was almost a good thing in a certain way that the routine of staring at a claymore's exhaust trail was broken by a ping from the commander. It took him just a moment to notice that which the commander had called to attention. He was now completely alert and awaiting orders. Roger wild fyre lead, keeping bogeys in sight. Over

His thoughts raced, he got a look around to see where he rest of the squad were, if shit hit the fan he would need to know exactly were his wingmen were before everything turned into a furball. Perhaps luckily, he didn't need to make a call for himself as to the intentions of the tallied bogeys, as the commander ordered all weapons hot. He just needed to follow orders, and those orders right now were to keep the rear flank covered. Roger, they aren't gonna mess with our escort as long as I'm still here. He kept his eyes starkly on the arrays of sensors and radars before him, ready to snap the sabre around and open fire the moment someone decided to rear their head.


[System]
* Age: 228
* Gender: Female
* Race: Sentient Undead (Human)
* Appearance:
 Though at one time as shiny and luminescent as pictured, Tyaethe's armour has lost much of its lustre due to a combination of two hundred years of constant use and an inability to perfectly clean it whilst in use. The result is a blurring of the intricate detailing on the paladin's shield and armour, and the shining metal is now a dull grey verging on black—when not coated in blood. It got cleaned. The scarf obscures how the throat is heavily armoured, beyond what one would expect of such an ensemble.
Though none still in the knights can say for certain what she looks like underneath all the armour, her eyes are clearly an unusually brilliant red and her hair white. Since the armour's on the intentionally bulky side and doesn't come off, it's not quite clear what Tyaethe's height is... though probably over six feet. Currently, she seems to be trapped in appearance as a child... though her armour's size doesn't quite mesh with the old paintings.
* Personality: If there's one thing that all her instructors tried to do, it was to cure Tyaethe of her temper. Fervour and determination in a battle is all well and good but carrying that attitude over to your everyday life? Despite their efforts, it was a fruitless endeavour and the tall paladin is as irascible as ever, though with enough self-control to avoid the worst outcomes.
At heart, Tyaethe is a dutiful knight and a good person. So despite her frequent anger, she has never once backed down on her duties or struck out at a child or someone truly innocent, even if rather aggressive verbally. Her unfaltering devotion to her duty—or anything else, as she seems too stubborn to ever back down—is best exemplified by her continued presence in the Iron Rose Knights, despite the drift from being a religious order.
Something more familiar to the newer recruits than the veterans is her sullenness and risk-taking. Not a behaviour always evident but at the same time a concerning trend, as if her patience for something is running out.
One trait carried over from her normal life is a dislike of being seen out of her armour. Since Elionne's death, this has exacerbated into a full refusal to remove it for any reason short of their first captain's return. Partly, at least, this is to prevent anyone from learning of her undeath and to preserve the idea of an immortal knight.
* Brief Backstory: Tyaethe was born to a minor noble family and, as the only child, was expected to carry on the family's duty as knights. To this end, at the age of seven, her education was entrusted to an important but highly religious duke that owed her father his life. It was for this reason that instead of continuing on to be a squire, the young Tyaethe pledged her service to the church and became a paladin.
As an adult, her strength and steadfast service was admirable, even though her hot-headed attitude caused friction with some of those she had to work with. It was for this reason that she was granted the honour of protecting the High Priestess and, when reports of an incoming force surfaced, left Falthir in order to conduct the fighting when she wouldn't be at risk. Naturally, this backfired and it was only Elionne's intervention that prevented the deception from being successful due to the diversion of the guards.
Owing the maiden for fulfilling her duty where she could not, Tyaethe swore to serve her in life and in death, second only to the goddesses. Part of the Iron Rose Knights since their inception, Tyaethe's death came in a pitched battle where their foes managed to split herself, Elionne, and some less experienced knights from the majority of their comrades.
The reason for her survival has never been perfectly explained. Some of the knights assumed it was just sheer luck and the high level of mana in the region and the more religious assigned it to divine intervention. Some of her detractors have even accused Tyaethe of dabbling in necromancy. As for the paladin herself, she cites her oath and willpower, as well as a refusal to go down whilst Elionne was still in danger. The fact of her undeath has been kept a secret within the knights, to cultivate a reputation as an immortal holy warrior, though doubtless people have guessed the truth.
Tyaethe has been unsurprisingly steadily more bitter since the original captain left, wanting to know why and find out what happened. Despite this, she has faithfully explained new captains their duties and guided them through it, even as the knights have drifted further and further from the religious unit she joined.
* Equipment: Forged nearly two hundred years before, the styling of Tyaethe's armour is antiquated to say the least—though the decorations, obscured as they are, resemble the current pieces made on the behalf of the church. Few people can move efficiently in such weighty protection, let alone adjust to how it restricts movement in order to fight but even going for its vulnerabilities leads to a difficult time in scoring a fatal injury. Of particular note is the one addition made before Elionne left: a reinforced gorget, to make even accidental decapitation even less likely.
Her other armament consists of a sword that most refuse to treat as one and an immense shield. Both are as long as she is tall and the sword itself unreasonably broad and tough; it crushes as much as it actually cuts. The shield, scratched though the design is over the years, contains a wolf rampant in its design—a lesser-used Mayonite symbol.
All three pieces were blessed and enchanted to regenerate under moonlight, since even before Tyaethe's death they took vast amounts of punishment and repairing them manually was prohibitively costly.
* Skills: Raised as a member of the nobility and intended to become a far more ordinary knight, Tyaethe knows falconry, board games, how to ride, and the social graces needed for polite company. All of these skills, save the riding—and that relies on draught horses in her case—are incredibly rusty skills due to neglect. Her literacy and ability to recite scripture on a whim, due to her training as a paladin, are as strong as ever.
In combat, Tyaethe's immense strength and armour leads to an approach best likened to an oncoming tide: she's not the most agile or that hard to hit but actually stopping her or resisting the offence is futile. Her speed can also be deceptive; she chooses to adopt a slow approach for psychological reasons and is more than capable of surging forwards to strike down a threat. Though a shield might seem redundant with such armour, she happily uses it as a second weapon or to force an opening from someone hoping to budge her defence.
With over a century of experience on her side and an initial training in the arts of warfare, Tyaethe is also a valuable tactical and strategic source—provided that you ask her opinion when she's not agitated in some manner and ensure that the reason Tyaethe suggests she be put in the thick of it is due to needing an immovable obstacle.

[User]
True to his word, Tiral had delivered the mistress to the Captain following his own studies, and, as he had expected, was told that he was going to be dragged along for formalities' sake. The thinly-veiled look of irritation was soon followed by one of dejected acceptance. An order like this wasn't something he was in any position to contest, and though he would have preferred to become something more useful to the Knights as a whole, this occasion seemed to take a higher priority to his superiors.

So the afternoon passed without incident as the ice mage returned to his room to find some sort of outfit that might possibly make himself look passable in any sense of the word. Even if he was a member of the Iron Rose, his origins were still low enough that it was likely that people would look down on him. That plus the fact that he funneled more money into research materials and magical equipment (that dagger sure as hell wasn't cheap, after all!) meant that was was somewhat... Unprepared for the event.

With a sigh, the ice mage dug through his own wardrobe, praying that there might have been something in there that would not let him be the laughingstock of the event. By some miracle, at least, there seemed to be some sort of clothing in that shallow closet that he called his own that wasn't picked out solely for comfort or utility. A pair of dress pants and some sort of shirt that looked... Sort of fancy? There was also a pair of shoes that didn't look like they had seen the hell of a battlefield lying around...

So at the very least, he wasn't going to look like a COMPLETE fool.

---

With his dagger concealed under his shirt and an annoyed expression that betrayed his current opinion on the matter, Tiral continued walking calmly behind the rest of the entourage. Everyone else seemed to have deeper pockets and more frivolous spending habits than he did (given how fancy everyone else seemed to look now), which ended up making the ice mage unsure how how much or how little he stood out. It'd be best if he could blend into the background during this ordeal, but given the invitation (and judging by how Sir Ian was currently being mobbed by women) the chances of that seemed very unlikely.

Before he could even try to do so, however, Tiral caught a glimpse of the Captain being...
...
Did that count as sexual harassment?

"...Uh... I... I'm not going to ask..." he sighed, turning away and shaking his head as the group entered the venue. It was every bit as grand as Tiral had expected, and though he was still averse to even come here in the first place, it wouldn't have been a lie to say he was impressed by the grandeur of it all.
...
Now, if only had this been under different circumstances might he not have been so irritable. Social gatherings were like the bane of his existence. The heat, the sweat, the superficiality of it all...
At least magicians told you when you screwed up. With these people, everything was all veiled behind smoke and mirrors.

[Assistant]
Earlier on Viviane ever the one to be prepared had a dress that she ended up taking a bit of time to make sure it was on correctly. Due to her lack of maids to be able to help her it took awhile to make sure it was on perfectly. Beyond that she couldn't help but believe that even if she was doing it alone she grew learning how to do these by herself should the need arise. Despite not believing she would need to do such so soon. She chose to pick a elegant like dress that did not impede her movement should the need arise for her to run. The navy dress Showed quite a bit of her back though and a bit of her chest. Some would say it was a daring choice due to the amount of skin it showed but it was honestly one of her better choices. In the end she decided to forego her traditional style for her hair and fixed it in a more elegant braid suiting the occasion she thought to herself. Standing up she walked towards the large mirror adorning her borrowed room spinning around to see how it looked. Deciding to use a more subdued colors rather than her vibrant red for color choice really made her seem like a different person she supposed.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Walking down towards the ball room her large heeled boots seemingly clacking with each step as she looked around for the captain or at least a familiar face. Being somewhat paranoid at what could happen she did not go unarmed. a small dagger was hidden expertly on her body as well. Reaching the ball room she didn't have to wait long to spot the captain before she was given a odd greeting. Seeing it as a good time as any to approach she stepped forward a demure smile gracing her lips. "Ah honored Captain it is a pleasure to see you again." Viviane spoke up as she faced the captain. "Pray tell how do you fare this eve?" She added as well her lessons from her childhood on how to act in these events showing itself.


[System]
BASIC
Goes By (Nicknames): Maleficent (alter-ego); The Winged She-Elf; She-Devil, Devil's Incarnate (by Thorin); Delva, God-Mother (by Fili & Kili).
Royal Titles: Lady of Ambaróna/"Fangorn".
Other Titles: First Commander of Isengard, Sauron's Most-Trusted Servant (as Maleficent); The Watcher; Guardian of Durin's Folk.
Age: 5,739 (Looks 37-38)
Gender: Female
Race: Elven Hybrid (Sindarin and Noldor Bloodlines)
Other Bloodlines: Silvan and Teleri (Through her grandfather's relatives)
20/20 Elvish (10/20 Sindarin, 6/20 Noldor, 2/20 Silvan, 2/20 Teleri)

APPEARANCE
Face Claim: Angelina Jolie
Hair Color: Medium Brown
Eye Color: Yellow-Green (Boldly-luminous when furious/angry)
Skin Tone: Creamy
Height: 5' 8"
Weight: 119 lbs
Body Build: Slim

Finger Claws:

Curved Daggers:

Combat Outfit:

Dresses for Two Towers/Return of the King

Wing-Cloak

PERSONALITY
OVERALL PERSONALITY
Likes: Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, Ents, Happiness, Animals, Peace, Music, Plant-Life, Training, Flying/Sightseeing, Yearly Seasons.
Dislikes: Death, War, Chaos, Greed, Spiders, Maleficent, Orcs, Sorrow.
Strengths: Fighting/Combat, Flight, Knowledge, Wisdom, Harsh Temperature Resistance, Protective/Affectionate Nature, Keen Senses, Agility.
Other Powers: Wallcrawling, Banshee Scream, Enhanced Strength, Telepathy, Telekinesis.
Weaknesses: Stubbornness, Loneliness, Anger, Vindictiveness, Split Personality.
Fears: Sauron, Losing Family.

Elegant | Unpredictable | Capable | Headstrong | Mysterious | Maternal | Observant | Intelligent

Everyone believed Saeril to be born as a creature of chaos and pure evil, but they just do not know the true story. In actuality, Saeril is a good-hearted, nurturing individual, who highly valued the peaceful natures of Middle-Earth, whilst having the passion to support and protect its various realms and inhabitants. Born during the First Age, Saeril is a strong-willed she-elf, and the last of an ancient Elven clan from Fangorn Forest. A very intelligent, loyal-to-the-bone perfectionist, who stays true to her word, she focuses on finding the best intentions for others, to the point of making great judgment calls, as much as willingly risking her life, in the process.

From the despair of her devastating past, following the Deceiver's corruption upon her mind, Saeril is truly hurt and very lonely inside, having to be caused by the guilt and horror of her cruel and malicious deeds, as well as the amount of pain and trauma she had to endure. After being rescued by Gandalf the Grey, she was left "more Orc than Elf", while her other alter-ego "Maleficent", a psychopathic representation of her corruption, still lingers within her mind. However, after Sauron's defeat, this other personality dissipated, giving back her natural Elven beauty.

The ultimate goal was to redeem and dissipate this inner darkness from within, but she never anticipated it to be a challenge when she rekindled herself with her Dwarven godsons Fili and Kili, whilst having to closely bond with a young she-elf named Yavanna, whom she had grown to love and deeply care for, as if she were her own daughter. Determined to protect both the Sons of Durin and the Bright Star of Middle-Earth, Saeril will become extremely aggressive and violent, whenever someone threatens, or has inflicted any sort of harm to them; as this contrasts her more-gentle nature, she will be blunt and gladly let the offenders know the price. In addition, since witnessing the death of Fili, she will go to great lengths, if it means to prevent Kili and Yavanna from falling under the same fate.

Both as "Maleficent" and herself, Saeril is a ruthless, immensely-formidable warrior in her own right; despite withholding a certain elegance, she's truly a very deadly foe for anyone who'd dare challenge her personally. A vast majority of her strength came from the enchantment Sauron had placed upon her, as well as the supernatural connection he was able to forge between them; even while she was formerly his chief of the Isengard legion, she possessed a number of abilities that have allowed her to stand her own, and even overpower the most skilled of individuals. Due to this connection, she's able to enhance these abilities. She also shows herself to have great telepathic power; either taught or naturally inherited from her parents and/or ancestors, she can read the minds of others, conjure up visions through physical touch, and receive thoughts from a certain distance.

Saeril will not hesitate to comfort, guide, or advise others when they seem to need it. Proud, proper, and almost-completely fearless, she will never bow to anyone she disagrees with. Evident by her relationship with Thorin Oakenshield, it's complicated when it comes to terms of the trust; she betrayed him (as he claimed) by "stealing" the starlight jewels from his treasure hoard for King Thranduil. Although she was claimed as not "trusting", Saeril openly showed that she cared a great deal for him, saving his life multiple times on different occasions.

BACKGROUND
Place of Birth: Fangorn Forest (Also known as Ambaróna).
Family:
- Kili Durin (Godson; Alive) (Dwarf)
- Fili Durin (Godson; Deceased) (Dwarf)
- Dis Durin (Co-parent; Alive) (Dwarf)
- Vili Durin (Co-parent; Deceased) (Dwarf)
- Hermia (Mother; Deceased) (Noldor Elf)
- Lysander (Father; Deceased) (Sindarin Elf)
- Ulla (Aunt; Deceased) (Sindarin Elf)
- Kinloch (Uncle; Deceased) (Sindarin Elf)
- Kriva (Grandmother; Deceased) (Noldor Elf)
- Disgla (Grandfather; Deceased) (Silvan/Teleri Elf)
- Fidnai (Great-Grandmother; Deceased) (Teleri Elf)
- Sahov (Great-Grandfather; Deceased) (Silvan Elf)

Other Relations:
- Gandalf the Grey/White (Mentor/Friend; Alive) (Maiar)
- Thorin Oakenshield (Friend; Deceased) (Dwarf)
- Aragorn II Elessar (Friend; Alive) (Man)
- Lord Elrond (Acquaintance; Alive) (Half-Elf)
- Tauriel (Acquaintance; Alive) (Silvan Elf)
- Haldir (Acquaintance; Alive) (Silvan Elf)
- Gimli (Acquaintance; Alive) (Dwarf)
- Thranduil Greenleaf (Acquaintance/Friend; Alive) (Sindarin Elf)
- Legolas Greenleaf (Acquaintance/Friend; Alive) (Sindarin Elf)
- Yavanna Undomiel (Friend/Daughter-Figure; Alive) (Elven Hybrid; Mortal/Sindarin/Noldor)
- Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrine Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck (Acquaintances/Friends; Alive) (Hobbits)
- Azog the Defiler & Bolg (Enemies; Deceased) (Gundabad Orcs)

[User]
Obviously, Beorn didn't have many companions as of late, but for Saeril to cross paths with him, he was only viewed as a victim of tragic circumstance. Someone that was pitied upon. "Do not worry about yourselves; you'll be safe here tonight...", the wizard trailed off and muttered under his breath, though he knew Saeril would be the only one to hear it. "I hope".

Saeril hoped that would be true, but then she figured that as long as Beorn walked about outside, she figured that they would be fine from their hunters. Carefully, she and Fili led the girl towards a spot in the hay where she would be able to sit down and rest; a spot Fili had, once again, managed to find, and set up. They were careful with Yavanna, and Saeril decided to keep her cloak on as slept on top of a blanket, and some hay, while letting the princess lay her head on her chest, like a child. Fili and his brother were not too far away, having to sleep next to them the whole night.

That same night, nobody noticed Beorn in his strong male form, as he enters the house. No one, except Bilbo, noticed him.

[Assistant]
As Fili and Saeril helped her. She pressed a soft kiss to the Dwarf's cheek...giving him a soft smile. Yavanna was thankful for his and Saeril's help. Once she got comfortable on the floor...she tried to get some sleep. The pain in her arm died down slightly...but it felt sore and a little numb. But she felt comfortable, sleeping like that near the elder she-elf. Feeling quite safe, with her and the boys close by.

During the night, the Dwarves were snoring. Bilbo was laying awake; as he couldn't fall asleep. He had pulled out the ring from his pocket, inspecting it. When he heard the door open...he quickly tucked it inside. He was curious and watched the large man walk into the kitchen. He wasn't sure, if he noticed him or not. But Bilbo quickly looked away...before managing to get some sleep that night.

When he woke up the next morning. A rather large bumble bee was sitting on his nose. Everyone else was awake...sitting at the breakfast table. Yavanna seated besides Fili. Kili on her other side, with Saeril. Breakfast was being served. After Bilbo swatted away the bees...he made his way over towards the breakfast table, to join the group.

Thorin was the only one not sitting at the table, He was leaning against one of the pillars. Deep in thought and quite.

[User]
Fili blushed at the affection that the girl had managed to surprise him with. As fond as he was of her, he honestly didn't expect such an action to be presented. That was when he knew: She must be looked after, and protected. For that, he made a mental note to keep his word.

Upon Gandalf's request, Beorn was reluctant to beckon the dwarves to sit at this large table where they could eat and drink. Saeril was relieved that her companions were now being accepted by the great beast, otherwise, it would have turned into a jeopardizing predicament that could turn messy very quickly. However, she kept her presence with the ones she had grown to care for and love.

"So, you are the one that they call Oakenshield", Beorn growled as he poured milk into each of their mugs. It would seem he had at least heard the tale of Thorin before. "Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

[Assistant]
Yavanna took notice of the tall man; taking in his features. The hair, his gravely tone of voice. His entire presence. He seemed bit reluctant about the Dwarves, but due to Gandalf and Saeril, he offered his services. She took a sip of her milk, once he poured her some. After she thanked him gently.

Thorin rose a slight eyebrow. "You know of Azog?" he asked, turning to face the Shapeshifter. "How?"


[System]
Age: 16

Gender: Female

Themesong: The Valedictory Elegy / Hedgehog's Dilemma / Cold Rain
Class: Bladeknight

Appearance: Hazel is a youthful girl with soft white skin. She has long straight red hair that reaches down to the small of her back. She has a small frame, and stands at a rather average height of 5'3. Hazel has a heart-shaped face adorned with deep green eyes. Hazel is graceful,and is deceptively strong despite her petite appearance. She is sure of step and has an almost commanding gait, oft earning the attention of others in the room, appearing as if she is the definition of 'confidence', whether or not this is true.

History: Hazel never really knew her parents, and has never experienced a conventional domestic lifestyle. At a very young age Hazel found herself abandoned into the foster care system, her birth parents unable and unwilling to support the child they refused to get rid of. Hazel bounced around foster homes, but never had good experiences in any of them. She lacked any sort of parental guidance, never able to call any of her foster parents 'mom' or 'dad'. As expected from one raised in such a difficult environment Hazel became a 'problem child'. The apathy of her foster parents turned to resentment, and Hazel's difficult home life turned worse as they began to hate her. Hazel, despite being a seemingly normal girl, had trouble making friends at her school, and she became aggressively anti-social during this time. People began to shut her out, and she found herself without any sense of self-worth, believing herself to be useless. As time progressed this shot sense of self-worth morphed into a very aggressive ego, forcibly asserting herself as 'better' then those around her to compensate. AS she made the transition from Middle to High School it was revealed to her that her current foster parents decided to get rid of her, enrolling her in AcadeMMO.

As she made the transition into AcadeMMO she thrived. She took quickly to her lessons, and naturally picked up the art of swordplay. Some would call her a prodigy, and this only served to feed into her growing ego. Other people began to take an interest in her, and suddenly she found herself near the top of the social food chain of AcadeMMO, her skills attracting friends. As people flocked around her she put on the mask of someone she wasn't, and slowly began to mimic the way her friends acted, becoming a regular kid. A regular kid with a massive ego masking a crushingly low sense of self esteem, but a regular kid nonetheless. Despite all the people around her Hazel still feels alone.

Statistics:
 When it comes to fighting, Hazel holds a simple philosophy: The best defense is a strong offense

 - Level - 2
 - HP - 70 (7)
 - MP - 30 (3)
 - Attack - 35
 - Magic - 10
 - Speed - 22
 - Accuracy - 15
 - Defense - 5
 - Evasion - 5
 - Resistance - 5

Spells/Skills:

True Strike: Finishing Move [2]- This move is Hazel's self-perfected finisher. The move is designed to finish a weakened enemy, and is only usable if the enemy *is* weakened. She targets the weakened enemy, and her blade pulses with magic energy. The attack will finish off simple creatures and other weak enemies, and will merely launch an blow with an additional 15 attack at stronger enemies. At higher levels the move can kill stronger creatures. Consumes 20 MP. Command: "Let's end this!"

Hemorrage [1]- Hazel allows the magic inside her to guide her blade, and finds an artery. The skills adds an extra 5 Attack to her blow, and causes the enemy to begin bleeding. If the enemy does not have blood the skill does not work, for obvious reasons. Consumes 10 MP. Command: "Bleed!"

[User]
Joe's breath halted, he had never heard of this summoner class before. That wasn't surprising, the only classes he really knew were the martial classes. He did have some limited information about Magi's, like clerks but that was really it. Oh well, it was just a Magi class. He was bound to work with them anyway. Yet, he still felt this strong urge to bounce. Maybe he was alright, though if he made one mistake Joe would leave, he would at least attempt to befriend the guy.

"Lets do the Cockatrice Hunt. I'd like to fight it. Besides, it has the most rewards. So that's pretty cool.", it seemed like it was the strongest of them all, and that was Joe's goal.

Fight, get stronger and fight stronger people. This would also be a good way of gauging the strength levels of the exbeasts per rank. It was advised to have three people so it would be best if they sought for someone else.

"So, lets search for someone else around here.", Joe proposed. "I'm a striker. I have no hatred for Exbeasts, they did me nothing wrong so that should be fine."

"Now, lets go look for someone else to join this club"

[Assistant]
_Japanese? He's talking shit about me. He's **definitely** talking shit._ Hazel let out a huff. _How dare he. I'm over here, trying to help out someone weaker, and this asshole is talking has the gall to talk about me in front of me, using words I can't understand._ The fact that Ryouta might be saying something else didn't even cross Hazel's mind.

Hazel got into the face of the upperclassman. "Listen here... you... jerk! If you have something to say about me, say it to my face!" Hazel, at this point, was fuming, hands balled up into fists at her side. _Where the hell does this guy get off acting superior to me? Hmph!_

[User]
**"It IS to your face. You little peepsqueak!"** Ryouta let go of Hayato's shoulder and turned to look down on her. Now everyone could see how volatile she was, what kind of drugs did she eat for breakfast!? Or was she overcompensating for her short stature? He looked at the way her fists balled up, any sign of aggressive movement and he would react to it. That'll be a chance to teach her about how much 'protection' Mages needed.

Gosh. He could not believe they let someone like her into the academy! Like yesterday's attempt at manslaughter isn't enough, now she's out for more blood!

[Assistant]
John was surprised that the Striker had no problems with Ex-Beasts, a lot of students Summoners included, seemed to at the very least dislike them."Oh yeah before I forget my name is John, what should I call you?" To be honest he also wanted to ask what weapon he used, but he didn't want to make it oblivious he had no idea what a Striker was, so he kept quiet about it.

Instead he focused on finding someone to be the last member of their party. _"A Cleric might be useful or maybe a Binder." _ Even though he had two Classes he preferred, it still wasn't easy to find a single person in this mass of people.

[User] "I'm getting real tired of you!" Hazel shouted, as she cocked back her fist. If Hazel was good at anything, it was picking fights with people larger then her. Upperclassman? Male? She cared not. Hazel sent a punch flying directly towards Ryouta's face.

[Assistant]
Ryouta saw the fist coming, he knew she would try something like this! He leaned back then swayed to the side, letting her fist pass inches away from his jaw before spinning around on his heel to face her again. He was suprisingly quick on his feet for most people's expectations of a Magi. Most thought they were slow and pampered, dragged down by their frilly clothes and prissy attitudes.

"**What are you trying to do with those puny arms, shortstuff?"** He goaded, wagging his finger at her in a "Nu-uh" manner.

[User]
Soka had asked four people total if they were interested in going on a mission with him, and so far everyone had declined.

_Jeez this sucks. Can't a guy catch a break around here?_ Sighing. _Forget it. I'll do some missions in a couple of weeks when I've met some more people._

Having given up, the red-brown haired Soka decided to go outside. He was moving through the lobby toward the main entrance, when he saw two males (Joe and John). _Just two? Maybe they have room for one more?_ But he was out of energy from asking the others from before.

About fo leave, he looked into the crowd and happened to see a red haired girl throw a punch at someone. Soka blinked and walked in that direction, definitely not getting close to any action that may take place, but to a place where he could watch.

[Assistant]
"Nah, she's just sort of what they'd call tsundere," began Hayato as the magi spoke to him in their shared language. Hazel wasn't having any of it though, and drew back her fist after another moment of taunting. With a shout she tried to punch the mage; Hayato started to move to stop them, beginning with,

"Whoa, Hazel, wait--"

But the mage barely dodged the punch, spinning out of the way, just in time for Hayato to catch it. With his face.

"--HIDEBU!"

Puny arms or not, Hazel was full of feminine indignation at the moment, thus her punch sent Hayato flying head over heels, bouncing comically along the ground until he finally landed head first, and slowly collapsed into a face down, ass up position. As he slowly lifted his aching head, exposing a black eye and swollen lip, a hissing trail of smoke curled into the air from the bright red imprint of a fist.

"Hayshel, maybe yew should come wiff me, and da udda guy go...wiff dem.." he managed, before fully collapsing.

[User]
His eyes got distracted by the big group again, this time a fight was erupting. The same midget girl that dared to challenge Hayato and beat him, the legendary stereotypical popular girl herself seemed to be in a verbal confrontation with this other guy that he hadn't seen before. She was aggressively attacking him verbally and he responded similar, though a little bit more on the defensive. She looked like she wanted to hit him and he looked like he was preparing to defend against it. That would be a dead game, he heard from Hayato that her offense was dangerous but her defense. If he really wanted to win he had to strike first and strike decisively.

Though he never saw this guy before. Perhaps he was a high rank too. He definitely seemed older so it was probable true. That would mean that this would be a fight between two high ranked people. Joe's blood started boiling, a smile cracking on his face from just watching the situation. He took a few steps forward to get in close proximity of it all, noticing Hayato in the corner of his eye he gave no attention to him. Watching the situation and thinking about how to escalate it.

That one popular girl threw the first strike, as he had predicted but the other guy was fast, faster than Joe. He was barely able to dodge that punch, seems like their speeds were kind of similar.

Hayato got caught up it in all and caught a clean one in the face. Giving him a rough beating making him look like your average domestic violence victim.

"Geez, you really did get your ass kicked. Didn't you? I'll count this as the second time. That means you got your ass kicked by a three foot girl twice.", Joe laughed at the situation. "Now I get why you want to be stronger", he teased.

"That was for betraying me for the popular girl. I thought we were going to team up bro. What happened?"

He looked around to see if he could recognize a cleric or a binder "Also, is there a cleric or a binder around this level? I heard I do good with them", he winked at Hayato because he had gotten that information from him.

[Assistant]
Tsundere indeed! He visibly cringed with each thud as Hayato bounced along the ground, there were more than several onlookers now. Some of the students stared agape in horror at the scene after they narrowly avoided the human projectile,

**"Look what you did! Mini-me!"** Ryouta exclaimed. He did not expect HIM, of all people, to come in between them.

_Hayshel, maybe yew should come wiff me, and da udda guy go...wiff dem.._

Da udda guy? Maybe he meant Ryouta.

**"I told you she was crazy man!"** He rushed over to check on Hayato, at least the guy was still breathing.

**"Is there a Cleric around here!?"** He kept his eye on 'Hayshel', now he knew her name. He would remember it. Oh yes, he would remember it.

[User]
Soka burst into laughter, seeing one guy get knocked across the room.

"Wow HAHAHAHA he got whopped that bad by a single punch," Soka laughed. "Ah, that cheered me up."

He was going to walk over to the guy that got hit to see if he was okay, but someone else walked over to him so he would probably be fine.

[Assistant] (Accidental post)


[System]
Appearance: Malachi is a man of imposing stature, standing at 6'8" and weighing over 350 lbs, solid of physique and feature, with enough muscle and scarring for a small army. However, an extravagant hairdo and easy smile prevent him from coming off as brutish or scary. While his dark eyes and steely gray hair don't do much to offset his desaturated palette, he does have a few dyed streaks in his 'do and the green of his outfit catch the eye, specifically the green cloth decorating his steel-ridden leather armor over murky black cloth pants.

Age: 42

Race: Half-elf

Abilities: Malachi possesses the upper limits of human strength and constitution. His is an almost supernatural fighting sense; acutely aware of his surroundings and himself, he wields astonishing finesse and martial prowess. Thanks to magical stimulants, he also boasts great regeneration and not half-bad magical resistance.

Skills: Malachi's ability is more than skin deep, not just natural talents and magical enhancement. His origins and the ensuing life of fighting, long before he rose to the status of 'champion', demanded unwavering, constant education and training. He worked hard over decades to become a masterful brawler and whispered-of warrior, filling himself with expertise, tactics, and mastery. However, fighting is not at all who he is. Malachi is a skilled hunter, builder, charm-maker, and companion. He boasts a number of mundane skills related to upkeep and mending, though none terribly extraordinary, despite his own extreme overstatement of his cooking ability.

Personality: Powerful, genuine, and full of life, Malachi is a vivacious warrior. Though respecting of strength, he doesn't believe it is anything more than a tool, and though lauded as many by a hero, he decries heroism and his own status. Malachi desires no particular glory nor strives for any particular ideals. Instead, he only wishes to live truly and fully, and for others to do the same.

To that end, he's both critical and dismissive of ego, secrecy, dishonesty, supremacy, and propriety, as such sometimes coming off as rude, compulsive, selfish, and disrespectful. Those who display such qualities find him a man of brutal and unrepentant honesty, who doesn't find it necessary to deal with the slightest lick of nonsense. However, he's a true friend for those who show him strength of will and heart, putting his empathy and intelligence toward helping them live better lives, too.

He loves fighting, in particular fair fighting, but not killing, though he will harden his heart and do so if there's no other way. Despite the good he's done for others, he insists he's not anyone special, and doesn't in fact go about making others' benefit his goal. As such, he doesn't often see the big picture, and requires direction in order to accomplish big things.

In short, he's a straightforward fellow, a fighter at heart who wants to live life to the fullest.

History: Hailing from Sydane, an industrious nation of mountainous islands linked by natural bridges and abundant shallows in the southern sea, Malachi found himself surrounded by war at a young age, owing to Sydane's neighboring nation-states Ishkigal and Venbajeer. As the scion of a prominent fighting family in a culture that prized martial ability, he drilled from a young age. Though essentially a commoner, his larger-than-life, straightforward attitude landed him an unlikely friendship: Ephraim, Sydane's crown prince and future king, who found him a refreshing change from the nobility. Their camaraderie thrust Malachi into the forefront of the action when war came to Sydane's shores.

Too soon, he found the wonderful life he so enjoyed under assault. Fellowmen, friends, and eventually family fell in that six-year war, and while Malachi's innermost values remained firm, the war never left him. His love of peace and plenty served him well, but he found himself growing bored. Fighting, he had learned, was a part of life. To that end he served as a mercenary, powering through thick and thin, until the day of his old friend's coronation. After that, he left his land behind, roving across Unira to see what the country had to offer. He ate, drank, fought, and made merry, fighting heroic battles and taking care never to lose his life. Uncaring of what others thought, he lent his strength to whatever cause he believed in, and grew both rich and famous as a mercenary. Eventually, with the reckless abandon of his youth faded away, he settled down in the fortress town of Giltersain, married, and had three children. Thoughts of his homeland had faded.

Everything came rushing back, however, when news reached the town of a catastrophe not far from Sydane. The latest expedition into the furthest reaches of the mine below Ishkigal, now an economic powerhouse following its defeat and reconstruction decades ago, had broken forbidden ground. Nightmarish creatures, twisted mockeries of man, surged from the ancient, chiseled passageways to slaughter all in their path, their plagued fangs twisting their victims into gibbering minions to join the flood. Heroes from across the continent flocked to the city and delved below, and despite his wonderful life Malachi joined them. Old friends by his side, he adventured into the lowest depths imaginable, where the nighmarish bones of an eon-forgotten civilization sprang to life to annihilate their disturbers. No word exists of what exactly happened down there, since those few who returned -irreparably changed- refused to speak of it, but those who came carried with them ancient weapons, found and used by necessity. Malachi wielded fists of stone, or perhaps fossil—pieces of Those who came before. They served him as both weapons and as reminders: that heroism was a foolish fantasy.

When war erupted across Unira not long after, spurred by the ambitions of Emperor Lucius, the former hero took no side. Leaving the nightmare beneath Ishkigal far behind, he took refuge with his family in the far north of Alliance territory, fighting bandits and undead, and eventually, Empire soldiers that came to claim his life for their own. Eventually, Malachi did take up arms for the Alliance, his campaign culminating in the Tiarden Alliance's surprise victory. One battle did not win the war, however, and Malachi -grievously wounded- knew his limits. Faced with death in battle against the Empire, Malachi panicked and chose to be sealed away for the sake of the future, leaving his family behind.

Other: Malachi wields a pair of gauntlets, perhaps more accurately describable as shield-fists, that he casually calls the Heavies despite their remarkable -and perhaps abominable- nature. Made of pitch-black stone, they take substantial strength to wield, though the grace with which Malachi does so wouldn't suggest it. Far more remarkable is the Heavies' origin, which has led tale-tellers to hail them as the Dregs of the Planet. Brought forth from the Utter Depths, the deepest dark known to the world, they are freakishly dense and resonant. They absorb all manner of magic, flat-out nullifying most spells and curses that Malachi even comes near, let alone blocks with them. Strong spells that strike them are 'eaten', empowering the gauntlets with their magic temporarily. They resonate with their wielder, allowing weighty blows to create directed tremors and shockwaves. In fact, they seem somehow linked with him, in a manner eerily parasitic. They are resilient -not impervious- to harm, but they visibly regenerate when damaged, and pieces of them possess toxic, degenerative qualities.

[User]
~Izel~

---

Izel watched as Sylphie enthusiastically introduced herself. How adorably violent, but it seemed like the bandits were completely immune to fear. Or perhaps they had forgotten it? Ufu, well then, Sylphie was certainly going to enjoy herself. The bandits didn't hesitate to rush them, thinking them nothing more than exactly as Izel said. Innocent girls lost in the mountains, easy prey for the vile people like them.

The mage merely watched with mild curiosity as they rushed them. A good formation, for average people. How boring. They weren't going to be good entertainment at all, were they? The mage sighed lightly. Unlike Sylphie, this was going to be utterly boring for her it looked like.

While several headed for Sylphie, Izel coldly faced those headed for her.

"My my, so rude and brutish. When a cute girl asks for help, you give it to her." Izel let out a long, drawn out sigh. "But I suppose you uneducated flies wouldn't understand that, would you?" She supposed she could just wipe them all out here, but where would the fun in that be? She wanted some entertainment after all.

The bandit that rushed her swung his sword - from an outside perspective, it seemed like it had hit her - yet it sliced nothing but air.

"Yoohoo, what are you aiming at, hm?" Izel had somehow moved from where she had been standing to a space five feet away, waving playfully at the bandit. "Seeing things are you? My, perhaps you need a doctor?" Another bandit made another attempt to strike, but his blade struck air all the same. "Ah, ah, really. Are you so easily fooled by that?" The second bandit's eyes widened as a cold, pair of hands gripped the side of his face from behind. "No fun at all, are you?"

To onlookers horror, his entire body began petrifying. The bandit shouted, screaming and clutching at his throat in horror as slowly he was turned to stone.

"Whoopsie." Izel was standing behind him, flexing one of her hands. "Oh dear, all I wanted to do was share a bit of knowledge with him. Oh well~" The tone of her voice and what she was saying sharply contradicted the other. The first bandit, undeterred headed right for Izel...and this time his sword struck!

But -

"You even kill your own comrades. My my, you bandits are an honorless lot." Izel was standing behind him, and he had just struck down one of the other bandits. A grin formed on Izel's lips, slowly growing as she turned to face the group of bandits. "Well, I suppose it's about time I stopped playing around with kid games, then, hm?" She raised her arm towards the group of bandits. This was a rather inelegant spell, but often times such brute force was needed for a show of power.

A fireball formed in her hand, before it grew, nearly tripling in size. With barely a thought, it blasted through the group of bandits, slamming into one of their fortifications and exploding on impact.

[Assistant]
Aerarius
I can't say I'm surprised. Sylphie was never one for subtlety, Aerarius thought as he silently assessed the situation. There didn't seem to be any traps ahead, and the bandits were already alerted, so he saw no point in trying to preserve the element of surprise. Lastly and most importantly, he knew he wouldn't learn much by sitting back here while Sylphie and Izel did all the work.

"If you don't mind, Byron, I'm going to assist them," he spoke to the beastman. Immediately after voicing his intentions, he dashed up the hill after the others. A small, metallic dome shaped shield unfolded around his left arm. His right arm gripped the sword resting in a rigid sheath on his waist, drawing it from its resting place.

His seeming enthusiasm to join the fray wasn't to shed blood or amuse himself. No, Aerarius' goal was to gather information and knowledge. The fighting style employed by the bandits, the architecture of their camp, the armor and weaponry they used, all of these were things he wished to know and understand. It wasn't an option to stay behind, because if Aerarius did so, Sylphie would kill all of the bandits and Izel might turn the camp into a smoldering crater before he had a chance to observe, study, and perhaps capture someone to interrogate.

The two of them had already dispatched the bandits in their way, so he would need to head further up. The automaton rushed past Sylphie and Izel, bashing a bandit with his shield along the way, and slowed to a stop at the breach where Izel's fireball struck. Shrouded by the smoke and dust of the explosion, but also unable to see what lay beyond, he slowly walked forward out of the smoke, no longer afraid of anything the bandits could possibly throw at him (or, for that matter, whatever his more reckless allies might throw from behind him) and ready to reintroduce the might of the Brass Legion to the world.