[System]
Titles: None
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:

Personality:A stammering, stuttering mess of a man, Caractacus has trouble in dealing with the living. He is nervous and self-doubting in the utmost when around anything but the dead. Being around him creates a sense of mistrust, as though there was something sinister about him.
Weapons:
-Staff: A simple tool in the spellcaster's arsenal, this staff lets Caractacus focus his magical energy, to better cast spells.
-Dagger: A small steel dagger, for last resorts only.
Skills/Magic:
-Summon undead: Caractacus can summon lesser undead creatures, such as skeletons or zombies, and command them for a period of 24 hours before they disintegrate.
-Bolster undead: For a short period of time, Caractacus can increase the strength, speed, and dexterity of any undead creature under his control.
-Speak with dead: Caractacus communicates with a recently deceased individual. This individual is not actually alive, but merely the corpse relaying whatever information it may have known in life. The memory of the dead are fleeting, however, and only the recently dead could provide coherent information. Anything dead over a week would know nothing, and even after a day, all but the most important aspects of a beings life are lost.
-False life: Using death magic, Caractacus can extend the life of any living creature through pain and wounds. This spell allows anything he casts it on to continue living past what would normally kill someone. The spell cannot sustain a living being through injuries that totally destroy the body, or decapitations, and all wounds sustained will have to be healed before the spell ends or the subject of the spell will still suffer the effects of the wounds they've taken. As he sustains the spell, Caractacus feeds the targets life force with his own.
-Magic missile: A tool in nearly every wizard's arsenal, Caractacus produces a trio of magical darts, which he flings at his opponents. While not particularly powerful, they do not consume a lot of energy, and are easy to cast.
-Destroy undead: In addition to creating and empowering undead, Caractacus can reach out to other undead and weaken or destroy the magic that animates them. This spell will instantly kill lesser undead, but the stronger an undead is, the more time and energy Caractacus must expend to destroy it.
-Death grip: His most powerful spell, Caractacus summons a spectral fist, encasing his foe in it to wither their life away. It kills living things quickly, but it requires heavy concentration, and is extremely draining. It has no effect on undead, or other constructs such as golems.
-Undead Identification: Caractacus is familiar with most types of undead creatures that can be encountered, with a working knowledge of how to use them as allies, and destroy them as enemies.

History: Caractacus was always sickly and unwell, even in his youth. He was born to poor peasant farmers, under the rule of the dark lord. However, in his adolescence, Caractacus was discovered to have an affinity for death magic, a boon in the land of the dark lord, and he was shipped off to become a necromancer in the army of the empire. The training was cruel and failure was not tolerated. It was only by natural talent that Caractacus escaped the harshest punishments that surely would have killed him. Still, his time earning the rank of necromancer was painful and destructive to his psyche, and his opinion of all living things was shattered through the cruelty of his living instructors. Only the dead understood him. Only the dead protected him.

Caractacus's life was soon to change, however, as he was mustered out into the army of the dark lord to do battle with one of the remaining free kingdoms. The column was routed by a band of heroes and their guerrilla forces. Caractacus was taken, wounded but not killed. He awaited his death at the hand of his enemy, but instead, an offer of mercy came. In exchange for freedom and his life, Caractacus could swear himself instead to fight for freedom from the dark lord. Caractacus, seeing no other way out, took the offer, and while he does not trust his newfound allies, and they surely do not trust a necromancer such as him, he holds no love for the empire, and at least now, he has a chance.

Other: Rattle rattle.

[User]
Ysran Stormreach

The caravan ride seemed to last an eternity. Ysran did the best he could at being patient, and eventually went to his Breath of the Deep spellbook. Suddenly the caravan started gaining speed rapidly.

"You late for somethin'? Why are we going so fast all of the sudden?"

"Look! There's a huge smoke stack! Somebody might be In trouble."

"Fair enough. Let's go."

As the pace picked up, the smoke stack became closer and closer until eventually they made it.

"Stay here. I'll check it out." The driver gave a quick nod and Ysran hopped off the caravan. The town was in ruins. Buildings were reduced to rubble, there were scorch marks everywhere. Yet in the middle of it all, stood a figure, surrounded by more, shorter figures. Soon enough the smaller figures scattered, leaving only the taller central one. One of the figures began to almost limp in Ysran's direction. Upon closer inspection, this figure was a rotting corpse, shuffling towards him. Quickly unsheathing his sword, Ysran prepared for a fight. Yet oddly enough, the creature wasn't agressive towards him. It almost seemed... happy to see him. Ysran began to back away slowly as the creature closed in, eventually reaching him. As much as he wanted to cleave this zombie in half, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The creature was within arms reach of Ysran, and stuck out its arm. Reeling back for a strike, Ysran quickly realized that the undead man was simply grabbing the sleeve of his robe, and tugging towards him. Allowing himself to be moved by the creature, he was led to the one central figure. Upon closer inspection, this figure was a robed man, pale, and looked like he was desperately waiting for something.

"Hey, uh... is this yours?" he said, pointing to the undead man bringing him closer to the man.

[Assistant]
Eahara

The undead were always a nuisance that came in many different levels; a skeleton was a minor annoyance whereas a zombie was the slightly more annoying. Yet, here they were, intercepting her path as she slowly moved after Tharac's warband, being the same nuisance as ever. It was not as if Eahara had gone far from the town either but it seemed they did not work under the Dark Lord since her tattoos were not glowing or burning. Regardless, she did not ask questions when she they started to surround her and instead began shooting them down, each receiving an arrow to the head.

It seemed like a wandering band at the moment, until she was surprised by a small horde seemingly surrounding her. Sure they were slow, but she could not fire her bow fast enough to kill them all and suddenly she was encompassed. Eahara closed her eyes tight as she only wished that she would be killed quickly by these creatures of the living dead. Except they did not began biting or clawing her to death as she suspected, instead grabbing her arms and forcing her to the ground. They bound her for reasons that she had not known; then they began to drag her back towards the town.

Through all of this she resisted in the best was she could; squirm, bite, act like a wild animal really. The undead set her down and pushed her to where she was on her knees in front of some dark robed individual in which she could deduce was their master. Eahara snarled at the man; her teeth very clearly a red as she gazed at the human with clearly angered eyes. "What do you want, damned human?," she asked with a tone that could only be described as livid.

[User]
Caractacus
Caractacus was, needless to say, stunned by the production of a living being in the town. He had, if he were to be honest, performed the sweep more as a formality than expecting any survivors. With from the edge of town came a human, being led along by a clearly very docile zombie. The human itself didn't seem particularly displeased by the development, perhaps a bit bemused.

"Hey, uh... is this yours?" The man gestured toward Caractacus's undead servant. He was not the slightest bit perturbed! Caractacus took a deep breath, and prepared a response that he hoped would be appropriate.

"Yes, it is mine. I am Caractacus, rogue necromancer, foe of the Dark Lord's legion, yet allied to none, I--" Caractacus froze, arms raised as he announced himself, when he heard the sound of struggle and battle. Coming down the street was another living creature, this one carried by a trio of damaged zombies. It was a kobold! A servant of the dark lord, no doubt. It was brought in front of him, still struggling to free itself from its bonds. Caractacus was going to restart his prepared speech when the kobold cut him off with a barked question.

"What do you want, damned human?" Flinching away, Caractacus nearly dropped his staff.

"Ah! Oh, s-sorry, I er, didn't mean for this, l-let me just..." Kneeling down, he produced his dagger to cut the ropes binding the kobold. "Ahem, I wasn't trying to h-hurt you, I ordered them to find anyone alive in the town." Caractacus stopped, halfway through the ropes. "Wait! You're with the Dark Lord's forces, a-aren't you? A kobold. I s-served with them back when I was...No matter. I n-need your word you won't hurt me. Or, uh, him," He pointed at the other human. "before I cut you free, okay?"

[Assistant]
Rothar

A large, muscular man came out of the other road with an axe in a hand, and a bloodied kerchief on the other. He had his guard up, but lost it as soon as he saw Rothar fully. He was a little taller than Rothar himself, and seemed to have the upper hand if it came to a fight. It didn't seem to go in that direction, though. The man had a relaxed look now that they were both in clear sight of each other, and if danger was ever present it seemed to have faded away. Rothar dropped his guard and put the tip of his blade on the ground, using it as support.

Ha! I'd die before joining such a scum. Rothar smiled to the other man, and shot a look behind his back. There was a dead something behind the man. My name is Rothar Umoa, Knight seeking to bring the Dark Lord down, or at least as much of his army as I can. Who are you? It's a little far from town to be chopping down trees, right?

[User]
Ysran Stormreach

"A kobold, huh? I haven't seen many of you."

Ysran looked over to the robed man.

I don't think she'll try anything like that. From what I've heard, Kobolds are usually pretty smart about survival. I doubt she'd fight you, me, and your little undead horde."

Ysran knelt down to the kobold's height.

"So, what's someone like you doing out all on your lonesome? Did you get left behind? Or perhaps... you left them behind?"

Ysran then stood up and flipped his hair over to one side, revealing his large pointed ears.

"You guys can call me Ysran. What's your name little lady?"

Ysran tried his best to contain his excessive energy. After such a long and boring cart ride, he was finally able to do SOMETHING, even if that something was just a conversation.

[Assistant]
Eahara

Eahara snapped her teeth at the black robed one, her jaws clamping down on air and creating a rather large snapping sound. Wait! You're with the Dark Lord's forces, a-aren't you? A kobold. I s-served with them back when I was...No matter. I n-need your word you won't hurt me. Or, uh, him," He pointed at the other human. "before I cut you free, okay?" A chance at freedom was something that she needed for it seemed that these two could do what they wanted with her for the moment, only because she was bound and without weapons.

"I used to serve under the Dark Lord's banner, but I was betrayed by one of my own," she stated, still with the same aggressive tone she had begun the conversation with. Her tail swished back and forth, her eyes flicking between the two as her jagged teeth were bared towards them. Eahara sensed the weakness in the necromancer, it was something she could use to her advantage at a later time or now if she played her hand correctly. "Trust me when I say that if I wanted you dead, you would have been by now," she snapped.

Then the other person knelt in front of her after a rather annoying display of words, soon it became clear that this was an elf that she would have to deal with. "You guys can call me Ysran. What's your name little lady?," he asked, her eyes narrowing in a skeptical response as she tried to analyze the elf and find any advantage she could use. There was something about him that she could not quite put her claw on.

"My name is Eahara, a traitor to the Dak Lord. I am currently hunting Tharac the dimwitted so that I can begin dismantling the Dark Lord's regime," she spoke in an honest fashion. The Kobold had nothing to hide and so this was the reason of her honesty, straightforward yet angered and annoyed by being captured. If she were not bound then she may have killed the two where they stood, but circumstances did not seem to favor her at the current moment. "There, I have told you what you need to know. Now release me!"

[User]
Caractacus
Caractacus slowly shuffled forward again, kneeling to finally cut through the rest of the ropes holding Eahara. He stumbled back immediately, to get out of range of any retaliatory strike. He sheathed the dagger as well, trying to hide any harmful intentions. "Well, we are all ac-acquainted now, yes? I see no reason for conflict." He nodded quickly. "I-In fact, here, let me just..." With a snap of his fingers, Caractacus's demeanor changed as he started ordering his undead.

"All four of you, step away from them, return to me. All others, return to my side." His orders resonated magically to all the zombies left in the town, and they shambled back toward their master from buildings and side streets, and the four that collected Eahara and Ysran moved into place behind Caractacus.

"There! All's w-well, and no harm has come to any." The confidence gone, Caractacus tried a smile that almost looked convincing. "So you, M-Miss Eahara was it? You hunt Tharac, a servant of the Dark Lord." He nodded toward the kobold. "But what brings an elf like you so close to the danger of the borderlands, Mister Ysran?" He turned, this time addressing the elf.


[System]
Age: 30

Sex: Male

Appearance: 6'2" with black hair and blue eyes. White skinned. Noticeable facial hair at the chin and finely trimmed. Sporting a more Westerly appearance with a short and thin leather duster coat, white button-up shirt with a popped-out collar and a loose scarf-like tie, dark faded blue jeans, and boots.

"Shh, I'm focusing...And trying to look intimidating."

Like many of the Societas Academia, Travis has a very good understanding how magic functions and how certain spells are performed. Being an Untalent however, much of what he has learned is unfortunately outside of his realm of implementation and only gets by with the bare basics of each aspect. But to him, this is perfectly fine; the spells Travis can produce by himself are considered useful survival tools in order to help him get by.

His real prowess is through the deciphered tomes and runes recovered throughout his journeys, capable of extending his abilities beyond his current potential. Though if anything, they too are yet another means of allowing him dissect and better understand their magical functionalities and eventually reproduce their effects in more manageable and efficient methods.

Funnily enough, given his recent and occasionally perilous encounters, Travis has been seen to be a rather surprisingly athletic runner.

"Magic is simply another form of science that is growing and evolving as we continue to discover and learn more about it."

Being an Untalent amongst a rather social community of more capable Talents can definitely be rough. Condemned to a lesser status because of one's natural inability to coordinate with magic fluidly was the fate many Untalents within the Societas Academia faced almost daily. Travis however didn't seem to be bothered by this too much. In fact, he was perhaps too busy studying and discussing theories to really care at all.

While as an Untalent and indeed had higher expectations set against him by his self-deserving peers, he enthusiastically conceptualized these endeavors as welcomed challenges in order solve rather petty societal crises to stress about. Though Travis was no ace mage and was more likely a magician as far as skills go, his main strength was his constructed knowledge base with a fierce understanding of the architecture of mana and magic implementation.

After years of hard study and grueling practice, Travis eventually achieved the rank of Aspect trainee and began the next phase of his training. Without any particular proficiency found in any particular set of spells, he would then opt-in into the Aspect of Scholar. As one would expect from his intuitive personality, Travis had felt right at home with his new position and became eager to set out for new discoveries.

What he didn't know was how cruel and horrifying the world could be outside the Societas Academia. The concept of death was something many students were well versed in, some more than others, but to experience and its many forms was something rather undesirable. Thus for Travis, now a Scholar, would soon come to know and witness this concept on more than one occasion as he pursues his quest for knowledge.

"So I spoke to an ebony dressed lady from the Cult of the Enlightened. We actually had a pleasant conversation until I asked about the concept of soul weaving. She laughed. Her fur coat cried. Suffice to say, I left in a hurry."

Despite his humble demeanor, surprisingly as an Untalent, Travis is certainly not afraid to speak his mind and express his views when necessary, sometimes comical or sarcastic if it benefits the mood. Being an easily fascinated and curious sort, he takes his role as a Scholar by heart (if not seriously) and seeks knowledge whenever he can find it; until it gets him into trouble. Nonetheless, he does show great pride and devotion to his line of work, atypical as it may be.

Travis can sometimes be described as a pacifist or "pass-the-fist" as he himself describes it. He sees no need for violence and certainly rejects the notion of killing but acknowledges the need for self-defense if he cannot negotiate his way out of a troubling confrontation. Of course said confrontations are usually created by something he may have said or done without any harmful or insulting intent.

"When the going gets tough...See to it you're not where the tough goes."

[User]
Nemo let out a slight "Oof" from Raiya's punch. He turned around, letting out a small chuckle in response to her words. He rested his hands in his pockets and slowly started to walk back. "Back when I was gathering info on this mission I posed as one of Seidon's friends over the phone with him. Seidon brought up feeding the church members on board to "Ole Bess" if they try to cross him. At the time I didn't think much of it. I figured he probably had some pet shark that followed his boat around. I see now that isn't the case." Just as Nemo finished his sentence the entire boat shifted from a great wave. Nemo had to place his hand on the wall to keep his balance. That upset was going to be the first of many, as the waves outside had suddenly gotten much worse.

Nemo continued walking, at this point they were about halfway back to the exit to the deck. "I should of thought of it before we embarked. Even when we were fighting Seidon I found his choice of spells strange. They weren't what I thought they were gonna be. He wasn't manifesting the attacks I thought he would. You see Seidon isn't just some simple ship captain mage smuggler. Paul Seidon is is a ship captain mage smuggler that also happens to be a long affiliate of the Cult of Enlightened." Nemo explained.

"None of his personal spells match something of a cult user, but he must have gained something from that involvement. So if he doesn't use cultish magic, in our case that probably means that Ole Bess is something much worse than a shark." Nemo stated as they reached the hatch once more. Nemo swung it open to let them see outside. The storm had picked up even more, the heavy downpour of rain made it harder to see and hear anything besides the thunder crashing down on the sea intermittently. Nemo stepped outside and looked towards the sea and waited in the rain. Soon enough the same sound that shook the ship before emitted again, causing the entire ship to vibrate. If anything now that they were outside it had only grown louder.

As Nemo stared off in the distance, he spotted what he had been waiting for. Far off away from the ship a colossal tentacle slowly lurched out from the water. Even at that distance it was humongous, with a width easily double than that of a school bus. It rose from the water, but eventually sunk back down. Even that action caused a heavy displacement in the water as a result.

Nemo walked over to the edge of the ship and looked down. A flash of lightning lit up the water, letting him see a bit better on what awaited below. The brief flash outlined a great tentacled sea monster. He estimated that it was probably even larger than cargo ship itself.

"One way or the other, this ship is going down. What do we do? Well, I suppose we can hope we don't die afterwards."

[Assistant]
Raiya listened to Nemo and followed him as he walked about. While Raiya was a bit skeptical about the idea of a greater beast being tamed, she knew that they existed. Talent marks were biological mutations where a talent could be born with a genetic trait from a greater beast, after all. And Raiya did possess an eye like that of a dragon or wyrm. And her empowering tattoo was that of Yamata no Orochi, the eight headed wyrm. But the idea of taming any of those feral beasts of power without a summoning contract seemed very far fetched. Raiya was about to voice her skepticism right before a large tentacle ascended a fair distance away from the ship.

 Raiya gasped at the unsettling sight of the eldritchian monster's tentacle arising from the depths. Her heart rate was raised even higher as she followed Nemo to the side of the ship to see the outline of the monster in the depths briefly illuminated by the flash of lightning. After processing all this she looked at Nemo and said, "There has to be a way to fight that... thing. I have seen your power level briefly, I know you are holding back in every fight we have been in. Now would be the time to release everything you have at that monster." Raiya urged, "I am going to be honest with you, I am not ready to die here. My life's work has not been completed... So- If you won't take as stand against that thing, I will." Raiya stated as she summoned her pistol with the rounds of special ammo still in its chamber.

 Raiya charged her pistol with mana and proceeded to start her ritual countdown from three. After three seconds, she pulled the trigger aiming down into the depths. The bright burning light from her plasma lance burst forth from her pistol and blazed through the water of the deep. She wasn't even sure if she was aiming at the monster or not, and she wasn't even sure how effective her plasma spears would be under water, but she didn't feel like standing around would be of any use. She was very aware of the risks she was taking using her special ritual ammunition but it was all she had against something that enormous without using her God Slayer form.

[User]
Travis looked up and eyed the top of the ship where the barrier emitter, his original and still present objective, was located, "Right. I'll have that generator down," he replied as he moved away and headed back up the stairs to the upper deck.

It only took Travis a few minutes until he found the remaining emitter located at the very back of the ship, just as Nemo had claimed earlier. He strolled up to the device and looked it over, up and down. Travis knew a few things when it came to machines however the implementation with mana had intrigued him in how it functioned and regulated the technicalities of the flow of mana. However the machine seemed somewhat crude in design and the groaning sound it resonated almost sounded as if a part and came loose and rattled against the inner moving components. In the end, there wasn't much to learn from the generator and with that, Travis backed off and distanced himself from it.

After placing Lori's rifle on the ground, he took one of the used mana crystals from his trench coat and grasped the crystal within his left hand while raising his right hand and directed his palm towards the emitter. Travis exhaled and began channeling mana from the crystal and poured its reserves in through his palm. One he was sure he had accumulated enough mana, he then chanted, "Antennes..."

A crimson circle soon materialized before his right hand, emitting a radiant glimmer within its holographic design as Travis turned his open hand into a clenching fist. He would slowly rotate his fist like one would turn a doorknob and each segment he cleared in the circle drafted a small white sphere at each point. Travis managed to clear the first section without too much trouble but then encountered resistance as he tried to clear the second point, moisture beginning to secrete from his shaky knuckle as he neared the next segment. Eventually, he reached the second and acquired another glowing icon as a result and decided to cease any further progression in to the circle's paved architecture.

Travis let out another exhale before drawing his right fist behind him and then swinging his arm into a throwing motion, "Burst Bluss!" he chanted at the exact moment his grip released and produced a bright red sphere light.

The flare-like object screamed threw the air as it was thrown towards the emitter. Upon contact with the shield generator, the flare had immediately detonated, engulfing the device in a large echoing explosion of concentrated mana and fire while the first light of Travis' circle vanished. The first detonation held enough force to toss the ravaged emitter in to the air where a second detonation occurred right afterwards, obliterating the remains of the device and consuming the last white node in the spell.

Travis took another step back and gently fell back on to the floor of the deck while observing his explosive handiwork. Admittedly, the spell he had conjured was by far the most destructive in his diverse arsenal of artes. However, it was a demanding spell that consumed large amounts of mana before it could properly case. While he knew how to use the spell, many of his Talent classmates could conjure the spell far faster and more efficiently than he could; a fact that made the spell for him unviable in combat. Nevertheless, the spell was enough to get by and its implementation saw more useful applications such as demolishing obstacles such at large decayed debris that blocked a potential passage way.

With the last emitter out of the way, Travis watched as the barrier that surrounded the bridge deteriorated, almost melting until there were no trace of it. With an exhausted sigh, Travis took the mana-powered rifle from the floor and rose back up while tapping into another crystal as he made his way up to the bridge. As he reached a few feet from the entrance, Travis couldn't help but notice that he was unsupported. While there was no longer anything stopping him from accessing the bridge, he however didn't know what was on the other side. Surely if anyone was in there, they would have known by now that the barrier had just collapsed and should understandably expected unwanted company.

"Zoey? Zuri? You guys down there?" queried Travis as he spoke through his manadial, "I could use some help up here securing...the...oh what now?!"

Travis' voice trailed off just has he started to feel the entire ship begin to shake followed up by an extraordinarily load sound seemingly originating from the bowels of the ship. The Untalent however believed it was perhaps much further down, below the vessel itself given how the almost organic sound reverberated through the ship's hull. Filled with a growing sense of dread and seeing as though a new threat was upon them, Travis abandoned his plan an storming the bridge and raced down to the main deck once more.

Just as he regrouped with Nemo and Raiya at the front tip of the ship, whom he had assumed already dealt with Seidon since they were back on the main deck, a massive-sized tendril quickly erupted from the ocean's surface and towered over the cargo ship. Travis' mouth fell open and terrified awe as he observed the single tentacle looming over them almost a quarter mile away before retracting into the deep. As if on cue, the overhead storm intensified with the waves becoming more aggressive and lighting clashed over the dark clouds above. One illuminating strike lit up the sea and momentarily revealed a much large entity swimming below them.

"Holy shit," Travis verbalized in dismay as stared at the titanic creating beneath the vessel. It was then that Nemo expressed a near sense of hopelessness regarding the threat before them which caught Travis' unamused attention, "really not what I want to hear right now."

Raiya voiced her own kind displeasure of Nemo's comment and unexpectedly opted to engage the underwater creature. The idea of attacking such a massive creature Travis was incredibly daunting and far more dangerous than anything they had ever encountered thus far. It terrified Travis to even consider participating in a fight, worse even getting eaten if we wasn't crushed first by one of those tentacles should the siege the ship. The more he thought about it, the more his conscious pleaded with him to run.

Miraculously, Travis actually followed Raiya on to the edge of the ship, however instead of firing into the depths of the stormy seas, he chose to take aim in anticipating for physical counterattack. While holding his fire, Travis turned his head to Nemo, "I hope we have an actual plan here!"


[System]
Age: Born in 1684
Gender: Male
Nickname: Jersey Devil
Appearance:

Magic: Fire magic (Minor control and production of fire, the fire produces is called dragon fire, which is essentially normal fire except it burns off a magical energy in addition to natural elements. The flames can only be produced from his body. Such as a fire breathe attack or igniting his whole body in flames, and can only manipulate the flames while they have contact with his body. So he cannot redirect a fireball, but can redirect a tendril of fire.)
Draconic traits/transfiguration, passive traits such as superior physical attributes, immunity to being burned, and eternal longevity. As well as weaknesses such as vulnerability to the cold and suffer from greed and pride to varying degrees.

Transfigurations may involve temporary transforming or growing body parts such as a tail. Or transforming a hand into a dragon head. In its most advanced state the user can turn into a full dragon, but such power is hard to obtain.

Summoning dragon spirits are also possible, but usually last no longer then a minute, so their uses are more of temporary offenses or defensives as having them out too long is far too draining of energy to be useful. Examples of this are summoning a translucent, ghastly dragon serpent to block am energy based attack, or a ghost tail to swing at enemies, or even shrouding in a ghost of aura to perform a massive punch.)

Position: Witches

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Familiar:
The egg, remaining unhatched for generations, from the very first of his line of dragon witches, is said to be that of a dragons. It passively gives off a dim fire-like light and has a warming presence to it. The egg has been harnessed into a pendant, and its unique properties make the egg as a talisman instead of a familiar, helping to cast more draconic spells or temporarily summon spirits of deceased drakes. Jason keeps his familiar around his neck, for now it is more of a talisman then a familiar, but perhaps one day it may hatch.
Personality: Greedy and prideful, collecting whatever cash or treasure he can steal or collect, and he Solitary and lives as a hermit, however he may go out of his way to help a fellow witch, especially if the witch in question would pay for his services. However it isnt a rarity for him to help in the more extreme situations and not expect a reward. Living alone makes him lonely, but he is too antisocial to go out of his way to just talk to others.

Bio: Jason comes from a line of witches that worshipped the ancient (and likely now extinct) dragons, for over a thousand years worth of generations they have thrived and called themselves the order of the dragon. It is said that a great dragon spirit or god have blessed the bloodlines of the several families that made this order. However in recent decades the survivors have been killed, Except for Jason all of his family had been slain, escaping with the only treasure that had survived since the order's fall centuries prior, the dragon egg. (Dragon witches that have advanced their Draconic traits have showed to be immune to intense heat and fire, so they had to be executed via impalement.) He now lives in the woods of Salem, having made a small underground shelter beneath the soil. Salem being a popular place of witches in secret, he occasionally scouts the town from the tree lines to see if any other witches are endangered. The villagers call him the Jersey Devil due to his occasional use of transformations and his reputaton of raiding and killing travelling merchants, soldiers, or lost individuals that enter his woods, the pine barrens. (most of his reputations are rumors and tall tales by the locals, but he has at least killed plenty of people to suite the need of one of his rites every decade or so.) Many of his victims for his tributes were taken from people who wander in his woods.

Price for dragons: Dragon witches can pay for their power in different ways. For each solsitice, the witch may do one of the following, however if they fail to do any tribute, they will not only loose their powers, but will spontaneously combust or be consumed by a dragon spirit. If a witch does more then one, then they may get extra time, such as being free of needing to tribute the next solstice.
-: Smelting gold or other precious metals into either a pit, volcano, or a dragon shaped structure, such as a statue or a doll made of wood. However the total amount of liquid metal must be enough to at least fill an Olympic swimming pool.

-Burning 3 humans or one witch, preferably alive and conscience. The fire must be of the dragon fire the witch produces, so they cannot cheat by being present at a witch execution.

-Burn down a village or farm (if one burns a farm they must also at least burn half of the cattle. If the farm doesn't use or have cattle present, then burning down the crops will suffice. If a village, the village must be at least 1/4 destroyed. Cities and towns count as villages. This also must be done by the witches's own fire.)

-Kidnap a female of high social, wealth, or governing status, or a female witch. (must be imprisoned in lair, and must remain there until the next year on the exact same day this tribute started, or alternatively, can be killed after the next solstice. A prisoner may be kept to continue paying tributes, however if the prisoner has been in there over two solstices for tribute, then another price should be paid, otherwise the moment she escapes the tribute will be nullified and well, the death will be immediate.)

Other: While his dragonic traits make him unable to burn, he is easily weakened by cold conditions like the cold-blooded beast he worships. As such, he rarely exits his home during winter months. His traits also allow him to keep his youth despite being so old, and his eyes glow like candles in the dark. His familiar/talisman is warm enough to satisfy him in weathers of 50-60 degrees, but any colder is too much for him.

[User]
May 14th 2016. Half moon, waxing.

The old manor in the woods was made out of various materials. The first construction, before it could be called anything more than a cabin, was wood, many times repaired, and with stone additions almost as old as the original structure. Some of the more recent pieces are more modern in construction, though none of the building itself is younger than sixty years old. Oddly enough, the electric infrastructure is up to date, and powered by a turbine in the nearby river, as well as a wind mill that stretches above the ancient trees. This used to be the deepest part of the woods, but now a mere fifteen mile trek through the trees will bring you to the main road, and from there not much further to the closest town. Still, the manor is mostly unmolested by those outside, which suits the inhabitants just fine.

Inside, in one of the main rooms, Bethany Hooke was holding court with her coven. She sat in a comfortable rocking chair with overstuffed cushions and a soft fur draped over top, and as she rocked, the others argued.

The two biggest speakers were a grandson and grand daughter of hers. The Gift ran strong in both, which gave them a high standing in the Hooke family coven.

Jonathan was soft spoken to the last, though today his agitation was showing in its own way. He stood with his arms crossed, his jaw clenched in a tense and defensive stature as his cousin gave a passionate tirade.

Ruth Hooke was louder. She had the same look as her grandmother, her hair as fiery as her arguments.

"We're a strong coven, our gift runs old. If we stand and fight against this... oppression, others will flock to us. Why are we accepting others into our coven if not to marshal our forces?" Where Jonathan was standing with his body tight and withdrawn, Ruth moved about as she spoke, her arms wide and gesturing.

"It was to protect them," Bethany answered from her seat. Her voice was clear and strong, though she wasn't at the height of her strength for this lunar cycle, she was strong enough to retain most of her youth, and her form was physically firm and healthy. Her human features were augmented with the eyes of an owl, as well as the wings, though they were folded behind her in the chair.

"We offer community," Jonathan added quietly, "Not vengeance. Witches come here seeking peace, I don't think it's right to draw them into war."

"Precisely. This is the last I'll hear of this. If you want to go fight, don't expect to come and hide here when they're hunting you down. I've heard enough for today, I'm going into town. Ruth, if you would..?" Despite being shut down, Ruth obeyed and stepped forward to offer her arm. Bethany took a small knife from her pocket and cut a thin slice into the flesh of her forearm. She took a drink of the blood, and her body shuddered for a moment before her wings retracted into her.

With her form returned to a passing human one, she left and made her way to town.

[Assistant]
The library seems relatively simple on the outside. The wooden sign hanging almost proudly from the chains supporting it. There is one large window on the outside that seems to be stained glass. The colors showing simply of the moon with clouds and a few stars. Though upon closer inspection a child's silhouette in the moon can be seen reading a book. As one approaches the door it is clear that is is of a deep maroon color with a half moon shaped window.

As one entered it would be clear that the outside, while simply elegant, is an understatement to the inside. Rows upon rows of books creates a delightful maze with occasional seating areas. When one reaches the walls huge wall shelves stand proudly with ladders to get to the books. This proud structure is light with the best lighting for a calm reading experience that would allow the guest to get absorbed into the place for hours on end (not literally of course). If a guest were of a more magical nature they would be lead to a secret library that, while smaller, is equally proud and almost hummed of its magical nature.

In the front stood a driftwood desk with a cushion on top. The cushion held one black cat with large round green eyes, while behind the desk leaning in the chair was the one who owned this place. Malcolm sterling held a book while his tea seemed to be stirred with a spoon by itself. A cart can be heard moving amongst the rows while books flew to their places. The man's eyes seemed to have an unnatural glow to them as he reads. He seemed to feel comfortable with using his ability currently, for if anyone were to come through the door the large silver shop bell would ring...allowing him to stop and act more human.

[User]
In the densest of the woods, by a running small waterfall and rocky creek, a wooden door, overgrown in vines and other foliage from age, laid over the earth. So much was it burdened with plant-life and natural debris not even an eagle could see the door right away. Beneath the old door were a set of cobblestone stairs, dimly lit by ever burning torches, leading into an underground square of a room, walled in with stone. The room was about 30 by 30 feet in the shape of a perfect square, undergrowth such as large roots and vines grew around the ceiling and corners where patches of dirt were still available among cobblestone bricks. A wooden table with a few chairs sat in the center of the room. A fire place, with embers of once a roaring inferno still remnant over ash and charred wood stood in the center of the left wall, while a small collection of books on a small wooden shelf was parallel to the fire place. The room had a golden chandelier with unlit candles at the cieling, and a few more torches were low on the walls around the room, providing some, but little lighting. In the far right corner was a wooden door that lead to a pit filled with burnt remains of humans and witches alike, their skeletons charred and brittle. next to that door was a small hallway harboring cells of crudely smelted iron bars on both sides, though the cells were empty with cobwebs and loose chains.
A third wooden door next to that revealed a bedroom, with a master bed, a rug, a nightstand, and a few other items of interest lingering about, including what seems to be a poorly made wooden staff leaning in the corner. In the bed, rose a tall figure with unkept brown hair and a face that shows he hasn't shaved in a while.

 Yawning as I got out of bed, I would roll onto the rug before standing upright. I'd dust off my robes as I exited my room, looking briefly at the lobby room before pressing my hand on a section of a nearby wall, which revealed a false brick that when pressed, opened a hidden door of stone, revealing another massive room. Though this room was filled with treasures and valuables of all kinds and ages. Ancient golden coins, well preserved jewels, artifacts from long dead civilizations, antiquated weaponry, and even royal clothing from ages long past. Precious metals filled the floor of the hidden room like a ball bit in a playground. I would leap into the mass of treasure, as if it were a pool, lumbering over and under my hoard. A large smile was across my face as I rolled about over my collection.


[System]
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Tarrya is no dainty damsel, though not of towering height by any means, standing at a solid five feet four inches, every one of those inches is packed with lean muscle, giving her physique a hard edge. Her figure has less of the more delicate curves one might expect of a woman and she weighs well over a hundred and forty pounds - had she lived life in luxury like some, perhaps she too would have the luscious figure of other women , but a life of hard living and harder fighting has tempered her body to hard steel, with a set of sapphire eyes of similar hardness to the resilient gemstone. Her skin is smooth and of a darkish olive hue, taking after her mother; however, it is marred by scarring in many places - most notably an ugly looking cut on her neck that narrowly missed her jugular - she survived, but barely, and her gear now includes a chain coif of the highest quality to prevent a repeat event. She favors heavy duty armor capable of taking several beatings if necessary, and has a personal set of mail backed brigandine, pictured below.

Personality: Tarrya has two personalities, one for the battlefield and one for... well, anything not the battlefield. On the battlefield she has no sense of humor and knows no mercy, expecting none in return. She speaks in a voice used to shouting over the din of war and has no tolerance for inefficiency. Out of her armor however, is a different matter altogether. She was raised by a scholarly mother, and like mother, like daughter. She spends her free time reading, usually. At odds with her battlefield persona, she's generally shy and reserved, happier spending her time in the pages of a book than carousing and drinking. That is not to say she avoids other people altogether, and a good, thought provoking conversation is as good as any book to her.

Brief Backstory:
Name a people under the sun, and Tarrya has probably fought some of them. In truth, any mercenary as well traveled as she could make this claim, but Tarrya has knowledge of the world to back it up.

Raised as a member of the low nobility - and destitute nobility at that, Tarrya originally never dreamed of making war her profession. Instead, she buried her nose in dusty tomes of ancient lore and modern science. She dreamed of unraveling the mysteries of the universe, and aimed to become a scholar and scientist, not only learning all that she could from others, but pushing the boundaries of mortal understanding further, to invent new and amazing devices. Even as she read and studied, she trained with the blade - more as a formality than anything else, but it was an enjoyable sport to her, and good excercise.

Unfortunately, the universe did not have the same purpose in mind for her that she did. To enroll at one of the great universities of the land took money, and money was something they had precious little of. Still enough to send her though, if just barely. That all changed one day, as her family lost most of what little money they did have and became peasants in all but name. Her dreams crushed, Tarrya wasted little time in moping, searching around for other paths in life to take.

Throughout her late night binge readings and general bookish life, Tarrya had read the autobiographies of adventurers and mercenaries, losing herself for a time in great battles and letting her wanderlust run wild through the pages. These stories came back to her at this time, and she resolved to join a mercenary company herself and achieve fame.

Her parents forbade it.

Undeterred, she stole away in the night about a week after, taking a small amount of gold with her to purchase arms and armor. She joined up with a smaller company in the area, and spent a year wiping out brigands and other dregs of society, steadily growing more experienced and skilled. She rose through the ranks surprisingly rapidly, eventually becoming a top lieutenant of the company, which by then had grown to become a sizeable force.

Her downfall came when, patrolling around a village, a group of bandits had crept in and murdered some villagers, taking the rest as hostages. Tarrya and a small contingent of crossbowmen and sergeants were the only force in the area, and they immediately rushed to the village's aid. However, Tarrya's many years of seeing death and devastation had hardened her heart and made her into a callous woman. When negotiations failed she simply ordered her crossbowmen to kill the bandits, regardless of how many villagers died. To "teach the bastards a lesson that hostages won't work on us" as she had said.

She was stripped of her rank and arrested for the action. While she saw it as perfectly justifiable, others did not. In order to avoid harsher punishment, Tarrya promised to atone for her crime, joining the Blades of Iron Roses to defend the weak.

Or at least that was the line she fed them. In truth Tarrya didn't care, the murder of the villagers was regrettable, but she felt no guilt in her heart. Nonetheless, she joined the Order as the retainer of one of the knights, accompanying him into battle and other duties. Nobody had informed her, however, that the new leader of the Order was an sixteen year old girl.

Equipment:

Heavy Brigandine Armor and Helmet (As seen in appearance section): What it looks like on the tin, a heavy duty set of sturdy brigandine armor consisting of tough layered steel plates riveted together and sandwiched between hardened leather - essentially forming a cuirass, albeit far cheaper and easier to create. The armor is incredibly durable, having saved her hide on more than one occasion from axe, sword, and mace blows that surely would've been her undoing otherwise. The armor is worn over mail and a padded gambeson.

Lucerne Hammer: A lethal weapon, spanning about three feet in length. Its primary function is as an anti-cavalry weapon, but is just as effective as a can opener, the brutal spike at the end equally useful for dragging an armored horseman off his mount as it is punching through his plate once off said horse.

Langes Messer: A brutal weapon with a self evident singular purpose - cleaving through as much flesh as possible. A strong blade, keen edge, and good quality steel ensure that this weapon will do exactly that.

Rondel Dagger: A weapon of last resort for armored fighting, when grappling with a knight, a quick thrust through his visor with the dagger is a surefire way of ending the confrontation.

Skills:
Weapon Master: Tarrya has been fighting for years, almost all of those fights to the death. She's still alive. Her experience with all manner of weapons is nothing to shake a stick at, but give her a hefty sword or hammer and she has nary an equal, or at least, equals are a rare sight, and an unwelcome one if an enemy.
Leadership: Tarrya spent two years as a lieutenant in a prestigious mercenary company. Such a posting does not come easily, and in mercenary work there is no room for nepotism. She has thus acquired a good handle on commanding troops in the tactical sense, able to rally a second wind in exhausted soldiers and sense the opportune moment in a battle.
Sixth Sense: Years of fighting for a living have honed Tarrya's awareness of her surroundings to a razor keen edge. It's not quite a true sixth sense, but she's highly unlikely to be caught by surprise by that angry infantryman with the nasty looking axe.

[User]
Marianne's cheeks flushed bright red when the Holy Immortal retorted as she did, her voice catching in her throat as she was clearly flustered and embarrassed. While she didn't completely disagree with the notion of one earning their title and requiring to live up to their name, she wholeheartedly believed that the higher powers of the Iron Roses knew what they were doing by adhering to time-honored tradition. It wasn't simply for show, it worked for all these years had it not? Regardless if Captain Fanilly was deserving of her rank, it was still her rank nonetheless and she had thought they all should show respect of that rank if not the person. Eyes looking to Dame Julianna and Dame Katrina, it was clear that not everyone felt the same way as she.

Choosing to return to silence, Marianne cleared her throat and regained her composure. Her cheeks returning to their fair tone as she continued to ride alongside her comrades. Her tutors had warned her of such people. Of ones with a queer way of thinking that seemed alien and confusing to her. A dangerous way of thought that invited chaotic changes and differing views and perspectives. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with such thinking, but why alter and adjust what has worked for quite some time? Nothing was broken, so what was there to attempt to fix? Marianne couldn't understand it, but resigned herself to continue scanning ahead for potential enemy forces. She would be lying if she didn't admit that their brief exchange upset her, but she was more so bothered by the fact that some of her so-called comrades possibly saw her a fool now. She regretted speaking up, as difficult as it was to withhold her voice. In a feeble attempt to distract herself, she drew two more arrows from her belt quiver for a total of three in hand. Positioning them in between her fingers, ready to engage multiple targets should they show themselves.

Softly sighing, her eyes wandered over to hulking knight Sir Garrett. More successfully distracting herself with the massive, brutish, and gruesome appearing equipment he carried on his person. How any average man could use such weaponry effectively on the battlefield was beyond her. Then again, Sir Garrett appeared to be beyond an average man if his size was any indication. Now lost in thought, she wondered if it were possible Sir Garrett had something akin to giant's blood within his veins. She wondered what his diet consisted of. She would have to ask him later if it were possible, insanely curious. There weren't very many men of his stature from where Marianne was raised. Infact, other than this first excursion, none of them truly knew each other aside from their connection to their Captain. She'd like to get to know all of the other Knights and have proper introductions very soon.

[Assistant]
The clip-clop of the elegant steed drummed her ears with monotony. The fair lady in the ornate armor, with blue hair and blue eyes drifted her sight lazily around the canopy of the forest, her nose furrowing with disgust. It was then when one of her fiercest enemies was in front of her eyes.

Such darkness, such foul appearance. What with the beady eyes. It was in front of hers, greedily rubbing its forearms. But it was all over too son. A deft strike of her armored hand, and her opponent exploded in a mess of blood and gore.

"Damn bugs." Sult said."Stop ruining my poor maiden's skin!" She whined in a childish tone. Where was she? Oh right, knights, expedition. Bandit-slash-rat-slash-miscreant stomping. Not the most glamorous job but eeeh, one could chuck so many soldiers to bandits before resorting to the big guns. She eyed her companions, before seeing instructions, and some small chatter being sent back and forth. Well, that was a good distraction before the proper gruesome deed, so she pitched in full force.

"Oh, come on, sisters-in-arms, don't tease our captain! She is but the most cute and youthful rose of the garden, how could you not love her? Even a bandit surely would have its heart melted!" The trickster lady spouted, baiting for a reaction in anyone of the present. "I mean, what's so wrong about birthright? We have a King by birthright, and quite some of us have privileges for it." Sult smiled coyly, letting her veiled invective sink in the more self-entitled of the knights. Incidentally, quite a lot of those were noble as well.

"It'll all be fine, it's just rat stomping, right? Although we're quite in the rat's den, and who knows what they can do if they're cornered. Little caution won't hurt." Sult pondered. Arrows, Tyaethe? If only they were -just- arrows. We're probably facing some really dirty skirmish tricks if they took out soldiers. She thought internally, choosing to not undermine the captain's position any further by showing visible concern. Her thoughts quickly race to a distracting maneuver, as she eyed the barbarian, the perky, muscled and ruggedly handsome savage that somehow had gotten in the order, and with her cattiest voice she called.

"Sir Garreeet... Could you do a little favour and take my share too? I am wounded. Bug bites. And I'd love to see that big thing of yours in action too." She probably was referring to the sword. Maybe.

Can't hurt siding with the biggest meanest one in this case. She added as an afterthought.

(@Themerlinhawk)

[User]
Tarrya rode sullenly alongside Garrett. She had never been comfortable in the saddle - despite being taught the basics of riding growing up she had never taken a liking to horses, or saddle sores for that matter. Even as a lieutenant of the company, when nobody would've looked twice had she taken a captured warhorse or two for her own use, she had preferred to fight and command on foot, sacrificing the mobility and height advantage for the security provided by her own two legs. Not that she would be commanding anyone anytime soon - this order had ridiculous notions about eligibility or command, just as bad to choose a young girl for her time of birth as to choose a young man for his family connections. As it was, the horse she currently rode was a far cry from the impressive steeds she had sold after the occasional capture of a knight, she was hardly a massive weight, even with her armor, but the beast seemed to lag behind the other horses all the same, struggling with her weight. He didn't have much longer, she reckoned.

Branches seemed to mock her as they poked her in the face, just how they would do so she was unsure - but she had never been fond of thick forests. Too many friends had met their end in an ambush from thick woods before. Of course, the commanders of this little detachment would probably not even factor that in - and so far she hadn't seen the faintest hint of a scouting party sent out to reconnoiter the area. It was almost as if there was an untrained sixteen year old in command, or something preposterous like that.

She kicked the spurs of her horse, urging the animal on again to catch up with Garrett. He seemed to be joining a few of the other knights in a small little circle, probably discussing tactics. She smirked to herself, overhearing a small fragment of conversation - at least the girl seemed to realize charging in bellowing was a poor course of action. Maybe with some experience she would turn out competent after all; only time would tell however, and no amount of heavy armor would save them from any poor decisions she made now.

And still no sign of any attempt at recon- she perked up, one of the knights had actually suggested sending out scouts! Incredible! Perhaps more than a handful nobles knew basic tactics? Most of them didn't, in her experience, but this woman made her hopeful. She knew the woman would likely not notice her - after all, she was simply a commoner to them, beneath their notice. Unlanded nobility were not exactly the most prestigious members of society, and she had been adventuring with a mercenary company for the better part of a decade. In all likelihood, this woman would likely consider her simple common dirt to be ignored. Nonetheless her scowl softened, almost approaching a faint smile, and she nodded towards the woman, clearly wanting to offer her own input but remaining silent.


[System]
* Age: 16
* Gender: Female
* Race: Human
* Appearance: Armored, Unarmored. She is 5'1, with pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Her armor is silver with gold decorations. Her sword has a golden hilt.
* Personality: Fanilly is one to take her duty seriously. This is both due to a belief in the cause of the Iron Rose Knights, and a severe insecurity and self-consciousness about her position. She is well aware that she is young and comparatively inexperienced. She knows that she is only in the position she is because of her birth, as she was born under a full moon. This only makes her feel worse about it. For Fanilly Danbalion, captain of the Iron Rose Knights, she can't help but feel that they have a point. She's young. And even though the founder was the same age, she was viewed as something miraculous, almost a saint. Should Fanilly truly be leading them? This weighs heavily on her mind, and thus one of her biggest desires is to prove that she is. In spite of her young age, in spite of how this tradition has worn thin for some, Fanilly wants to prove that she is a worthy captain of the Iron Rose Knights above all else. Aside from this desire, the girl is somewhat socially awkard, sometimes unprepared for conversation. However, she is not really shy and can generally deal with attending various functions in the capital, as is expected of the Iron Rose Knights. She is dedicated to the purpose of the order, to defend the innocent and protect the land of Thaln. However, the doubts surrounding her have lead to a lack of confidence in herself. Fanilly has a younger sister and as a result has a somewhat stronger affinity for children and desire to keep the safe, but as someone dedicated to the Iron Rose Knights' cause she wishes to protect all those in need. While she has a lacking in confidence, she retains some pride in her training, as she has proven to be skilled at swordplay in spite of her youth.
* Brief Backstory: Fanilly was a daughter of the Danbalion family, a noble family already. While they had never been knights, her birth on a full moon immediately made her a potential future candidate for the Iron Rose Knights' captain. She was simply needed sooner then many expected. And so she experienced training for several years leading up to her instatement as the Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Initially she was confident in herself, but it quickly became clear that even some within the Knights had grown tired of the tradition of selecting a maiden born on a full moon to be the captain. This wore on her quickly, and has lead to her desperation to prove herself.
* Equipment: Fanilly wears a well-made set of somewhat ornate armor. She wields a fine longsword in her right hand and a dagger with a curved hilt for trapping weapons in her left.
* Skills: Fanilly has experienced extensive training in swordplay, specifically in the use of a longsword in both hands, or paired with a unique parrying dagger.

[User]
It really was quite amusing for Katrina to see their captain getting flustered by all the attention she was receiving. Sometimes, Sult's nonsense was just what this company needed, as far as Katrina was concerned. Of course, she wouldn't appreciate being on the receiving end of such nonsense, but she could have a giggle watching other people have to deal with it. It was not long before the group of them chanced upon a destroyed cart. The obvious conclusion was that it had been raided by the bandits. Katrina had to wonder what kind of poor sod had ended up in a notorious bandit territory. Had they been living under a rock? Were they foreign? The captain raced in to check on the scene. Katrina watched curiously before a bunch of bandits appeared on the scene. This was a trap, and their captain had rushed right into it. That did not speak well of her.

But the positive side was that the enemy had finally shown their faces. This may not seem like good news to many, but Katrina had been itching to butcher some of these scum for a while now. She dismounted with exceptional speed and raced to engage the first enemy she could find. She chanced upon some poor sod that had emerged from the treeline, trying to circle around the other knights. He spotted Katrina when she was only a few mere steps from him, and he froze on the spot. Katrina swung her double sword and cleaved through the man's left arm. He was already panicking and had no chance of fighting on, but Katrina wasn't finished. She whirled her sword around and slashed him right across the torso, then followed up with a slice to the right leg, cutting it off. The bandit's corpse collapsed in front on her.

An arrow shot towards her shortly after her first kill. She evaded it, and her gaze transfixed on the nearby bandit that had fired. He could see that she looked positively giddy at having seen her next target, and he turned to run. Katrina easily caught him and skewered him through the back. She pulled her sword out of the wound only to preform a strong slash to finish the man off. He fell flat on his face, and was silent. Katrina's clothes were already drench in blood, and her armor spattered with various stains and splotches. But this didn't bother Katrina in the least; she was in her element. It was almost nostalgic, taking her back to her time in the slums fighting some of Thaln's most wretched. Only now, she wasn't just fighting peasly thugs and other rif-raff, but a real bandit horde. The blood on her wasn't a few drops from a broken nose, but everything that had gushed out of the deep wounds she had sliced open.

And all she could think of was where the rest of them were, so she might finish the job.

[Assistant]
"Clever little rats." Sult smiled as she watched the events unfold before her. She couldn't help but to appreciate the crude attempt at ingenuity from the outlaws, springing a trap and an ambush. The fact that the captain was sucked in on it almost immediately put a dent in Sult's amused attitude though.

Of course, with the captain in the center of a trap, and the bandits organizing a preemptive -albeit unsuccessful- attack on the Rosebud, and herself more concerned with a wounded civilian than directing her own troops, chaos had ensued, with people acting independently and yelling confuse orders to eachother. Although they didn't seem to be in any danger. Yet.

Sult hastily abandoned her horse, while raising her shield, an ungraceful one, of a horrid green color that clashed with her attire. Well, fashion was a secondary concern in this case. Arrows to the gut were an important subject of concern, as she felt the thudding sound of the projectiles against her shield.

"Sorry, sir Garret, I'd love to have you as dance partner, but someone else is calling it first!" Sult yelled in a clear voice enough, after doing a quick scan on the situation. The undead, well, good luck in getting her even touched with a hit. The commander was well covered, even if they were her detractors those around her. She would have loved to pitch in for glory and recognition, and could've been useful, but it was a moot point now.

Someone else, the other magical asset besides Sparky, who was practicing pierce-a-rat besides the commander with the bow, had called for help. Secondary ambush? What are these, tactical geniuses? Really, Sparky, really!? She added before putting an ugly visage and starting to sprint towards the object of a help call.

Ice Jerk. His magic was useful, and he probably needed to be kept alive, no matter how insistent he was in parrying daggers with his belly. She dashed, clobbering one of the bandits that sprung at her with her shield, only to finish it off in a quick, but very forced movement of the sword, sinking in the poor fella's guts.

I need more training to make it fluid and graceful. She lamented.

"You need rescue, Sir Tiral?" She said in a coy tune, her sword slashing at her opponents preemptively while she kept her guard up, eventually shielding the mage. "Afraid of the little rats, hm? Poison is not cheap, you know..." She smirked as she sided with the mage and knight.

[User]
Sir Garrett
Themerlinhawk

Garrett blinked as he approached where the three female Knights had so recently been. Hefting his maul he settled it on his shoulder a dry chuckle emanated from the Knights armor as he looked to his left. Raising his shield he caught an arrow from one bandits in the treeline. These bandits were seriously assaulting a line of Iron Rose Knights for some reason. Turning Garrett started walking towards the archer. The young man had a long bow; it trembled in his hand; as the bandit let the arrow fly Garrett swatted it with his warmaul. The bandit turned and tried to run; Garrett hurled the war maul end over end and it slammed into the man's knees with a sick crack as it blew out both knees from behind.

Looking around he could already see the other Knights dispatching the Bandits with glee and reckless abandon. Many of them had rushed to the captain seeking glory from defending the young girl who he was sure many of them had been bad mouthing recently and would no doubt blame for running to the aid of the man now propped behind the cart. It was sad really instead of serving the captain and trying to do their best to help out the Order they were squabbling like children.

Julianna was the worst as far as Garrett could tell; the others were just inexperienced or naive and didn't understand how things worked. Reaching down Garrett stifled the Bandits screaming with his grip of iron. Shouldering his kite shield over the big bastard sword currently hanging from his left shoulder Garrett picked up the maul from where it had landed. Another bandit came screaming bloody murder out of the tree line with his sword held high. Amateur.

The maul held in Garrett's right hand caught the bandit in the solar plexus with the end of it as Garrett jabbed him with the pummel of the maul. With a crunch and a gurgling cough the bandit staggered backwards as he folded over clutching his crushed sternum. With a swift underhand stroke Garrett obliterated the man's jaw sending pieces of flesh and bone flying in a terrific spray of gore. There was a sharp pop at the end of the man's twist as his neck snapped from the force of the blow.

Still dragging his injured captive Garrett started back towards the line of horses making use of his armor to block the on his left shoulder which was where the Kite shield hung, or simply running down the bandits before they could draw their bow. None of their weapons were adequate to penetrate the steel of Garrett's plate armor as he cut the brainless, poorly, trained fools down like so much wheat.

Tossing the man on the ground Garrett trapped him face down in the churned mud. Taking his kite shield off the large Knight simply stood and waited with his captive. The kite shield fended off any offending stray arrows as Garrett simply took in the sight of the other knights dealing with the bandits. It wasn't really his style to stand and wait but this was a good opportunity to take their measure; that and he doubted any of them would have bothered with a captive given the fact that they had been ambushed.

Garrett laughed again at Sult's comment. She certainly was a fiery little number; the big man filed it away for further contemplation. With a bellow at her retreating form he ground his heel on his captive "Fine! Go have fun on your own you little fluzy! I have my own friend here so I have no need of you." With another chuckle to himself Garrett checked to make sure his captive was still breathing.

[Assistant]
For a few moments, Fanilly found herself caught in shock at the sight of a man's body cut completely in half by the undead knight herself. While she had certainly seen blood before, and even death, seeing a man cut in half right in front of her was something truly different. But... no, she couldn't simply remain there. Taking advantage of the defensive position that the heavily-armored knight had taken, the young captain turned swiftly. Now. Now was time to command, to prove herself...!

"Stand firm, their numbers are small!" she declared. Even now, at the immediate response of the knights(and the presence of even more forces beyond them), the bandits quickly faltered as some of their number was slain so rapidly. And one man even bisected entirely... It was clear they hadn't expected the Iron Rose Knights!

While she had a moment, she cast a quick glance at Julianna before returning her gaze to the downed man. No, as much as he needed help... she was a captain. "As son as this battle is over we can tend to your injuries!"

She turned to face Julianna immediately. Now this... this was a situation where she had to act swiftly.

"Keep him safe. As... as Iron Rose Knights, it is our duty," Fanilly said, swiftly. Truthfully, she did not feel right leaving him. But if he was defended, then she could take her position as Captain. She had to. If she did not...

Even if there numbers were small... she had to show she was worthy of being captain. That meant defending the civilian and leading the knights in battle.

Many of the archers had been dealt with. Fanilly moved forward swiftly, and as she met another bandit he took a wild, frightened swing at her. Catching it in her dagger, the short blonde thrust her longsword forward and drove it through his leather armor, deep into his chest, piercing through his back. He fell with a gasp and lay still as she drew her sword from him.

The few remaining bandits, their numbers already so thinned, were breaking.

"We... we have to report back! The... the Iron Roses...!"

There were few left, and some were starting to try and flee. A few others remained, drawing bows and raising their weapons, albeit deeply shaken.

"Do not let them retreat!" cried Fanilly, "They will report our presence and prepare for an attack!"


[System]
Personal Information
Gender:
Female
Birthday:
07/17/50 BCE
Age:
12
Height&Weight:
137cm, 37kg
Appearance: A girl with a fair complexion who appears to have the delicacy of a flower. An appearance one might consider to being "cute" and "youthful.". However, even the most delicate of flowers have their thorns.
Equipment: Standard roman garb, Basic travel kit, herbal antistatic.

Psychoanalysis
Merits:
Loyalty: An unwavering spirit whose choices of allegiance are unshakable under even to the most staggering of pressure. Although most loyal individual might have loyalty from their line of duty, one could consider Oriana's to be a byproduct of her simplistic nature. After all, why should she listen to anyone that will not fulfill the will of her Goddess as has been interpreted?

Flaws: Ignorance: Knowledge kept only to the base of understanding. Information regarding things beyond her profession is more often than not understood or performed well through herself. Also seems to get mad at "meanies using big, confusing words."
Jealousy: The existence of a state of "jealousy" either subconsciously or consciously found within the heart. Will fester.
Fury: Natural tendencies towards "furious" behavior patterns. Will Fester.
Tragic Flaw: Fanatical: Destined to follow a set of conceived ideas to the point of fervor and fanaticism. The belief that Octavian is the savior of the republic and Rome itself, despite all evidence against it, is unshakable to the construction of the character. Thus, one could say that the reason for her existence is a lie within itself. "The Republic is dead. Long live the Republic."
Personality: A simple individual with simplistic structures of thought. The sort of individual who maintains a childish complex about her, almost in a carefree sort of way.
However, children can be cruel, and one could say that Oriana is deeply in touch with her inner child.

Recorded Information

Culture and Country:
Latin (Iberian)
Languages: Latin, Greek
Public Record:
Known for being a proficient and somewhat accomplished magical girl within the military, however, only through "practice" rather than actual "known "combat.
Private Information:
Has an unwavering affection towards Octavian to the point of being luscious in nature. May or may not have a shrine in her room dedicated to this individual.
An "inquisitor" of sorts to align ideas to Octavian's ideals.
Faction Information

Loyalty:
Octavian
Military Rank:
Immune
Magical Girl Rank:
Heroic-Iron
Magic
Synchronization:
100%;100%
Magical Familiar: Wolf: a somewhat large wolf which Oriana commands. Is able to detect the slightest traces of an individual from far away, communicating this knowledge to Oriana.
Magic Trait:
Fury of Rome(When on the offensive, morale increases, and ego loss is stopped)
Rallying Rome(When on the defensive, morale increases and stress gain is stopped)
Jealousy(Attached flaw is automatically added, will fester)
Fury(Anger Flaw is automatically added, will fester)
Magic Abilities:
Barriers(M) : Rank 1 (1)
Shadow Manipulation(M) Rank 3 (8)
Stealth (M): Rank 1 (1)
Power Manifestation:
Magic
Darkness Puppeteer: The ability to control the "absence of light" as a physical entity with similar properties to an "extremely thin foil that is unable to have play". Control only lasts between a finite distance from the caster.
Shade Protection: The ability to create a shielding system from the "absence of light" as a physical entity. Able to be used to block attacks and fully cover an individual.
Anti-Enlightenment: Able to create a zone in which exists the property of "light not existing".
Skills and Metastatus

Skills:
Survivalism|Sneaking [Knowledgable]
Priesthood|Doctrine (Imperial Cult) [Knowledgeable]

Fate:
(The number of Fate points you have. This will be assigned to you.)

Miracle:
(???)

[User]
The Wild Goose Chase (Britannia)

Emerging from the lower deck and onto the "main" deck of the trireme, Titus excused himself past the hustle and bustle of the crew as he made his way towards the bow of the ship. From what chatter he could overhear in excited Latin, it seemed that the small convoy might be coming within sight of the coast of Britannia within a matter of minutes; he'd have to ensure that he collected the rest of his equipment and his pack once they made land-fall.

As he drew to a stop beside the starboard-side edging that lined the perimeter of the ship's deck, he spied out of the corner of his eye a tall, well-armoured figure leaning against the ship's mast - a so-called "Priestess of the Gods". Hhe hadn't learned a lot about them since he had joined the legions, but according to camp-talk and rumor, they were supposedly young women and girls who had been blessed by the gods. However, despite his own legion currently having a cohort's worth of these girls in his 19th Legion (the so-called "XI Cohort"), he couldn't lay a finger on why these women had been so augmented by the powers-that-be. Even more alarming, however, was that reports had been circulating that other civilisations had such Priestesses of their own! Mars above, there was one among their ranks right now - what further proof to such speculation would he have needed?

Deciding that there was nothing much he could do to help the crew, the Decanus approached the foreign-looking girl (Ari) and greeted her with a casual, yet equally reserved, "Ave."

[Assistant]
Road to Knowledge

Kára was about to tell her new companion that, no, she did not find ravens to be boring (she actually found them to be quite cute) when something unplanned occurred; an enemy ship had rammed into the side of their own. When it happened, Kára was knocked off-balance for a split-second before she regained her composure and realized what was going on. Almost instantly, her persona changed from that of a cute, meek girl to something a bit more frightening and serious.

With her wings expanded and her face so serious, Kára would have been adorable if she weren't so intimidating. She leapt from her current position and flew the short distance to a point above the enemy vessel (there was no way she would transform aboard a ship containing comrades she may accidentally eat). While in the air, her form morphed from that of a girl to that of a monstrous beast, a velociraptor. Though the beast was hardly larger than a normal human, its speed and strength were unmatched by anything remotely the same size.

The dinosaur landed on the ship not gracefully but rather alarmingly. It exuded an aura of fear meant to scare its allies into action and enemies into inaction. A horrendous bellow escaped the opening full of razor-sharp teeth that was this creatures mouth as it stared down its enemies, ready to rip each and every one of their throats out.

[User]
Silence is Golden

"It doesn't matter. Its easier to find him if he does send people after us."

Extremely easy, if she was sent alone. But with these two along, there would be a whole lot more to worry about. For one, she doubted any of them can conceal themselves if it becomes necessary. Hopefully them being sent on this mission meant they were at least competent, and able to at least carry their weight.

The barbarian priestess was most likely to bring down the whole mission especially if they bring their whole pack of wolves with them.

"The merchants may help.... help, with maybe an offering of coins..." The wisp offered, floating lazily around Tulia.

"Hmm... Let us go then. Nothing will come of us standing around here like fools." She started walking, hesitating for a moment before putting on the mask, hiding her presence. She took great care with holding her cape near her body as she walked close to Aelia. A young girl wandering about with red eyes and fine clothes wouldn't exactly go unnoticed, especially in this place.

[Assistant]
Wild Goose Chase

Agripena glanced at Titus. The Legionary seemed to be at ease on the sea in a way that she simply wasn't. She went up to him on unsteady legs. "I've never been out to the lands of the barbarians. Do you have any advice, or is this your first time in Britannia as well?"

[User]
Wild Goose Chase

A voice piped up beside Titus and, diverting his attention to the owner, the Legionary found himself staring at the second Priestess accompanying the expedition. Placing the edge of his scutumn shield against the wooden deck and leaning unsteadily against it to counteract the waves below, he answered, "Well no, I haven't been to this new land before. But I have been serving in Amorica for a little over a year, so I have some experience with the barbarian hordes in battle."

He shrugged. "All I can really say is that it is likely that no two barbarian tribes are the same; the moment you start underestimating what a tribe can do when backed into a corner, you're as good as dead. As I heard it, that's what happened to another legion's VIII cohort after a patrol was ambushed. After they were returned, battered and undermanned, to their camp, their centurion - in a fit of anger - carried out a summary decimation. The results ... weren't pretty."

[Assistant]
Decimus Aelius
--Wild Goose Chase--

"Sir, please wake up. We are nearing the shores of Brittania."

A stern, serious voice woke Decimus up. He grumbled. He wanted five more minutes but he knew time was not going to wait for him and so rose from his bed. The Legatus was still groggy and began questioning why he was here and not back in Germania watching walls all day. He knew the answer, it was an order to protect the Roman people. Or more particularly, the Roman people of Octavian. As the world began making sense to Decimus, he realized he was in the flagship of the transport fleet of the Legion he was currently commanding. "Uhhhh..."

Decimus tiredly stood up and started gearing up. As he did so, more details surfaced. Apparently, there were other people involved in this little expedition. People who were not, at all, aligned with Augustus. Decimus could not care less personally but if these people were going to have trouble following him, then he would care. A kind of 'care' that often leads to trouble. He had finished dressing himself up and next thought about his forces.

His best friend was in another ship, whom he put there to assume command just in case his ship gets destroyed somehow. He remembered there were some foreign magical girls in the force and they were in other ships. There was also a Legion ready to be mobilized back in Gaul in case things get dire. Which was a good thing since Decimus felt he, along with his Legion, was not going to have the time of their lives in Brittania.

[User]
Ari
The Wild Goose Chase

"Ave."

Ari looked up towards the source of the voice. It was one of the soldiery looking person that was supposed to come along on this mission. Judging from his demeanor and how he approached her, the previous word seemed to be some sort of greeting. Not that she really knew; it could be an insult towards her mother for all she knew.

With a gesture to acknowledge his greeting, she leaned back again against the mast. The other girl had taken the man's attention, so there was no real need for her to even attempt a conversation. Not that she even understand the language to hold a decent conversation about anything.

"What, who's that lowlife trying to speak to you?" Sigrun flapped down and perched on her shoulders.

She shrugged. "One of the soldiers on this mission. There's no real need to know their name as long as I can finish my mission, and perhaps find souls worthy to be sent to Valhalla."

[Assistant]
Oriana
Road to Knowledge

"Ohh~. I never saw so many people who wanted to play with me before~."

It had appeared there existed challengers to the current mission. Even if they did know not their status as "individuals who wished to preform a task for the 'true' leader of Rome", they still existed as obstacles. As such, they "played" the role of the "enemies" in this game. Although one might say that children were innocent, therein existed cruelty within the heart of man at base; a state which only reduces it's existence then after though the morals of "society".

However, cruelty is not "evil" at base. At least, Oriana's cruelty does not stand from such notions of "good and evil". Instead, she merely does not understand the distinction between her actions as "bad" and "good". A childish innocence. That does not mean that a childish innocence cannot harm others.

"What should I do~. I wanted everyone to play with toys, but I guess these people brought their own toys~? I think that can work. You are all having so much fun together~. Maybe I should join, too?"

There existed no form of malice within Oriana right now. Perhaps there existed a bit of anger against those who would stop her from playing with other girls around her age, but not true malice. After all, it wasn't as if she understood what such emotions meant in the first place, nor could truly inform someone of her current feelings toward those who had joined on ship to "play" with her little troop. They were merely being really rude, and as such, she could not allow their transgressions to take shape any longer.

Cruelty without reason other than "play".

One of the boarded individuals from the other ship had attempted to attack Oriana, his axe meant to bisect his opponent.

Casting upon the deck was Oriana's own shadow as it just then appeared to twist and move based on her words, becoming a weapon of sorts which Oriana had ability over.

The first to go was his arm; what had been holding the weapon to begin with. With the precision of a surgeon, she had "removed" completely through the bone in a single swoop of this "shadow entity" what was once his arms from his body.

The legs were next. Of course, one could say he had already been pacified, so removing his ability to utilize his legs was a pointless act, but one that Oriana seemed to take a bit of pleasure within. Then came the eyes, his shrieks of pain and terror seemed to fill the ears of those around her. This was then followed after a short while by his eventual execution through bisection as he had once tried to do to her.

"Fun, isn't it~? I want to play more~."