[System]
Model: OAC GT-011/S

Specialty: Mass Production General Purpose HFV

History: The eleventh HFV manufactured by the Olympus Arms Company's factories on Mars, the GT-011 is their third attempt at mass-production. It has been quite successful, having been adopted by numerous organisations on both the red planet and the colonies as a general purpose HFV five years ago to replace its predecessor, the GT-009. While not without its flaws, the GT-011 is considered to be an especially effective machine, a reputation it has upheld in skirmishes against pirate forces. The current variant of the 011, the Type S, has been equipped with a more powerful reactor, furthering bolstering its strengths.

Appearance: Standing at a height of 24 metres, the GT-011 is larger and more heavily armoured than the average HFV. Its humanoid form, usually painted in a shade of butterscotch shared by the Red Planet, is noticeably bulky, and two powerful thrusters have been attached to its back, providing it with incredible speed. Most units come with a large shield that can be placed upon one arm, which also serves a secondary function in storing equippable weapons. Its cranial unit is mounted with vulcans, and also possesses three 'eyes', with two serving as cameras while a third doubles as a targeting sensor, and in contrast to the colour of its armour, are a stark red instead.

Features:* Targeting Sensors
* Forearm-mounted shield

Armaments:* 60mm Vulcan Gun (2x): mounted on cranial unit.
* 100mm OAC.OnH Machinegun: clip-fed
* OAC.OnP Beam Rifle: fires a stream of particles; very hot, do not stand in the way.
* Beam Saber (1x): stored within recharge racks either on its body or within the shield, the beam sabers utilised by the GT-011 and other machines are, despite their name, essentially streams of plasma held within a magnetic field shaped into a blade.
* OAC.OnR Bazooka: contains eight rounds.
* 3-Slot Grenade Rack

Weaknesses: In comparison to other general-purpose HFVs of its generation, the Martian-built GT-011's armoured frame makes it significantly larger and heavier, turning it into a larger target, and also limiting its effectiveness on Earth, where the blue-green world's gravity poses a problem, one that it usually doesn't face on Mars or in space. Although it possesses incredible speed, its manoeuvrability is an issue, taking longer than other HFVs to turn 180 degrees and in general being less capable of avoiding attacks.
Pirate HFVs
Model: Mm C44 "Bradley"

Specialty: Mass Production General Purpose HFV

History: On the 3rd of July in the 105th year of the Solar Age, the autonomous O'Neill cluster of New Copenhagen declared total war upon its neighbours, with its leader, the eccentric Governor Werribee Bradley, announcing his intention to unite the colonies of the Earth Sphere into a single entity. Backed by an existing arms manufacturing industry and wealth gained from a strong relationship with asteroid miners, the colony was able to rapidly produce significant numbers of HFVs for its war effort, and within two months had already occupied three of its closest neighbouring colonies. Of its many HFVs, the most infamous was the Mm C44, a general purpose mech that soon grew to symbolise New Copenhagen's armies. The brainchild of the governor himself, exactly eight hundred and thirteen units were produced by the Vimana Institute, and were his vanguard against those that opposed him, the relatively high performance of the machines superior to much of what the colonial militias could deploy. However, it would be the intervention of an UN coalition in the fourth month of the war that ended their advance, with the Earth-built machines managing to be achieve technological parity, or even superiority, with the C44s. Six hundred and ninety-two of the "Bradley"s (a moniker given to them by coalition forces) would be destroyed, and by Christmas that year, the UN had successfully expelled New Copenhagen's forces from its occupied colonies, bringing an end to Bradley's ambitions (although he would escape arrest). The surviving C44s would find their way either into the hands of UN member states or amongst mercenaries and pirates, and are still a distinctive sight throughout the space routes.

Appearance: The "Bradley" is merely 19m in height, but due to the presence of its large backpack, which stores the secondary reactor, appears to be far bigger in size. The standard colouring of the unit when in the service of New Copenhagen had been a navy blue, with the backpack painted in black, although following the polity's defeat, they can be found in all sorts of different colourations depending on the pilot. Most units however, still utilise an offensive shield, which tends to be attached upon the forearm, and can swivel around to block enemy attacks from different angles. The "Messer" drone protrudes from its right shoulder, a rounded object with a gun pointing out from it. Unlike most machines produced in the Earth sphere, it lacks a signature mono-eye, with its cranial unit instead possessing a prominent, light blue visor that protects its sensors and cameras. Two miniature "horns" also jut back from its head just above its Vulcans, smoothing back down in an almost 'punkish' look.

Features:* Long-range targeting sensors
* VI-EX02 Reactor System: each "Bradley" unit possesses a secondary backup reactor that provides it with greater energy use, as well as allowing it to serve as a power source for the weapons of other HFVs if necessary, such as the GT-010's Mega Beam Cannon.
* Offensive Shield: swivel-mounted; beam-coated; contains two small missile launchers
* Rocket Anchor (2x): each arm of the C44 is equipped with a rocket anchor, which can be launched to grab onto foes or parts of the environment.
* VI-R01a Drone Control Transmitter: certain command units during the war were equipped with a transmitter that allowed control over a single drone weapon.

Armaments:* 60mm Vulcan Gun Pod (2x): mounted on cranial unit
* Repeating Beam Gun (1x): the "Bradley" utilises a small repeating beam rifle as a standard weapon at short ranges to great effect, its high rate of fire making up for the reduced power in comparison to the more common beam rifle, and thanks to the presence of its secondary generator, is longer-lasting
* Beam Saber (6x): stored in recharge racks in its legs and in its backpack
* 3-Slot Grenade Rack
* VI-R01b "Messer" Drone: certain command units control a single drone that, when not in use, is attached to its right shoulder, serving as an extra, fixed beam gun that feeds off its secondary generator; when launched however, it can be flown up to 500m away, and acts as a weak beam gun (due to reliance on internal batteries to fly) that can harry or hurt enemies. It can also be equipped with a camera or other surveillance tools.

Weaknesses: The C44 "Bradley" is highly limited in regards to long-range combat, with its "Messer" and its weak beam gun serving as its only source of attack beyond close proximities. While it can use its rocket anchors to reduce the distance between it and enemies, such tactics rely on being able to catch its target. It was also built entirely for space and colony-bound combat, and can barely function within atmosphere. The second reactor can be dangerous, with any damage dealt to it possessing far riskier effects upon the pilot and the machine compared to the main reactor.Model: OS Type 2 "Rook" (??? Specification)

Specialty: Mass Production General Purpose Skirmisher HFV

History: ???

Appearance: At a height of 18.5m, the ???'s space variant of the standard OS Type 2 is slightly taller and bulkier, but still remains faithful to the 'walking tank' aesthetic of the United States' mainstay HFV. It is definitely more heavily armoured than the original Rook, but despite the fact it is actually incredibly mobile, possessing a number of multi-directional thrusters across its body, as well as four powerful accelerators on its legs, allowing it to match modern machines quite easily at the cost of greater power consumption. It retains the two large shoulder shields (now increased in size), although they are more rounded in comparison to those of the original. Certain models also possess extra weapon hardpoints on their forearms.

Features:* Long range sensors
* Detachable shoulder shield (x2)
* Beam-treated heavy armour
* Bazooka autoloading backpack

Armaments:* 550mm Missile Launcher (x1): A bazooka that fires 550mm caliber missiles. It uses a double barrel type of magazine that can hold up to ten missiles at a time. The rear barrel can be adjusted via a slide based on the range of the target and the ammunition type currently used. The weapon is reloaded from a backpack mounted autoloader that can hold up to 50 missiles before needing a reload.
* DyPW Variable Beam Rifle (x1): A beam rifle with two settings - powerful, single-shot bursts and a rapid-fire mode with lower power.
* 90mm Linear Railgun Rifle (x1): A weapon that fires high-speed projectiles.
* 80mm Forearm Gatling Gun
* Beam Saber (x2)

Weaknesses: Although this variant of the standard Rook is incredibly fast and mobile, capable of matching modern machines, its operating time has suffered as a result. It is essentially a skirmisher unit, one built more for hit-and-run attacks (hence its use by a pirate advance force), and while in possession of beam-treated heavy armour, will be a sitting duck the moment its power runs out. It has no recharge racks for its beam sabers either, and its beam rifles feed off its power generator, thus ensuring greater ammo dependency for the machine. It is also rather immobile under gravity.
UN HFVs
Model: OS Type 2 "Rook" (OSDT Specification)

Specialty: Mass Production General Purpose HFV

History: One of the many variants of the standard Rook is the (OSDT Specification). Due to increased demand for space-capable HFVs and the loss of US support following the dissolution of the Omni Program, the OSDT took it upon themselves to request refits and upgrades for a number of their existing Rook units, thereby allowing their aging machines to reduce the technological gap between them and the more expensive, newer HFVs. While the (OSDT Specification) still lagged behind recent developments in HFV technology, it was an upgrade that the OSDT's base Rooks sorely needed. Only twelve units were successfully upgraded, with two of them having been assigned to the Jannah.

Appearance: The OSDT's variant of the US mainstay HFV does not differ radically from original design, maintaining the similarity to a bipedal tank that essentially defines the OS Type-2. It stands slightly taller, at a height of 18.8m, and while its mass is generally the same, its effect on the Rook's mobility is lessened by the (OSDT Specification)'s focus on space performance. Indeed, the refitted mech possesses prominent multi-directional thrusters, allowing it to manoeuvre better in vacuum, as well as two, slimmed-down accelerators on its legs. While the rotating leg shield has been removed, the leg armour and the inner frame has been reinforced, thus maintaining adequate protection. Indeed, the OSDT's Rook has a generally bulkier appearance, having layered on more armour to increase its survivability. The two large shoulder shields remain, but can now detach to be deployed as cover. An antenna now protrudes from its cranial unit instead of utilising the shields, a sign of technological progress over the years.

Features:* Long range sensors
* Detachable shoulder shield (x2)
* Beam-treated heavy armour
* Bazooka autoloading backpack

Armaments:* 550mm Missile Launcher (x1): A bazooka that fires 550mm caliber missiles. It uses a double barrel type of magazine that can hold up to ten missiles at a time. The rear barrel can be adjusted via a slide based on the range of the target and the ammunition type currently used. The weapon is reloaded from a backpack mounted autoloader that can hold up to 50 missiles before needing a reload.
* 60mm Chest Vulcan (x2): Two 60mm Vulcans are attached to the hardpoints on the Rook's chest, providing it with the increased application and versatility provided to other HFVs by their 80mm head vulcans.
* OAC.OnP Beam Rifle: Fires a stream of particles; very hot, do not stand in the way.
* Beam Saber (x1): A stream of plasma held within a magnetic field shaped into a blade.

Weaknesses: While the addition of extra thrusters and the complete rehaul of the power generator to meet modern standards has drastically changed the Rook's operational time and general manoeuvrability/speed in comparison to other HFVs, its status as an upgraded ancient machine still keeps it from catching up with more modern mechs. It is still noticeably slower, a fact that enemies can easily take advantage of. Its beam saber lacks a recharge rack, so also has limited operation, and its continued reliance on ammunition is a major issue, especially when its mounted ammunition hoppers are easy targets.

[User]
OSDT Jannah - Martian Sphere
"There were a lot of squad leaders who refused to submit quietly after the war," explained the mechanic, watching as his team got to work. Water sprayed across the bay, spreading across the floor in pools tinged with red. Once the initial hosing was complete, they'd move onto the bleach, and from then on he could finally get to work fixing up the cockpit ... or at least modifying a spare Rook one to work with the Bradley. It all depended on how much damage had been done to the machine, and how quickly they wanted the HFV in action. "This actually isn't the first command unit I've fixed up."

In fact, it was his familiarity with the unit that had lead to Steakhouse assigning him this job. Most of the OSDT's members had likely never touched a Bradley before, and those who did were probably like Harrison or the Lumen Team's Prettyboy Duo: they had been busy fighting them during the war rather than actually having done any tech work on them.

[Assistant]
James Harrison — Jannah hangar

"That so?"

Harrison had indeed fought Bradleys during the war: in fact, they had been his first taste of mech-on-mech combat. Back then, the Bradley wasn't the rarity it had since become but the backbone of the secessionist army, and not so much a target for capture as one for wholesale destruction.

That's not to say he hadn't come across them since. Larger pirate gangs sometimes had a couple of the basic units, and his old MSS squadmate Hills had flown one back when they were guarding mining stations in the asteroid belt...until it took a railgun round to the backpack, which promptly went critical. That time, there wasn't anything left to repair.

"How long will you boys need to get her operational, then?"

[User]
OSDT Jannah - Martian Sphere
"Shouldn't be too long," Stronin admitted. The team were fast workers, having already applied the bleach to the cockpit in order to remove the last traces of blood. Once everything was dry, he would get to work. "Are you going to be piloting it then?"


[System]
PENNY MAVERICK
Appearance:
Age: 23
Role: Sharpshooter/Sniper
Personality: Penny is a spunky and inquisitive type who is endlessly curious about people and events and is know to ask a lot of (somtimes too many) questions. She is also fiercely savvy at public relations especially when it comes to corporate types.

Backstory: Daniel Maverick, Penny's grandfather was one of the settlers who helped build Smith's Rest as he was stationed in Alaska during the time. Because of this, Penny's Father Jacques always made sure his daughter was very aware and proud of the Maverick name as he felt Smith's rest was a part of the families history. But Penny grew up curious about the world outside of Smith's Rest and became a journalist at age 17 using her media work to travel the world and to learn more about the current world situation following the Elysian war. After making a healthy profit selling high interest stories to the news divisions of corporation owned websites she used all of the money to buy a salvaged NC and formal pilot training as she felt that this was the next step to learning more about the world. She didn't have to think twice when learning about Graham's recruitment and signed up instantly.

Tactical Preference & Skills: Penny chose an NC which would allow her to take more time to fire her shots and not get caught in the chaos of the melee as her reflexes arent particularly fast. So sniping came fairly easy to her, but she was cautious enough to train in the use of the Gatling gun for mid range combat to keep enemies off of her who try to close the distance. She typically likes to fly to high vantage points and fire high damage shots at unsuspecting enemies from a distance.

Notes:
She has an addiction to energy drinks that she would never admit to.

Text Color: color=fff200 or Yellow

THE VANGUARD SAINT

Codename: 'The VanGuard Saint' Interceptor-2638 Model MkII
Appearance :
Body & Type: Bipedal Flyer-Type
Equipment & Armaments :

Right Hand:
High Power Dual Purpose 'Avenger-Longshot' Rifle (Doubles as High Power Sniper and a Flamethrower for closer range)

Left Hand:
'Chewing' High Velocity Gatling Gun with single use heat laser.

Left Shoulder:
Standard EMP Launcher (For disrupting enemy units.)

Body:
Heavy Armor Plating and Powerful Jet Pack Flight System
No real Melee capabilities, and slow PvP reflexes.

[User]
Agatha SmithDEPOT STATION, NEW ANCHORAGE

---

"Sir."

Agatha's head turned mechanically towards Graham. In contrast to her aroused neighbor, she viewed Graham with a level of heightened curiosity and respect. Being formerly an independent NC pilot, Agatha was familiar enough with working under a cornucopia of commanders whose skill and leadership ability could fit on a sliding scale from Suicidal Incompetence to Future Emperor of the New World Order. Regardless of who she worked under, it was expected and appreciated if she could be respectful until she had seen them act under pressure. Being cocksure and dismissive under a good commander reflected poorly upon yourself, while slighting a bad commander would find your life at risk in retribution.

Furthermore, this wasn't the first time she had encountered Graham. Even with thirty years of history separating their first and last encounter, she wouldn't forget that final battle In her old career. His skill behind an NC was beyond reproach, but she couldn't judge him as a leader of people just yet. Just as she had to prove herself to him, even in her desperation she had to gauge the man who effectively owned her.

"What would you consider an unacceptable action during an operation or on base? What lengths are you willing to go to achieve New Anchorage's goals and your own?"

Would they partake in the slave trade? Raid bountiful settlements for resources? Sell there services to fight in corporate proxy wars? She didn't have an personal issue with the actions, but knowing the lengths their commander would go was a good judge of his character for Agatha.

[Assistant]
---

---

GRAHAMDEPOT STATION, NEW ANCHORAGE

AROUND NOON

---

---

Graham nearly smirked. After all this time she still was as aggressive as ever yet with enough wit to know how to phrase the question without incident. It was interesting to him to see Agatha still had her "edge" despite retiring to three decades of being a scrapper and scavenger over what she was actually good at. All those years ago with him being an upstart brat in an iron armor… did it make her quit being who she was? or was it simply the fact of her children? Either way, he was glad he had not demoted himself to such things – it made him know he was different, and perhaps greater than what was effectively a husk of what once was even if she tried to have the same bite as before. He wondered if she could pass his test? It would be interesting to see.

Graham thought about this question often because it had been one that came up with valiant cries of morality that many people had shot at him in the past; cries he had rejected entirely. The first part of Agatha's question was one that was often directed about how far was morally or ethically acceptable with things such as slavery, raiding, genocide, and so forth being accompanied with the conversation. While Graham viewed all of those things as bad he didn't think so for the same reasons as his peers. It brought him back to a talk he had with the second member of the trinity back when he was still just a simple NC pilot... it had been after the Elysian War.

"That is a very large question." He stated as he stepped outside to the white fuzz of a "mild" snowstorm before turning his head.

"This obviously goes beyond simple insubordination and circumnavigation of authority or regulations."

"Let me make something abundantly clear to all of you. I don't believe in children's fantasies of 'good' and 'evil', I believe in the absolute principle of order— a concept that promotes excellence, professionalism, integrity, organization, and heart. Order doesn't allow fantasy, order allows you to be happy with your reality. I will tell you that I will do everything in my power that I can to make New Anchorage efficient with no empathy for fantasies of my officers. There is no place for it in my organization. None."

He took a light breath, the cold air leaving his lips.

"If it requires me to be "unfair" than I will do it. If that scares you… then resign right here and now, and take your tail between your legs and get the hell out of my base. I refuse to have pilots who get a little queasy around decision and shake when the cards are drawn."

His brows narrowed as his turned head looked over the group in their entirety.

"So what of it? Are any of you rabble not worth your spit? Are any of you unable? Tell me now."

[User]
Joshua Ray, himself, was taken aback by the qualities Graham just presented.

He wants to reward... goodness? He wants to sponsor and foster better people? Not monsters? Not slave-soldiers?

A mild surprise, this was. "So... you're saying, what are you saying?", he mumbled out, before saluting and speaking up, his knees like jelly. He hated having to speak in crowds but god dammit, he had principles and he wanted to make sure he wouldn't have to break them. Of course...

"Sir, does... 'Honor' have a place in your.. uhh, 'order', sir?, He straightened up a bit more, and breathed a few breaths a tad heavier before calming down about having to talk in front of so many people. For his standards, anyway. "We're.. not going to act like a secret police force, or, needlessly kill people, or...-, he paused a bit, looking at Graham but avoiding his eyes in fear, "I'm not going to have to go into a quaint little town somewhere in the middle of the night and terrorize innocent people over a damn percentage, r-right?"

He went a bit quiet and looked away, shrinking like a kid who got into the cookie jar and was caught with red, crumby hands. "Uhhm... uhh.. if We're not gonna do that I won't complain. I'm fine with.. y'know... uhh...--", he took a step back, mumbling once more, "Lesser evils for the metaphorical greater good."

[Assistant]
---

---

GRAHAMDEPOT STATION (EXTERIOR), NEW ANCHORAGE

AROUND NOON

---

---

Graham's eyes looked to Joshua's direction, a fire still inside of the commander for all to see. Though, Joshua's demeanor and phrasing didn't offend him he decided to not berate him immediately— there was no point in ostracizing his pilots who might stay on with their contract, after all.

The question of honor was one less so about morality but ethics; which was a thing Graham did slightly align with considering he believed he was an "ethical" soldier. All of the problems and horrors that came with the type of people that he mentioned were worthless as per Graham's ideology due to the fact that they disallowed people to be the best they could aspire to be; they were given no opportunities and were forced to succumb to it. At the very least Graham was giving opportunity and he was giving choice, even if it was a bit of an abrasive and despot-like way to do so. But Graham had dealt with real slavers and knew no intelligent individual could paint him as such.

"If what you are asking is if I am going to turn this unit into a bunch of rapists, slavers, raiders, and thieves then the answer is most definitely not. While my perspective might be different on why I can tell you directly that no is the answer to that question."

He turned his look to the others that were listening.

"You are becoming soliders. You are no longer children in an iron giant and will be treated like such. I may not offer the kindest or easiest approach, but find me an operation that does that still exists. You won't. The idea of freedom and easy life that a lot of people cling onto is a twenty-second century ideal; people need to wake up and unfortunately remember that they are in the twenty-seventh century. Trust me, I grew up in a megacity, I know the shadow of the corporation... the real corporation."

[User]
ALEXANDER SKYLOCATION, NEW ANCHORAGE

Alexander's initial reaction on hearing Graham's words was feeling as though he had been stabbed with an icicle. Infatuation was forgotten as the twenty-four year old tried to muster a response to Graham's words; leaving was out of the question; he would not dare show weakness to this 'man of stone'. Despite having a high sense of morality, Alexander knew this, that he can now appreciate the struggles and motivations of others, regardless of whether he agreed with them or not. So he would wait, wait to see how others responded. But he would think this:

The root of our 'morality' is the desire to live a better life than our parents have, and for our own offspring to live a better life than we have. Can your 'Order' provide that, Michael Graham?

When Ray spoke up, asking Graham for further clarification, Alexander made to put his hand on the other NC Pilot's shoulder in a gesture meant to be encouraging, when Graham spoke up, offering an affirmative answer, genuine admiration flowed through the young pilot's veins, along with a new insight into the man. He couldn't help but smile, despite the risks it carried.

The next thing Alexander knew, he was giving a slight bow, before getting up, making eye contact, and saying:

"Sir, this is all I can ask for; thank you." It took a lot out of Alexander to say those words, and one can see that.

"I can't wait to see what kind of world you create," more words blurted out.

Morality will never stop being my dream; Good and Evil, those do exist - I believe that. But part of being a good person is understanding and even working with, or in this case, following, people who believe other things than yours'.

And, Michael Graham, you are that person.

[Assistant]
Graham was pretty much everything her grandfather described him as. Stoic, with a machine like approach to duty and practice, and ironcast to his philosophical belief. It was admirable but very familiar, being a local girl, Penny had grown up around men and women like this her entire life. This part of Alaska breeds this sort of attitude.

Listening to the other pilots ask questions was fascinating, like watching an impromptu interview take place in front of her very eyes, she noticed that while visibly intimidated that the commander Joshua Ray was firmly sticking to his morals about not committing senseless crimes, which Penny could respect at least. But her stance was different, Penny had no problem killing people, seeing vicious atrocities across the globe in her media career had made her quite desensitized to mindless violence, and while not a sadist herself, she would be happy to follow violent orders. Her only real empathy is for the people of Smith's Rest where she considers her home and her community. Her family instilled it in her to protect it at all costs, which includes killing people from other areas and factions. Her mind was made up. But she was still curious about something.

Sir, I've lived in my Smith's Rest my entire life and my family helped build the colony when it was founded. I love being here, but will our missions allow us to travel the world? I want to learn as much about the other factions and civilizations as possible,for the greater good of protecting my home here.

She glanced around the room after she spoke, getting a quick peek at Tahlia before returning her attention to Graham.


[System]
Age: 32

Appearance:
Height: 6'1"

Weight: 185 lbs

Likes:
+Caffeine
+Reading
+Conspiracy Theories
+Working-Out
+Talk Radio
+Cars/Trucks/Vehicles/etc.

Dislikes:
-Seafood
-Sports
-Cold Weather
-Bad Grammar
-Authority
-Disorganization

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

Special Talent: Legendary Alcohol Tolerance

Profession: Mechanic/Owner Apex Designs, a small, single-door garage, tucked away on the industrial Southside end of town with enough room for about three cars inside.

Bio/Personality:
Joel is a man who views himself as someone not necessarily doing what they want to do in life, but doing what they're good at. He enjoys repairing the automotive woes of many of Sol City's wealthy clientele. However, even though his work is considered some of the best in the city, he's often equally known for his lengthy vacations and costly invoices. Additionally armed with a business degree that he earned off of an only briefly offered scholarship in his youth, he very carefully balances work, play and sometimes outright laziness. He keeps no set schedule and can be found in his shop sometimes at the most bizarre of hours.

Outwardly, Joel has a very arrogant aura that often turns off others. He's been told that he's "unapproachable" and though he likes the thought of being intimidating, sometimes he does feel a genuine desire to have deeper conversations. He enjoys flirting and being in some social venues, but often feels bored and out of place. He doesn't consider himself extroverted. Interestingly, he tends to talk non-stop while working on vehicles and has his own crowd of conversational regulars, often the bored and retired older men of the city, that stop by just to see what he's working on.

Joel is very aware of his eccentricities and has a warped sense of justice. He enjoys watching people that may have wronged him or refused his advice "get what they deserve" to the point of comedy. He likes that some may look down on him for his chosen profession, but at the same time wishes he was doing something else. He's never satisfied for very long.

Favorite Song:

Tell us about yourself:

Age: 32
What part of the world are you from?: VA, USA
How many years have you been writing/roleplaying: Around 17
How often do you have time to post?: Usually 2-3 times per week, maybe more depending on my work schedule/other things.
Anything else you want to mention?:
I actually work a pretty cool job, but it does demand a lot of time out of me sometimes. I'm married and have three kids. Roleplay/Writing is one of my few surviving hobbies in adulthood next to working out and reading a book occasionally. I usually only have time to write one game at a time here on the Guild so this is it for now. I'm going to my level best to make sure its a winner. I try to take care of my players, so if you're reading this and thinking about joining, we'll be glad to have you.

[User]
Forgot a tag... And mistaked one.
Fixed now.

[Assistant]
~The Church of Our Lady Mary, Mother of Christ~

---

From what records that could be found in the old man's room, he was ninety-one years, three months, and twenty days old; and from what father had told Max, Samual Bigsley Wellington must have been eighteen when he started working at the manor. He came out of nowhere, so the story went, asking about the empty groundskeeper position; grandfather must have been crazy to hire him, but the Summersons had never been the sane type.

It was a crisp morning, and the sky was blue and cloudless, a gentle breeze lulled through Max's coat.

When they gathered his personal effects it became painfully obvious that Sam was a simple man, he took weekends off to go feed birds and he'd spend his salary frugally. Among the scraps of paper and personal musings, Max had discovered piles of filled in notebooks, and in one of those journals filled with repetitive days, he found a sealed letter addressed to his father. The paper was yellowed and pressed into a brittle wafer.

' Dear Master Daniel,
 I realise now that I've watched you grow up, you and the other little ones, and as such I must realise that at the same time I have grown up also. At the time of writing this, I am forty-six, and in ten years time I will be fifty-six and I do not foresee myself being anywhere else when that time comes. You will outlive me, God willing, and that means that one day you will have to deal with me when I am gone. It was kind of your father to take me in, to give me a home, but I beg of you your kindness on the day I have to meet my lord. There is in the next county a church of My Lady Mary, Mother of Christ, and it is there I wish to be laid to rest. I am a Catholic, and I wish to be buried nowhere than in the shadow of a house of my lord, if you find it convenient, Sir. It has been my honour to serve in your house, and continue to serve I will, in hopes that one day when I am old and grey your family will look after me as I did the flower beds.
 Yours faithfully, Samual Bigsley Wellington.

The Church of Our Lady Mary, Mother of Christ, was tall and single steepled, the masonry recently whitewashed to catch the sun. It had been in the neighboring county ever since missionaries bought the land from Mormon settlers, though what was more relevant to Max was that Dad was buried there as well. The letter struck Max as something other than coincidence, before mother had clarified to him that Sam had been admitted to hospital when his was father was a young man. So Sam must have given the letter, fearing the worst, but then wasn't his time.

It was on Wednesday - under a golden sun - when Max, The Father, The Groundskeeper, and The Grave digger lowered Sam's casket into the ground. Sam weighed seventy-eight pounds, but it was the weight of almost a century that drew him to the ground. Max dared a glance around, the cemetery was empty apart from them, and mother, who watched from the gilded gates of the yard.

"Today we mourn the loss of our brother, Samual." The lasted began, drawing back Max's attention, his hands clasped in front of him. "But today we rejoice also, for today he has returned to our Lord, God. And it will be there with God that he shall..." Max's mind began to wander as the priest went on with the service. He lost his father to cancer, cruelly and painfully taken away from him; he had been angry at God ever since. But there, huddled around Sam's Grave, he realized everyone had their time.

"...In God's house there are many rooms, and surely if anyone before us deserves a place in God's house it is Samual. Where he may rest after such a long life in devotion of God and his Kingdom." The priest ended with the Lord's Prayer, but Max stood silently as it was delivered by the three other men. But under his breath, at the end, he whispered with them.

"Forever, and ever. Amen."

Handshakes went around, and Max thanked the Pastor for his time. When the grave digger moved for his shovel Max stopped him. He had been too distraught to fill his father's grave, but there he would not deny Sam. Max grasped the shovel and scooped dirt over the casket, soon it was out of sight, and after twenty minutes it was as if it had never been there. He returned the shovel but lingered by the head stone for a few minutes longer, his fingers pressed to the top of the cold slab in contemplation.

Max was sad but he wasn't in grief, his grudge with the Power at be was over, he was no longer angry. Gently rubbing the top of the stone, Max let out a long sigh and looked around. He said nothing, but hoped that his company would be suffice before he let Samual rest.

As he left, the young man took a detour to the back of the cemetery, where a headstone stood in the shade of the boundary wall. Kneeling in the grass, Max placed a palm on the side of the stone and his forehead to the top. And then wept under the golden sun.

---

The drive back had been in silence, His mother went in to bid her farewells and was now too lost in her own thoughts to say anything. Instead sitting in the passenger seat, looking out the window as she stroked the beads of her rosary. Max would take the day off, maybe a while off, from work. He felt like his mother would need him, and he needed the time himself.

[User]
SiobhanPaige

---

Wednesday

---

Location: Gym; Main Lobby

---

Interacting With: Each other

---

---

With her bag slung over shoulder, Paige crossed the main lobby at a moderate pace. She had other things on her mind and had become numb to those staring daggers at her red jersey. She figured getting Lupe's tether removed would be easy enough and once done, she knew he'd tell her anything she wanted to know. She just had to make him feel important, something his parents never did. There was officially a BOLO out for one of the Cuban's crew and the implications of that night were pretty strong for the Indian as well. She took the time to look into it Monday at the office. She had little care for anyone else and was pretty confident that if things got nasty, Lupe would toss them all under the bus. Then there was the matter of the Dellesantos Gang which was a slightly more complex web of assholes to unravel.

Her footsteps tread quietly across the carpeted floor and following the signs, she finally caught a glimpse of her destination though as she neared her eyes first locked on to flaming red hair that was hard to miss. It was the girl she'd only briefly met at the party wearing the Scarlet O'Hare dress. She gave a polite waive as she approached, but her eyes quickly cut to the side as she picked up the glance of Milo's pathetic girlfriend slinking away. At least she'd have a short walk to her parking spot Paige thought with a devilish smirk as she turned back to Sio.

"Hey Paige." Siobhan smiled and walked up to her. "I'd ask if you wanted to grab a bite but I have no idea where any really good restaurants are." Siobhan adjusts her bag pulling her shirt down since the bag caught it exposing skin and shrugs. "That is if you're not busy. I have some time in between classes."

Siobhan is in a dark grey long sleeved shirt that clings but covers from neck to just below her pant line. She has black yoga pants on and black sneakers on.

Paige shrugged. Here in the light of morning through the lobby the difference in their age was more clear. Sio was a little taller, but Paige figured the girl couldn't be much over twenty, still having some of her teenage youth in her face. A thought crossed her mind and she weighed it against others as the girl spoke.

"I've got a better idea," Paige replied. "How about you skip class and ride with me for a little while?" She said offering her tone as an innocent temptation. "I've got some rounds to make today, it'll be fun. Nothin' too dangerous, I promise."

Siobhan's eyes widened as she quickly processed the information and grinned. "Sure. Why not? You only live once, right?" She opens the door to the parking lot for Paige to go through. "Rounds? You know, I never asked what your job was. What did I just agree to?"

@PrinceAlexus@aladdin_sane

[Assistant]
Joel turned off into Footsteps and was often the case, found nowhere to park. So having no fear of Tommy calling for a tow, he did what he always did and parked the Jeep happily up on the curb. With the suspension flexed on the uneven terrain he slid right out and made his way across the parking lot. When he spotted Marlin's Land Rover he very deftly flipped her windshield wipers up as he proceeded inside.

The restaurant/bar was busy for a weeknight, but it was busy most all of the time. Televisions mounted everywhere were tuned to sports channels around the world and the walls were lined and framed with an equally diverse array of memorabilia and artifacts. The ambient noise was fairly high as the patrons attempted to carry on conversations against sports commentators and ambient music. Wearing his standard Matco Hoodie and shorts, he hadn't bothered to change before coming up. Placing the new decals on the car was light work and he rather enjoyed the meticulous nature of it. With the Brits now footing the bill for the race, he was much more free to concentrate on the car.

Someone recognized him and shouted, "Nicolosi!" A few howls and cheers went up and Joel gave a small wave as he approached the counter where Marlin and Tommy were chatting. It was nice having the support of the locals, but he was never really one for the limelight. He took his regular spot at the bar, ironically directly next to Marlin and started to reach over for the sound mixer to change the music off of whatever Grease, 50's doo-wap Tommy had playing, but stopped short as another song came up that he didn't mind.

One of Tommy's rather attractive servers came up and poured a Guiness, "The usual?" She asked and slid the glass infront of Joel. He answered with a light nod and a wink.

"What's the word?" Joel said turning toward Marlin and Tommy.

"Thunderbird," Tommy said with a grin. It was an inside joke. He turned and retrieved the box, placing it up on the counter.

"That it?" Joel asked.

"No, I just keep this big box back here waiting for you to come up and ask questions." Tommy said sarcastically. Joel smirked and gave him the finger. It felt slightly odd for him to be out interacting with people on a weekday while there was still daylight.

Tommy produced a razor blade and very carefully began cutting down the sides of the box. He let out an impressed whistle as he got a first look at what was inside. The sides folded over and he pulled away a large bundle of plastic wrap revealing a large scale model of the racecar.

Joel's face became more serious as he leaned up on the counter to study it carefully. Perfectionistic as he was, he scanned every minute detail, looking for an error or a blemish, but finding none. Every decal was placed correctly and even the white lettering on the tires was spot on. He shook his head and a rare glance of awe came over him. He looked up at Marlin and Tommy and gave a firm nod of satisfaction.

"That's not all," Tommy said. He ducked behind the counter and produced a large framed picture. It was the shot of Marlin's plane crossing over Joel in the car during their race, blown up in stunning color. "Not too bad, huh?" Tommy said, "One of the ramp guys took it and sent it to me. I think we'll put them both right here behind the bar."

Footsteps Soundtrack #1


[System]
"Shit happens. It's how you deal with it that matters."
Age
21

Height
5'11

Weight
200 pounds of pure muscle(and cupcakes)

Role
Chosen One

Notoriety Level
60%, Medium Guard Alert

Powers
Blink, Windblast, Pull, and Bend Time

Chosen Fate
Hero(ish)

History
Tygen wasn't born of the noblest of beginnings. His mother was...well in pelite terms she was a lady of the night, and his father a client of hers. So needless to say he never knew his father growing up. But that never really mattered to him growing up. Despite her line of work, his mother was all the family he needed. But then it happened, his mother contracted the plague.

It was a difficult time for him, he was forced to take care of his mother, and buy her medicine, even though he knew it was a fruitless effort, he still had to try. But there are very few good paying jobs in the slums, so he ended up having to steal so he could keep her alive. He stole only enough for her medicine, and only from those who could afford it. But eventually it all proved for not as his mother began to worsen. She desperately pleaded with him to kill her before she turned into a Weeper, before she became a monster. And he had no choice but to carry out her wishes.

So now he's focused on bettering the lives of the victims of the plague, of their families. He does so by stealing the nobles blind, those who refuse to do something about the plague.

[User]
In times such as these, a lady must know how to defend herself.

"No! Leave me alone!" A distinctly feminine voice shrieked from a darkened alleyway. "Release me!" The victim was a pretty thing; with long, glossy sable hair; a nearly flawless blushed ivory complexion; a dainty upturned nose; full pouting lips; and the most vivid cerulean eyes...surrounded by deep, dark, thick eyelashes. She wore a simple cotton dress, one that was pulled on like a coat and buttoned down the front, but the top two buttons had appeared to be cut off, leaving the garment to fall open quite revealingly. It was no wonder she was seen as a target. None would assume such a small thing could fend for herself in this city. "Help! Please help!" The young woman cried.

Her attacker was slender in stature, but solid...toned. Dressed head to toe in black, from a cotton mask which only revealed the eyes, to calf high, black leather boots. Perhaps a young adolescent male? The assailant's black, leather gloved hand was wrapped about the woman's throat, and a wicked looking blade was pressed against the apex of her fear labored bosom. "Give me your money." The voice beneath the mask sounded strained, forced.

Seemingly unbeknownst to the young woman's attacker, someone was crouched atop the roof of the dilapidated building opposite the woman and her assailant. Whomever they were, they were statuesque, still to the point that one might overlook them should they not have a trained eye, and a suspicious nature. In the shadow of twilight, however, the figure remained well concealed, cloaked in darkness, and bathed in ebony.

It was in that very moment that another young woman, a passer-by, heard the wailing of the victim, and without hesitation...she ran across the street, toward the alley. The slip of a woman, was loud in her approach and deceptively clumsy, so the assailant made little effort in deflecting the small fist that came toward it's shoulder. With one outstretched arm, the attacker pushed the valiant lady to the stone street, turning their attention back to their captive. "Money!" The assailant demanded once more in a masked voice.

The victim flinched noticeably, turning her face away from her attacker...and began to weep.

[Assistant]
Honor For All

A shadow was cast down on the streets below by tall boys as they patrolled up and down. But another shadow was thrown into that mix. The shadow of a murderer. But it wasn't Corvo.

Lysander Kingsford ran along the rooftops, dodging incendiary bolts left right and center. The alarms went off and the Lord Regent's voice boomed through the speakers all across Dunwall.

"Attention, all citizens. The notorious mercenary, Lysander Washington Kingsford, is afoot on the rooftops. Please remain calm and make your way to the nearest shelter. The notorious mercenary Lysander Washington Kingsford is afoot, please make your way to the nearest shelter. Thank you."

Kingsford laughed as he dived down onto a tall boy, killing him and entering the suit. He fired at the rest, and jumped out, running rampant along the streets.

"La la la la! Isn't anybody gonna come out?!" He threw back his head and laughed. "Come ooooooooooooooooooooooon! Come say hello to ol' Kingsford!" He skipped over to the entrance of the Whiskey Distillery, now completely empty. "C'mon, guys! I'm not that scary! Why don't you come on out, Slackjaw, and say hello to my fist? Oh, I'm sorry, did I say fist? I meant blade!"

He continued his skip around, yelling at the top of his voice. "Isn't it a lovely day, Dunwall? Come out in the rain, with the rotting weepers and the infectious rodents! It's a beautiful rainy day in Dunwall!" He pranced about, sneering at the scared citizens inside the houses.

[User]
Attention, all citizens. The notorious mercenary, Lysander Washington Kingsford, is afoot on the rooftops. Please remain calm and make your way to the nearest shelter. The notorious mercenary Lysander Washington Kingsford is afoot, please make your way to the nearest shelter. Thank you.

The lovely victim's weeping ceased immediately, and she lifted her deep blue eyes up toward the heavens with a huff of agitation, "Damn and blast! Can he not terrorize during the day?" She pushed her attacker away from her a few steps, and began smoothing her dress.

The assailant stepped back from their quarry, and glanced out into the street where they had just pushed the blush haired, young woman, down. Turning away from the dark haired beauty, the presumed attacker reached a black leather clad hand out to the fallen. "Sorry, Corri, I had to make it look real." Murmured a distinctly feminine voice. Reaching a hand upward, the assailant tore the mask from their head, and long, glossy brunette tresses fell forth from it. Blue eyes rolled, and the woman shook her head. "Well, that settles it. It does not look like we are going to earn our meals this night."

"Oh, that is alright Claire." Corri sighed, dusting the filth from her bottom. "Perhaps Esme could work her magic at the speak easy?" She suggested.

The gorgeous, sable haired victim, known as Esme, swept her attention to Corri. "They know me too well there now, Corri. It would not be safe."

The statuesque figure that had been lurking upon the rooftop of the next building, swept a scrutinizing gaze about their terrain, especially the surrounding rooftops. "Too bad we do not have the power to bring Kingsford down. I wonder if they would not pay a handsome price for him, perhaps give us our pardons as well." Yet, another female voice called down from her perch. However, she was not about to endanger the lives of her sisters, so it was best to heed the authority's warning.

All three women lifted their attention to the fourth upon the rooftop, but it was Claire that spoke up. "That would be suicide, El. Besides, they would just as likely take us into custody and design us a rope necklace once we turned him over."

El leaped down from the rooftop, onto the wrought iron of the fire escape steps. She then slipped beneath the railing and swung herself downward still, catching, flinging and propelling herself from anything she could use to Parkour herself to the alley floor. "You are probably right."

All four women looked between themselves before nodding their agreement that they should probably get off of the streets, but where to go at such a late hour? Their hide-away was nearly upon the other side of town where they had about exhausted their resources. "I am all ears to suggestions." El commented.

[Assistant]
Wilheim Sullivan

---

"C'mon, guys! I'm not that scary! Why don't you come on out, Slackjaw, and say hello to my fist? Oh, I'm sorry, did I say fist? I meant blade!"

Wilheim groaned. He slowly rose up from his old wooden chair, bottle clinging in one hand, pistol in the other. He wiped his forehead with the pistol-hand, bit of grease on it. His eyes, a little irritated, glanced over to the open window.

"Isn't it a lovely day, Dunwall? Come out in the rain, with the rotting weepers and the infectious rodents! It's a beautiful rainy day in Dunwall!"

Outside, some unabashed jackass was yelling at the top of his lungs like there was no tomorrow, over the pitter-patter of the rain and the sirens going off in the distance. The neihborhood did not need this right now this, theatrical bilge rat coming here waking up folks who were trying to get a decent forty winks or have a calm round of drinks or...

Oh, he had to do something about this.

Wilheim arose from his creaky chair and stumbled over to the window, leaving the pistol on a table. He peeked his head outside to see the culprit of the commotion - an indecent dreg who hijacked a Tallboy's legs. Ignoring the insane amount of skill, finesse, and luck an action like that would take, Wilheim breathed in and yelled out to the rooftop rider.

"Will you keep it down you enormous BLOODY CUNT."

That old sailor's vocabulary was about to get a workout.

[User]
Once he heard the sirens, and footsteps of the Tall Boys, Ty got nervous. He immediately ducked down into another alleyway, and leaned his head out to watch what was all going on. It seemed like they were chasing a criminal. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't half bad either, being able to dodge the Tall Boys arrows with seemingly ease. And then he heard the voice of the Lord Regent. Kingsford. A wolfish grin crossed his lips. "Wow, that didn't take long. Looks like it's my lucky day, and your's too laddie." He muttered to himself. Time to get his vigilantie on.

Ty blinked around from alleyway to alleyway, and rooftop to rooftop to remain unseen. Which was pretty easy, Kingsford was making a lot of noise after all. All eyes were on him. Ty could probably remain unoticed even if he rode in on a flying whale. He noticed the old man who popped his head out to yell at the former gangster, and sighed. "You're gonna get yourself killed you dumb fuck." He muttered to himself. He adjusted his cap, making sure it covered enough of his face.

Ty blinked behind Lysander, and sighed. "Aye, I can get behind that. Besides laddie, you and me has some business to discuss." He stated as he made his presence known. He held out his right hand, the mark on his palm began to glow. He used his pull ability to keep Kingsford in place, and forcibly bring him to him. "Gotta love that Outsider." He smirked. "How about you leave these poor sobs alone, and you and me have a little chat about your mates in the Broken Bottle Gang."

He then released the former crime lord, and dropped him on the ground. "So what's it going to be mate? You, me, badass superpowered battle that'll end with me dragging you off, and forcing the information that I want out of you. Or we can both walk away now, and get what we both want, Slackjaw, and his mates being brought down." He asked as he tapped on the hilt of his sword, showing that he was ready for fight. He looked around, expecting the city guard to arrive soon. "Decide fast laddie, those Guardsmen are like cockroaches, emphasis on the cock. They just crawl out of the courners. And no matter what, you just can't stomp on 'em all."


[System]
Nicknames/Titles: The Paper Angel
Gender: Female
Age: 25

Appearance: A young Caucasian woman with striking red eyes and long pale red hair that reaches down to her waist. She has a slightly eccentric manner of dress, wearing a pair of red tinted goggles on her forehead and long flowing scarf at all times. She stands at roughly 5ft11 in height and has a lithe, toned figure. Her left arm is bandaged up to the elbow, covering a burn mark received when when she was still an inexperienced magi. Her bandaged hand is hidden beneath a robust, armour lined glove. In contrast she wears a fingerless black glove on her right.

Skills:
Magical Resonance – Paper God Magic can resonate with benign magical essences to either reinforce spells already present such as wards or seals or to imbue her paper with additional properties. The latter requires cooperation with another mage. Resonating magic is far more difficult to interfere with and disrupt. It is also more draining on the user as well.

Foci Split – Chloe has trained to be able to effectively wield a wide variety of weaponry so as to make best use of her particular style of magic. This skill allows her to seamlessly swap between weapon types without interrupting her rhythm. Her skill level is easily exceeded by masters of particular weapon types or styles, as one would expect. The power of Foci Split lies in versatility and adaptability.

Strong Vessel - Years training as an apprentice to an experienced mage have their benefits, such as rigorous, repetitive training of even the most basic of cantrips. From such practice an apprentice gains increased magical stamina and efficiency.

Magic: Paper God Magic is the ability to freely manipulate sheets of paper through the will of the user to form a wide variety of shapes and forms. The more skilled the user the more complicated and intricate the shapes that can be formed. Paper that is being manipulated is far more durable and resistant to damage than conventional paper and is as strong as any steel while Paper God Magic flows through it. Basic practitioners of this magic use it to form small weapons and shields, more advanced practitioners have a far more varied repertoire of techniques as their disposal.

The greatest weakness of Paper God Magic is that of fire, regardless of whether the fire is magical or natural in origin, though natural fire needs to burn far hotter then magical fire to inflict the same degree of damage. Paper that has been soaked in water or oil is also an issue for practitioners of this form of magic as it becomes more difficult to wield, especially if magic is involved. However paper that is already being manipulated can only be drenched by the use of magically imbued water. As distance from the caster increases so does the difficulty in maintaining control of any manipulated units of paper, preventing effective long range attacks and limiting the effective range of the magic to medium range at most.

Elemental Affinity – Paper God Magic
*Fire – Very Weak
*Water – Weak
*Earth – Resistant
*Lightning – Resistant
*Wind – Resistant
*Light – Neutral
*Darkness – Neutral

Equipment:
*Goggles – Red tinted goggles used to reduce the glare of bright lights and to protect the eyes from dust and the like.
*Scarf – A wide and long brown scarf worn around the neck. Possesses no magical or supernatural properties, its value purely sentimental. Whatever material it is made from it does not burn very easily.
*Backpack – Full of paper mostly, along with a few perishables.
*Steel Rods – It is easier to form a weapon around a core material then without one.

Personality: Chloe can be somewhat eccentric in both her mannerisms and actions but there is never any doubt as to the honesty of her intentions and is generally easy to befriend. She often comes across as a somewhat lazy, needlessly cheerful and surprisingly intrusive individual with no apparent notion of privacy or personal boundaries. In battle Chloe will always seek out the tactical advantage, preferring to avoid head on and prolonged combat when at all possible. She is also very protective, willingly sacrificing her own safety to shield other people from harm. Unsurprisingly she has been injured more than a few times, sometimes grievously. She is terrified of magical fire and will cocoon herself in paper if she has no way of running away.

Biography: Chloe is the adopted daughter of knight commander Callahan Chevalier, a brave and well respected soldier in service to his majesty king Allamon of Torrea. Something of a tomboy Chloe spent far too much time at her fathers heel growing up, her natural curiosity always getting her into mischief of one sort or another. Not that her father minded all that much, he was happy so long as she was happy. But things are never that simple in the real world and when Chloe started puberty her magic started to manifest itself. Violently. Untrained magic is dangerous for all concerned and so it was with a heavy heart that Callahan sent his daughter to Milokis to be apprenticed to an experienced mage at the behest of King Allamon's court mage, who used his connections to secure the arrangement.

Being apprenticed to a mage was not such a bad thing as it turned out, there was always something to occupy her curiosity. And she was a quick study, her form of magic relying more heavily on intuition than extensive and studious discipline. As a mage in training she was expected to perform all manner of tasks as deemed appropriate by her master. These included lofty tasks such as accompanying knights into dangerous ruins to battle evil monstrosities, to chasing rats with a broom in the masters pantry. Both were equally important, according to her master. Though Chloe had her doubts on that account. One day, her master assured her, she would understand.

She had yet to complete her apprenticeship when word of civil unrest reached her, followed shortly thereafter by the news that her father had just barely survived an assassination attempt by some unknown faction. Chloe returned to the capital as soon as she was able, her master wishing her all the best, knowing he could not dissuade her from her course. After all, she was her fathers daughter.

[User] Bristlebane was somewhat skeptical of the ability of the army lady's archers to be EVERYWHERE, and was pretty sure that he could make it to the prime minister if he felt like. In fact he was almost tempted to simply because of the challenge of it, but more importantly, he needed to know how to use paper magic. He now realized that his thoughts before were to small, why stop at paper airplanes. Why not create.... PAPER ROCKETS THAT COULD FLY TO OUTER SPACE. He giggly excitedly at the thought as he moved out of the nice paper lady's way and followed her down to ground floor again. The cool shadowy magicy guy was offering her a deal, frantically Bristlebane thought of what he had that she would want. Money? he had lots of that, wait that was it. The nice army lady said that they could meet back here tomorrow and do some fun stuff like blowing up the spider thingy so he filed away that information and then moved onto his plan. "Hey nice lady, i have an offer for you and its a good one. If you teach me how to use paper magic then... I'll be a slave for you! I can do lots of things, like carry things, make music for you, ummmm, set up camp if you ever need to do that, and i got lots of money so I can pay for you if you want to stay at an inn or something." he said to Chloe beaming with delight at his brilliant idea. He was positive that there was no way the magic lady would refuse his generous offer and he would finally learn how to use magic. For some reason all the other mages he managed to find had told him that he was to wild and irresponsible. Bristlebane had no idea why, last time he broke into a bank he had totally owned up to, coincidentally that town had had a really nice prison.

[Assistant]
Salazar felt the emotions of the party that had gathered pressing against the walls of the mental fortress constructed in the illusionists mind. It was akin to the heady feeling of drunkenness yet every muddled feeling, emotion and question came to his mind with complete clarity. It was a heady cocktail of confidence, fear, aggression, loyalty and deceit. One that told Salazar all he needed to know about the party. His eyelids shut for a second as he remembered the instruction his teacher had once bestowed upon him.

"An Illusionist is nothing without the inborn ability to read minds" The grizzled Grim growled at the young man that was his protégé "To heed the darkest fears and the most upheld ideals is how we ply our trade…so you must learn to decipher the emotions" the man's voice was more guttural noise than human words "Got it? Good"

Salazar opened his eyes to the group which had once more gotten bigger in the moments he had taken to compose himself. Things were crawling walls and another mage had gathered to the cause. The little trip of reverie down memory lane had taken longer than the Illusionist had expected. He caught the final part of Hazael's speech and nodded gently, the fighting was something he could possibly not help with too greatly…illusions were notoriously ineffective against things of lower intelligence. Looking over the group he noticed a prostrated man kneeling to the mage that had appeared. He stifled a grin "ahh…Chloe Chevalier…such an honour that you grace us with our presence" he said with a good natured smile before clapping Hazael on the shoulder and leaning down to whisper to her "When they leave…I must have a chat with you…in private" He straightened back up and held his palm out, blue energy flowing into it and creating multiples of the little blue bird messengers that was his favoured method of communication. He breathed animation in to them before letting them loose to gather some favours he deemed necessary. The birds, crystalline sapphire formations, shot into the air and spread out quickly.

[User]
New TorreaTsubasa
"Triple, huh? You remember, I hope, that half of my fee is paid up front and that it may increase based on expenses I incur?" Tsubasa crossed his arms as he turned to Hazael, but this time he wore the smallest semblance of a smirk. "My equipment is very important to me. Having it taken away, even temporarily, is going to cost you. But, for three times the price...sure. Consider Donat as good as dead." He turned away to head back to the same inn he'd mentioned before. "Remember, half the money by tomorrow, or I can't guarantee anything gets done. Same inn as before, ask for Kojiro."

A fake attempt on the King, for the purposes of getting close to Donat. A bit of a roundabout...but potentially two birds with one stone, if he played his cards right. The fake attempt would give him the layout of the castle, and having the guards under Hazael's control on his side would give him plenty of escape opportunities or ways to get back into places that would no doubt be under heavier guard after the attempt on the King. It wasn't nearly as bad a plan as he'd initially thought, but...only an amateur wouldn't expect something to go wrong. No strategy, no matter how articulate, survives reaching the battlefield.

He'd need to do a little bit of "research" tonight...but that would be no problem.

[Assistant]
Astarte & Hazael

People seemed to come together a bit better now. They were now willing to follow her, or at least, that's what she thought. Now, what was next? She motioned something to her brother on the rooftop. If someone were to turn around, they'd see a shadow hurrying out of sight. Kendrick, Hazael's brother, who was watching over everything and will now inform everyone of Hazael's companions and who they should be watching. It was thought, Hazael was almost sure that Donat was already on their case. She felt the approaching danger, that's for sure, but right now, she couldn't back down, not after so many preparations. "Dismissed, then. We will meet right here again tomorrow."

Astarte was confused as ever, and wanted to demand some kind explanation. What his sister had said meant nothing to him. He'd follow her to her home if necessary, but he wanted a real run down on how the hell did Hazael got on to everything that was happening. "Sis, I-!" Before he could say anything, Hazael stopped him by simply putting her hand up.

"Ask anything you want to Kendrick. I have some things to take care of right now. Don't be late tomorrow, Assie." Hazael said, smiling at her brother and then walked to where Salazar was and motioned with her head for him to follow her. When she was sure there was no one else aroudn, she raised her voice. "Then, what is this about, Salazar?"
The Next Day

Three figures stood next to the gate, at afternoon. Donat didn't do anything all throughout the night, and that was all the more worrying. In the gate were the three siblings of the Triumvirate. Many looked at them, all armed up and wearing suits of armor. Hazael was wearing really light armor, as well as her brother Kendrick, who had a bow hanging around his back, and lastly, her baby brother, Astarte was using heavy duty armor that looked extremely heavy, along with a sword and shield.

"So, dear sister of mine, how the hell are we going to bring the other pair of girls here with the Arachnoblaster in our butss, huh?" Kendrick said, while Hazael just sighed. "Whaaaat... No comeback, really? I thought you were a better straightman, woman, that this, sis." Kendrick then started laughing sarcastically. "Then, were there any hot chicks in the group from yesterday? I got a look, but not a real good look at them.... Did any of them have a nice body, sis, unlike you, that are merely bones and skin?" With that, Kendrick won himself a punch to the face. "Ouchie! I've told you not to do that, sis, my face is my toold of trade." He stroked his nose as he said that.

"Shut up already, Ken. I've got enough to worry about as it is." Hazael said, though she said so, she didn't seem all that stressed, meanwhile Astarte didn't talk at all, though. 'He must be nervous... I can't blame him.'

(@Musoka Let's do that chat through PM's, sorry. :P)

[User]
"Yeah, I didn't really get a good look myself either," Chloe said conversationally as she stepped out from the shadows of the gatehouse door and walked toward the group of knights who stood beneath the open gate to the city. There was a playful bounce to her step and she swung her arms in an exaggerated manner. Her body was wrapped in the same white paper coat that she had worn to the meeting the other day, only it was a little worse for wear. Her face was clean, save for a slight smudge of dirt on her cheek. If she had noticed it bothered her little.

Chloe turned toward Kendrick. "So what about me? Do I have a nice body?" Chloe said playfully, coming to a stop several feet from the group. To negate any tension her presence may have elicited she closed her eyes and laughed gently. She placed her hands together behind her back cocked her head to the side and smiled. "Chloe Magnolia Chevalier. And you must be HaZaEl," Chloe said playfully as she deliberately fumbled the pronunciation of Hazael's name. "We didn't speak yesterday. But here I am. And here you are." Chloe stood upright and laughed heartily to herself before curtsying to Hazael.


[System]
Age: 45 or so
Gender: Male
Species: Dwarf
Class: Primary: Engineer/gadgeteer type mid-level. Specializes in heavy, large machines and devices.
Secondaries: Low level fighter (Preferred weapon: spear with or without shield, also some grappling and dagger)
Low level alchemist: Assayance, mineralogy, some basic herbalism for making those chelating teas you give people with metal poisoning.

Appearance: Well, he looks like a dwarf. His beard and hair are prematurely grey, making him look older than he is. Unlike many of his kin, he keeps them cropped short. He is missing the tip of his right ring finger, and his right middle finger is smashed-looking and has no nail. He refuses to talk about how that happened. He is usually dressed in his work clothes, including a miner's helmet, work gloves, a leather apron, and a tool belt.

Do they dress for other rolls? Bork has some nice dress clothes for meetings with "management", but he only wears them when necessary.

Personality:

Point – blunt and honest to a fault
Point – conscientious and hard-working
Point – private about personal affairs
Point – visionary but practical. Put foundations under those sky castles and such.
Point – Almost as smart as he thinks he is.
Point - Ambitious

Motivation:
 Loves problem solving. Wants to make big and new things happen and make a decent living doing it. He believes (incorrectly) that his estranged wife will reconcile with him if he becomes successful enough.

History:
Bork has made a name for himself as a mining engineer in his home town. He has also made a name for himself as a first-class jerk. He has come to Pigeon Spit because he got tired of working with idiots, and also because his home life had become unbearable (see Relationships). He has convinced himself that Pigeon Spit has much untapped economic potential, and has decided that the community simply needs a non-idiot to take charge and show 'em how it's done. Bork, naturally, has himself in mind as said non-idiot. Nosy people won't find out much more about him because a) He's pretty much unapproachable when it comes to his private life, and b) he doesn't really have much of a private life.

Equipment:

Heavy work clothes including a leather apron, work gloves and boots, a mining helmet, and goggles.
Rock hammer, pick axe, and other mining stuff. Lantern and oil. Some carpentry tools as well. His work gives him access to rope and other things he might need.
A gambeson. A boar spear. A battered round shield. A dagger. (not usually carried)
Dress clothes for business meetings with idiots.
Small library of books on work-related subjects.

Weakness:

Married to work - this is a problem because he has an (estranged) wife. Bork just isn't relationship material
Asocial and tactless - Need a smooth-talker to get you out of a sticky situation? Or to soften hard feelings? Well, you're screwed. Read a room? Nope.
Incorrigible, stubborn know-it-all. Not only is this off-putting (see above) but also a hindrance to rethinking anything once Bork decides he's got stuff figured out.
Partial hearing loss in one ear. One of many things he's in furious denial about. Roll over, Beethoven.
Prone to seasickness. A problem considering the setting's coastal.
Can't swim. Ditto.
Uncultured. Bork is literate and knows his practical disciplines left and right. However, he doesn't do poetry or romances or stuff. Or music. If a book has lots of dry text about mechanics or mineralogy and confusing illustrations of assaying ovens or lifting cranes, Bork has probably read it. If it doesn't, he probably hasn't.
Mean drunk. Doesn't get drunk very often. But when he does: hooo, boy!

Relationships:
Roswith, estranged wife, left back at home. She resents the amount of time and attention Bork puts into his work and feels emotionally neglected. Bork has misread her discontent and thinks she'll reconcile with him once he's successful. His pursuit of success has, of course, only made things worse between them.
Rorik Fellforest (LN Dwarven Fighter/Cleric)- Mining captain, go-to source for any stone that needs to be quarried in Pigeon Spit. So far he and Bork get along simply because they have interests and goals in common. Whether their personalities remain compatible is yet to be seen.
Nelthurin Sebheon (aka "Nelf the Elf") (N Rogue) - Harbormaster. Interested in what's good for Pigeon Spit, but has some unconventional ideas of where legal authority fits into that. Is happy to work with pirates and smugglers if it means bringing wealth and goods into town. He and Bork are ambivalent about one another, but are currently willing to set aside differences to develop the harbor.

Character goal: Become successful and wealthy in his business. Reconcile with his wife.

Goals you would like for Pigeon Spit: Bigger and better-run mines (by himself, of course). Bigger and better run-port facilities (ditto).

[User]
Home coming
As the waves come into the sleepy little coastal village, a ship starts to unload it cargo. Grain, metal goods, supplies for the coming winter, military equipment for a small garrison, and other items that would be needed. Ten solders and five archers were preparing to disembark. The tents would only be useful till the first real storm came. Earlier in the day, the two large warships had fired flares and cannons announcing the arrival. A few of the ships had left port, running the shallows so they could not be boarded and searched. No captain wants to have his vessel searched or worse seized.

Andrew Richard Whitewood III, now an Abbot was coming home. The village was originally called Dragon Spit, till the Dragons took offense to the name and it has hastily changed. Andrew was a noble bastard of the royal court. He and his mother were exiled to Pigeon Spit. He ended up being turned loose in these streets as a child, to survive or die on his own. He learned his first trade, thieving, from the pirates, whores, and street rats. He was made an honorable member of the Gold Tooth, the thieves guild, when he could finally pay his dues. Back then, he was called Andy and he spent as much time in the stocks at the docks as he spent in the school.

But life takes funny turns at times. His was when the Red Dragon, Fire claw, and the Sea Dragon, Riptide found him useful. They wanted a treaty with the king, territory to hunt and in return peace. Men and dragons have warred for as long as they have been alive. So Andy was sent to the king with a message. His uncle the king, kept him at the royal court. Andy's life took a second funny turn, he was educated and assigned to the church to keep him from being a royal pawn in court politics. It was there Andrew found that he had skills for administration and a distaste for royal politics.

Now his uncle was sending him "home" quietly banishing him from the royal court. Back to Pigeon Spit with instructions to help it become a city, help prepare for the coming war with the Western Isles, and of course pay the proper taxes.

After the troops gear was loaded on the barge, next came the horses. Andrew was placed on a smoke grey mare at the captain of the guard's instance. Andrew was not sure if this was to get him killed off, either by the horse bucking him off or by someone mad at the king. At the thought of someone thinking about assassinating him as he arrived with two large war ships docked close enough to send sailors to destroy the town, made his heart beat fast for the moment. Then he shook his head at thinking that he had been at court too long. First chance, he gets, he is getting off this horse, put on normal clothes, and get something to drink at the Rusty Peg Tavern.

[Assistant]
As the barge started its trip in, the horse shifted uneasy with the waves as they came along the dock. There were row boats many had left a sailor to guard it. As the lines were secured, he made his triumphant reentry to Pigeon Spit by falling off the horse and on to the dock. Andrew's handlers had told him that riding in on a horse would make him look royal, being at court had polluted his thinking that this was a good idea. Now, the small crowd that had gathered to see the commotion, laughed to themselves.

Andrew waved off his handlers, picked himself up and belly laughed loudly. Bringing a roar of laughter from the crowed. Better to be thought the fool and to be found competent than be thought competent and found the fool, he thought. He then proceeded to push pass the pomp, his captain and servant,and went to greet the people. A few he remembered from his childhood, a couple he asked about family members. It was his attempt at letting the people know he was one of them, even if he dressed like one of them. By the late meal, his story would have made it from porch, to tavern, to table, to wash line and everyone would know who he was. Not all of it would be true, but not all gossip was bad and having some confusion gave him a little power.

At the end of the line was Lilly, a woman a little older than himself, with two children in tow. He took her hand and then hugged her. She was his first "true love" and now she was married to a forester with children of her own. She introduced him to her children as Uncle Andy, which confused those that did not know him and the guard. He took her arm, picked up a child and headed for the tavern to catch up on what had happened while he was gone.

[User]
Pigeon Spit. What a stupid name. Sounded more like an epithet one would use to berate errant workers. As in: "Move it, Pigeon Spit! No, the other hammer, Pigeon Spit! You guys are all dumber'n pigeon spit!". And frankly, Bork hadn't seen much of the town so far that would warrant a better name. The dwarf had heard that the king was sending somebody to shore the place up, develop it, make it into a town worth more than pigeon spit. That somebody clearly hadn't arrived yet when Bork got there, so the engineer had set about on his own, making inquiries, visiting the copper mine and the quarry, talking to the harbor master about facilities and commerce, generally taking notes and forming some ideas.

Both the mines and the harbor facilities were badly in need of some tough love, to say nothing of competent management and a sense of direction. There was potential here. Hopefully, the decision makers in this community weren't such idiots that they couldn't see that, or appreciate the extent to which Bork Valding could provide those things. So it was with great curiosity and hope that Bork waited at the dock with a small knot of assorted yokels to watch the arrival of their new…governor? Mayor? Aedile? Commissioner? Whatever his title was to be. The guy Bork would have to pitch his ideas to in order to make things happen. And he had a few of those ideas already.

Bork was dressed in his "nice" clothes, an outfit that Roswith had picked out for him when they were still talking to one another: a beret that kept threatening to fly off his head with every breath of wind, a bright blue cloak fastened by a fussy brass brooch that took too long to polish, a tunic and trouser you couldn't even really see under the cloak, anyway, and a pair of those silly, uncomfortable pointy-toed boots with shiny buckles as fussy and polish-hungry as the brooch. The dwarf glanced ruefully down at his feet, amazed and disgusted by how dirty and dusty those boots got just in the walk from the Rusty Peg. Once he had gotten his fill of disgust at his own footwear, he looked up to the arriving launch, to behold somebody, presumably His Whateverness, trying to disembark on horseback. Who did that? Perhaps the poor man had a Roswith of his own, Bork thought, loading him up with advice on how best to make an impression. Or worse: advisers.

It wasn't long before the man paid for his folly; the horse faltered as it tried to step off the boat, pitching His Most Elevated Center of Gravity gracelessly onto the pier. The townsfolk giggled like idiots at this. Bork simply felt annoyance and disgust, much as he felt about his dirty boots. He was willing to give His Nibs the benefit of the doubt, assuming that he had been put up to this equestrian nonsense by somebody at court, or one those solicitous handlers who were now fawning over their fallen charge. Still, it was not a good omen for what was to come. The dwarf fervently hoped that His Officialdom would exercise better and more independent judgment when it came to matters of industry and commerce.

There was only one way to find out: follow the procession, now that it was once more up and moving, back to the Rusty Peg and buttonhole His Buttonholeyness as soon as he got the chance.


[System]
Gender: Female
Appearance: "Just remember, this one is mine."(Red hair and eyes, pale skin, gold and silver scissors, red dress with black trim and frills)
Personality: At first glance, VV seems rather cheerful. And this is not entirely untruthful. The Doll can be quite happy... it's just that she's also quick to anger and quick to violence, as well as rather hostile to others. At least she's usually initially friendly. However, VV is also highly possessive of her Doll Master. She dislikes letting them out of her sight and follows them practically everywhere when she can, and becomes rather irritable if they begin spending too much time alone with anyone else. VV is okay if it's multiple people, but alone? She'll be very unhappy with her Doll Master. She also has a tendency to speak rather harshly, saying things like "This is mine" in reference to her Doll Master. VV has a tendency to be overzealous in combat and possesses an aggressive fighting style. She is quite arrogant in combat, claiming that she is never going to lose. Even still, however, she can initially be friendly as long as she actually likes someone. Though if that someone starts trying to spend time alone with her Doll Master, things will rapidly go downhill. VV loves food, especially sweets(some of the neighboring countries to Saulbine have fantastic sweets, in her opinion), and has a notable interest in stuffed toys.
Abilities: VV is strong enough to effortlessly wield Calamity Edge one-handed(blades shut), but she is weaker then many other physical combat Dolls. She compensates for this by being highly fast and agile, able to outpace some Dolls and Marionettes entirely. She is also less durable then other physical combat Dolls, though she is still far more durable then a human being and is invulnerable to nearly all mundane weaponry like all Dolls.
Weapons: Duality of Laceration: Calamity Edge - VV wields a giant pair of shears, as long as she is tall(about 5'1). The handle is a gleaming gold, and the blades an equally shining silver. Held shut, Calamity Edge acts as an effective sword, capable of cutting and parrying. However, when she uses both hands to fight with them open, the razor-sharp blades can slice through nearly anything. Even shut, the shears are capable of cutting solid stone like butter, and even effortlessly shearing through metal. When opened, Calamity Edge's true power shines. The shears are capable of cutting even the intangible, such as Dolls who have hidden themselves from existence. However, as VV cannot see the invisible, she requires some idea of where they are located to do such a thing. VV also states that the more power she gets, the more Calamity Edge will be capable of.
Misc: VV has an "older sister", /\/\(pronounced AA).

[User]
Annalee Diaz

The sun had just set, and Annalee found herself late for her curfew, again. She rushed down the nearly empty streets of the city, cutting through allies where she could, and dreading every new second. Father will be cross with me again, I hate to worry him so much. Annalee looked up to the shadows of the roofs of the buildings constantly, hoping that her doll Megumi was still following her in case she got into some sort of trouble.

Luckily, the only thing that went wrong for Annalee on the way was time. She heard the great clock in the center of the city chime the half hour as she burst through the door to her family's home. There, in the siting room, was her mother and father. They looked up at Annalee as she struggled to catch her breath, and she tried to get out an apology before her father started speaking.

"And what should I assume held you this time my dear? Should I be worried for your safety out there, or are you simply incapable of keeping track of the time? Must your mother sew pockets into all of your dresses so you may keep a pocket-watch?" Her father's tone was calm, kind. It made Annalee want to cry. I can't tell him the exact reason...

"I'm sorry, father. I was helping a young man regain something he had lost." Annalee heard herself say in a voice much calmer than she felt. It's not a lie... The real reason she was late this time was that she and Megumi had run into a marionette earlier, and had separated the Puppeteer from him, indeed helping him regain something. Himself.

Her father seemed to deflate at her words, the harsh kindness in his tone lost. "Well then, I suppose that is a well enough reason to lose the time, however I expect you do understand how much we worry for you when you are not her by curfew." He looked over to her mother and continued speaking. "You seem to come back later and later each day."

Now, her mother began to speak. "Dear, I forgive you for today. From how you look, I can tell that you had a rough time of it. Now, off to bed dear. You have errands to run in the morning." Her mother walked over to her and gave her a quick hug, kissing her on the forehead softly. Annalee said goodnight and went up to her room, changing into her pajamas before opening her window to allow Megumi in.

[Assistant]
Nuul

"Not now, Eren." Nuul said, "This is important."

The Grimoire floated openly in front of her, and she seemed to be staring upwards into empty space, or darkness as it were. What Eren couldn't see was the nightmare before her eyes. The Pursuers had shown their fangs, and now they had them buried deep into the thug's flesh, and they held him in the air as the others rushed past, not giving the man a chance to breathe.

This was one of the powers of the Pursuers, the Nightmare Sphere. They would pursue their target anywhere, even into unconsciousness and they would not relent. The thug was holding them off fairly well with the knife he had in his free arm, but even so, he was still bleeding quite badly from the wounds he had received.

"That's to be expected, I suppose." She said, engrossed in the scene. "He'll last a while."

[User]
Gehrman walked through the streets, searching for the address of his next hunt. His notes were scrambled and overwritten numerous times, so he had to look at it twice before he was sure it was the right house. He unpacked his suitcase and made a last check of his weapons. He loaded his nailgun and placed it in his holster, while he equipped the Nail Driver over his arm like a boxing glove. He tested out the weight and balance of the weapon with a few quick jabs.

"That's right. Shouldn't be a lot of rust left after that metal Doll from last week."

His preparations done, Gehrman stepped up to the front door of Eren Deville's house and knocked on the door.

I only hope I'm not too late to save this soul.

[Assistant]
Ryan Macfield
Ryan was at his home in his room, which was not too small, but not too spacious either. What made this room different from most rooms in Saulbine is the abundance of mirrors, which would make Ryan look like a mirror collector, but in fact, he isn't, and weren't interested in collecting mirrors for sake of it before, while pretending so. Then why does he pretend that he is a mirror collector and fill his room with mirrors? Ryan briefly opens the door to check what is happening outside of his room, and started speaking to the largest mirror.
"Ashling, it doesn't look like my parents are coming here anytime soon. You can come out now."

[User]
Regina Victoria

The day continued to get ever stranger, as a short redhead came from nowhere to interrupt her impending demise. With relatively little space on the balcony, the creepy man was still too close for comfort... and now a Doll. To the nun, this was hardly the godsend that anyone else would be treating it as; the number of monsters she had to fight had gone up.

At least this one, inexplicably huge scissors aside, would be easier to fight than the Marionette: she wasn't visually displaced from her actual location (the hand on her shoulder gave it away) and she'd hardly be expecting to be dealt with by the person she'd saved. Though maybe she'd have to let the Doll go and simply report her to the higher-ups. Even if it was a monster saving your life, betrayal was the worst crime imaginable.

"Fine, kill it," Regina answered, gripping her nails tightly and mentally adding 'then leave'.

[Assistant]
The moment the words left the nun's mouth, VV's lips spread into a wide grin.

She let out a small laugh. There it was. The completion of their deal. The seal that would confirm the nun's nature as her anchor. Now, they had forged a contract that could not be broken, at least not without certain extreme circumstances being met. VV was in the human world, and she knew there was nothing that could take her out. "Contract accepted."

The Marionette had evidently gotten over his shock, one fist lunging towards her, towards her at an impossible angle. That wasn't right at all...! It was then when she noticed, the coiling shadow that was the Puppeteer wasn't inside the man's body, but to the side, to the right of him. So that was it...

Moments before the fist could connect, VV's fist lashed out! It struck the air beside the Marionette's head, and there was an ugly crack as the image of his body snapped to the side, relocating to its appropriate location. He reeled back, clutching his nose as he fell backwards, toppling off the balcony and to the ground below. He hit the ground with a thud below. Idiot. Didn't he know anything about dealing with Dolls?

Placing one foot on the railing, VV looked back over her shoulder at the nun. "Now don't do anything stupid."

With that, she sprang off of the railing, landing boots-first below on the cobblestones. They cracked beneath her from the impact, dislodged and kicked into the air, several cobblestones clattering across the ground as she straightened. The Marionette was back on his feet already, both eyes fixed firmly on her. His body was already to the right of the shadow within again. Placing one hand on her hip, VV laughed.

"Really?!" she began, "Do you seriously think that's going to work? I can see you inside him. Twisting around like the parasite you are. You can't solve that, can you?"

The Marionette's hands clenched into fists. "Doll... I'll butcher you and that bitch!"

"Pffftahahahaha wow, you're funny," VV wiped a mock tear from one eye. This idiot seriously thought he had a chance? That parasite was going to learn a whole new world of knowledge in a few moments. Well, before dying. "But there's no more time to mess around. Come on out, Calamity Edge!"

VV outstretched her right hand. The air seemed to warp and distort, as red sparks materialized from nothing and gathered in her palm. With a flash, an immense pair of gold-and-silver shears had formed. The center of the handles was held tight, shut so that each blade formed a single double-edged sword. The metal hissed as VV swung it into the air, red sparks still raining down from the pristine metal that composed the massive shears. There was no further hesitation, VV's crimson-clad body blurred as she suddenly charged towards the Marionette! The sheer speed, the speed of a Doll and even moreso, dislodged cobblestones from the ground with each step.

The Marionette attempted to use his distorted image, pushing himself to the side harder than before, but really it was useless. VV's free hand latched out and caught his shoulder with an ugly crack. Well, something near it. It was hard to tell where it had hit, but wherever it was had sent the bastard stumbling!

She wouldn't use Calamity Edge to inflict lethal injury, especially not now. Not until her real target was exposed. The red-headed Doll's hand blurred, and with a thunk slammed directly into the spot that was occupied by the Puppeteer. The Marionette let out a stranged cry of shock as his image once again returned to its proper place, and it was now clear what was going on. VV was reaching inside, a shimmering light around her wrist as her arm sunk in deeper, grabbing for her target. The parasite was about to get just what it deserved!

There was a hiss of metal through the air, and VV barely snapped Calamity Edge up in time to deflect it. It was, apparently, the Marionette's hand, reshaped into a metallic blade. He was already preparing to lash out again, but...

"There. I've got you now, bastard!"

VV's fingers wrapped around the coiling darkness and began to draw it free. The Marionette's hand returned to normal and he staggered, letting out a gurgle as VV began to pull the parasite from his body. Finally, his eyes glazed over as he passed out, his body going slack. VV wrenched the monster free as he collapsed, and tossed it down onto the cobblestones! It was human-like in shape,though it lacked most features beyond eyes and pale skin... and its hands were simply sharp edges. No wonder it had wanted a human body so badly.

She could already see its shape shimmering! But it was disoriented, she wouldn't let it get away!

Calamity Edge slammed downwards. There was a wet thunk, then a crunch as it pierced all the way through and cut into the stone below. The Puppeteer's body ceased to shimmer and returned to its natural place as blood sprayed from its chest, splattering across VV's clothing and across the ground.

"Like I said, not your lucky day, is it?" she commented as she drew Calamity Edge from his body. The shears faded into red sparks as she straightened, standing over the monster.

The parasite's body went limp, collapsing onto the ground as blood continued to spray from it, coating the red-headed Doll. But it was starting to vanish, the blood seeming to seep into the girl's body. Indeed, the body was dissipating into a red mist too... all of it flowing into VV. Soon, the blood, and the corpse, was gone, the only remains of a battle being the unconscious former Marionette and the damaged cobblestones.

"Sheesh, he wasn't even very filling," VV stretched, "Oh well, he's dead now."