[System]
Alias: "First-Degree" Donny
Age: 36
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 160 pounds
Race: Human
Alignment: Evil Neutral
Eye Color: Green

Appearance: A slight man with a young face, emerald eyes, and greasy ginger hair, Donny is without a doubt an unassuming individual. He almost always wears black pants and dress shoes with suspenders and black gloves. He always wears a tie, though the color and design of it frequently changes. He speaks with a nasally Downeast accent, one that most people find pervy sounding.

Weapons and Equipment: A Raging Bull .44 Magnum revolver with a Mernickle quick draw holster and seven moon clips (48 shots total) on his belt on the right side, a Tommy Gun with two spare 100-round drums (300 shots total) slung over his back, five grenades with tripwires on his belt, a six inch switchblade in his pocket, a claw hammer holstered at his belt, a customized retractable high-density golf club made just for braining folks holstered at his belt, a nine foot garrote wire reel concealed within a wristwatch, spring loaded five-inch knives within the heels and toes of his shoes that will jut out when a switch on the instep is triggered, a pair of quarter-pound S.A.P black leather combat gloves weighted with lead, a bulletproof vest, a can of FOX military grade pepper spray holstered at his belt, and a satchel holding four adhesive bombs, which can be remotely detonated via digital watch or set with a timer. Each bomb contains enough TNT to scrap a minivan.

Physical Abilities/Skills: Despite his baby-faced appearance, Donny is strikingly quick and strong. His physicality is comparable to that of a highly trained marine, as he consistently trains to stay in peak condition. He has over seventeen years of experience in urban combat as an elite mafia goon, with at least 172 confirmed kills. Though he is a capable hand-to-hand fighter, he by far prefers mid-range firefights. He is a true "dead eye" with his selected firearms, and can hit a fly at ninety-one meters with his .44 Magnum, the weapon he favors above all others. Such is his skill with the gun that he can fire off all six shots in less than a second by fanning the hammer, whilst still maintaining near-perfect accuracy. For reference as to the Magnum's power, the slugs can can rip through armor like rice paper and put a four inch hole through a steel cooking pan at three hundred feet.

Background: Donny had a typical psychopathic childhood. He was born in Bangor, Maine, his father a U.S Marine, his mother a sickly stay at home wife, and his uncle a bastard rapist. He was often unsupervised, and frequently engaged in less than moral activities. He bullied other children, killed animals, and stole from the local supermarket on a regular basis. As soon as he got his driver's license, he stole his parent's van hit the road, moving to Las Vegas and with nary a penny in his pockets after using up the rest for gas.
There he found quick work as a mafia bookie, his audacity and ruthlessness impressing the bosses. He began as a goon and never switched professions. He was good at it. Whenever he wasn't booking, he was killing. Any hit that was requested of him, he accepted and completed. By the time he was in his mid-twenties, he was locally known as "First-Degree" Donny, a universal killer and as far as the Las Vegas Police were concerned, a veritable one-man army.

There was another reason for his infamy, however. He had a hobby. In his spare time Donny wandered the streets after dark, a claw hammer hidden inside his overcoat. He killed lone women beneath city overpasses and in motel alleyways. Being a part-time serial killer in addition to a mafia bookie naturally solidified his reputation as a high profile criminal, and he is currently on the FBI's Most Wanted list with a reward of two-million dollars on his head.

Theme Music:

[User]
Donny would leap to his right, having expected another spell. What he didn't expect were five spells. The one that had been launched at his gun hand would take him in the belly, the rest missing. He'd land on his side, gasping for breath but with still enough sense to have not fallen upon his shooting arm. His bulletproof vest had certainly saved his bacon. He still felt like he had broken a rib though.

Gun aimed at Gweyr, Donny would slowly attempt to rise to his feet, the heel of his left hand poised just above the Magnum's hammer, which had already been cocked back. He could empty the weapon in a second, and with far greater tact than how the magic missiles had been launched. He wouldn't settle for aiming all over her body. He'd watch where she moved and would adjust to hit her anyways.

But for some reason he wasn't shooting yet. He had something to say.

[Assistant]
Doctor Gweyr said nothing, rather, leaping up towards the wall to her left insanely fast, at a position about 5 feet above and behind the man's right side. Flipping around in midair, she kicked off the wall with the same incredible speed, and extending her leg, still clad in magical armor, performed a dropkick at 84 miles per hour, aimed at the man's left collarbone.

No time for talk.

No time for mercy.

[User]
Donny really hadn't been expecting this. He went to the movies now and then, saw a few Harry Potters. Wizards and witches weren't supposed to be able to go all Spiderman on your ass.

Still, despite having been born in an era of relative peace and security, he was a genuine warrior, with the adaptational reflexes to go with it. Donny would hurl himself backwards to both avoid the kick and keep Gweyr in sight, though he'd have been far too surprised to shoot after her.

He'd roll to his feet, and there would be a grenade in his left hand. Not only that, but something was attached to the pin of the explosive. It was a ring clip. He'd let the grenade tumble from his fingers. It would stop a half foot from the ground, suspended by a nearly invisible wire that Donny held in his hand, leading up to his digital watch.

Sweet Lordy alive, it was a razor wire grenade flail. A razor wire grenade flail in one hand and a .44 Magnum in the other. By this point most entities would call it a day and get the fuck out of Dodge. "First-Degree" Donny's eyes glinted dully from a distant streetlight as he took a step towards Gweyr, cold rain pattering down on his hat.

[Assistant]
Doctor Gweyr's eyes narrowed as the man dodged, and pulled out a flail made of a razor wire and a grenade. Well then. Gweyr kicked off the ground, leaping into the air, and once she was at her apex, twenty feet up, directly above the man, she cast a lightning bolt directly at him. Now this was a quandry. Either he would shoot at her, and the bullets would melt, or the lightning would arc towards the razor wire, causing the grenade to explode. If he didn't shoot, the lightning bolt would be aimed towards the gun, as the largest metal thing there.

Gweyr had no problems doing this. This man was obviously a menace.

[User]
Donny was, perhaps, smarter than Gweyr had anticipated. He knew, however, that attempting the same trick twice is foolish. She was beyong the reach of his flail, and if he detached the grenade and tossed it at her she might intercept it in the process.

He'd step down on the grenade and jerk up with the wire to pull the pin free, at the same time firing a round several feet to the woman's left to draw away the electricity. He had somehow predicted that a lightning bolt was about to come. Perhaps he had felt his hair standing up on end and had smelt ozone?

A split second later he'd be sprinting to his right, keeping an eye over his shoulder and the Magnum cocked. The grenade had a six second fuse and wouldn't detonate until about three seconds after the witch landed right on top of it. She had better be quick.

[Assistant]
Doctor And quick she was. Dropping down, Gweyr counted off one second, not knowing how much time was left on the grenade's timer, grabbed it, and flung it like a baseball at the creep. Summoning a thick fog, Gweyr jumped up, and grabbed onto a fire escape, hidden in the thick mist.

Aiming in the general area of where she saw the man last, she launched several magic missiles towards him, in a burst-fire scatter pattern, such as one would find from an assault rifle.

[User] It seemed that Gweyr hadn't learned the first time. Right before she landed, Donny would whirl around and fire at the grenade. Why wait when he could blow it up with the pull of a trigger?

[Assistant] Doctor Luckily, with the THICK, BLINDING FOG that surrounded them, the shot went wide.

[User] As Gweyr would have summoned the fog after she had landed, Donny would have already hit the grenade by then. Not that the fog would matter, for the killer had memorised the spatial location of the grenade and could have hit it with his eyes closed.

[Assistant]
Doctor Gweyr landed atop the grenade, and Donny shot it. However, she was still wearing armor on her legs, arms, and most of her head, so when the grenade was shot, she was protected from the small amount of fire that came from the severed blasting cap when it flew back. Lunging forward, Gweyr was slightly confused. Did he really think that shooting a grenade with a handgun would work?

Once more, she cast magic missiles at the man, through the fog, in a scatter pattern.

[User]
The spells would rocket through the fog. A moment later Donny could be heard yelping loudly. Then...

Tattattattatta-!

One of Gweyr's magic missiles had struck Donny in the knee, completely shattering it and grounding him. But before the fog had cleared, he'd have shoved himself to the side so that his yelp wouldn't get him hit, unslung his tommy gun, and unleashed a hail of bullets at Gweyr. Unlike her magic missiles, these weren't random. He'd have triangulated her position by watching where the magic missiles had come from. There were a hell of a lot more than just six bullets this time. There were dozens, and the mage's armor had probably been used up by the last grenade.

[Assistant]
Doctor Gweyr knew she couldn't dodge the hail of fire, so she did the next best thing. She turned sideways, her armored arm and leg, as well as the parts of the helmet that remained protecting her. A few bullets pinged off her shoulder and leg armor, leaving misty blue cracks, for while the Thompson fired .45 ACP rounds, it was not as powerful a gun, for it had to fire many bullets quickly, rather than a few, powerfully.

Gweyr assumed that the man would have had some way to find her location, so she moved before the fog cleared. Jumping into the sky, Gweyr was about 20 ft in the air, illuminated against the moon. If Donny looked up, he'd see a small flash of energy, before the lightning arced into his body, hitting his gun.

If he dropped the gun or threw it, the explosion of all the remaining bullets in the gun would hit him. If he did not, he would get fried by lightning. If there were no bullets left, the lightning would most likely arc from the gun to the magnum, which was still on Donny's person.

[User] Due to the fog Gweyr wouldn't be able to see Donny aiming at her and so might have not known to turn her armor in his way. He'd expend twenty-eight rounds, ready to alter his aim in the direction of any screams or pings.

[Assistant] Doctor She might not have known, but she could certainly react. The fight had been nowhere near five minutes long, so she still had plenty of time left on her Arcane Style. The increased agility would allow her to turn away three times faster than any normal human, so where a normal human would have been grazed while turning away, she was able to turn to the side nigh-instantaneously.

[User] The problem was less Gweyr's agility and more her being hit before she even knew she was being shot at. The fog obscured her vision and the bullets were as fast as sound. Even with three times the reaction speed of a normal human, bullets were bullets and she wouldn't know she was being shot at until she was shot.

[Assistant] Doctor Luckily, spells were cast at the speed of thought, and an Interposing Hand  sprung up between the bullets and herself, after one bullet managed to cut her along her exposed right side. Bullets already in the space that the hand appeared in were displaced to the sides, and the rest ricocheted off of the magical barrier.

[User] Donny limped to his feet, dropping the tommy gun to better favor his Magnum as he hobbled to his left. As he kept moving, he'd flick open the cylinder of his revolver and take a look inside before snapping it closed again. He had to take care with his ammunition and keep track of how much he had. He didn't have an infinite amount, after all.

[Assistant] Doctor

[User] Donny was by now used to handling the lightning spells. He had been lucky the first time, and had experimented the second time. He knew now that the best course of action before shooting Gweyr was to aim the first bullet off to the side before she unleashed the lightning. He would do so, firing off to her right to draw away the spell before firing twice in quick succession at her whilst she was in the air, one aimed at her head and one at her chest. He'd keep the Magnum focused on her as she fell, legging it over to her landing site.


[System]
Emilia, the Puppeteer of Warovia

"What a pretty little thing you are... care if I add you to my collection?"
Age:
Unknown, she looks to be around 18 years old, but most certainly is at least a decade older than that. Her tome has slowed her aging process to a near still, once she reached her current apparent age.
Faction:
Neutral, though she has works with the Librarian on many occasions.
History (Optional):
WIP
Personality:
WIP
Tome (Color and Abilities):
Bezalel, "Manual of the Puppetmaker"

WIP
Theme:

The Librarian

Theme

[User]
Syn Kor

Syn was hoping to have a polite chat with Fei, but before they could even exchange greetings Student President Mariette Shej interrupted them. Syn knew Mariette as one of the top students at the school (One could not be the Student President with poor grades after all), but with a penchant for pranks and being a general annoyance. It's not that Syn disliked the girl, simply that she was very... Nosy. She had hoped to speak with Fei about some fairly important matters, but Mariette did inform Syn of a strange individual on campus. What concerned Syn more however was why the student president went to Syn instead of one of the school security officers. As the girl said herself, Syn was running a bit late for class, and while Syn was more than capable of handling herself in a fight, why ask a teacher when they had plenty of guards? Syn suspected that Mariette had an ulterior motive... Perhaps her subtle way of informing Syn of her alliances.

The teacher couldn't question the student president as she left with Fei shortly after. Sighing, Syn supposed that she should see what this stranger wanted. If he was with the Librarian than perhaps Syn could direct him to help somehow. If he was a spy however, she'd need to deal with him appropriately. Taking her Tome in staff form, Syn went to find this person at the Academy Archives. While Syn can't say she knows everyone at the academy, mostly the students, she's quite aware of the identities of all the staff members. Being with the Librarian, it was practically a requirement in order to make sure spies of the Imperium didn't infiltrate her operations. Students were a bit harder due to the vast amount at the Academy, but at least they were uniform and easy to do a check on. So when Syn was around the Academy Archive, she sunk into the shadows and kept an eye out for anyone who didn't belong. Hopefully she'd be finished soon, as she needed to head to class. She didn't want to cancel it because someone was wasting her time.

[Assistant]
Měihóu Niángniang

During Yggdrasil's arrival and the surprise over it, Měihóu had landed and picked up her staff, slinging it over her shoulder. The old man's smirk might change before he got to the line, "Yggdrasil isn't half as much patient as I am", as Měihóu's response to "What about you, ladies?" was a swift kick* to his balls. That said, Měihóu did make sure to keep the old man between her and Yggdrasil.

*and remember, she's stronger than she looks and the "no permanent damage" is only on her staff.

@Vocab

[User]
When the knight arrived, the tides surely changed, and for the worse. Yggdrasil bared ill for the battle and everyone engaged save the old sharpshooter. Sierra held her blade downwards and angled, the razored edge faced towards the old man and Platinum Knight. The sisters downright panicked, much to Sierra's dismay, and Mei seemed insistent to piss the men off as much as possible, by proceeding to attack with clear signs of not backing down. A battle would not ensue, however, as Sierra lifted her blade and pointed the tip in a staging line at the knight and now hunched over sharpshot. Then she tilted it down towards the ground and allowed it to rest on the floor. With both girls gone, and the only ally remaining being the monkey, defeat was inevitable.

Sierra spoke then, at the man, and the knight, and the monkey. However, her voice did not come out as her usual tone, nor the tone that had followed the activation of her tome. Instead, a dark, emotionless voice emerged from her mouth; a sinister, distant and deep sound - as if she had been possessed.
"We would severe you where you stood, Knight, but we have further use for you." it said, it's voice echoing down the hall and into every hole, crevice and opening around, "But understand it is for no reason than research. Not even you can escape the Void, Knight of Silver. Nor the Knight of Crimson, Aqua or Gold, or even the Imperator herself." it finished, glancing over the people present with distant, borrowed eyes. Then it lifted the sword, and it began to flow pure white, but no light emitted from it. The it vanished, shrinking away until it no longer existed. It brushed its hand across the watch dangling from its jacket, and in an instant the hand vanished, only to reappear again in a fraction of a second. Reaching towards the watch, it grabbed something out of the air and threw it against the ground. Seconds passed where nothing happened, but then, from the ground, a bolt of lightning rose up and struck the ceiling, before filling the hall with an acrid, burnt smell like no other.

After the smoke cleared, however, Sierra was not there. She was, instead, at home, where she had contracted some illness making her slightly sick. It was a new day - a day where she wouldn't leave the house unless Librarian called.

[Assistant]
Tori

Any student that entered the academy library that morning wouldn't have been able to find Tori without digging her out from under a large pile of papers at the front desk. It was here Tori had spent the rest of the night, working on her map of Arcadia. It was thankless work that satisfied no one but herself and she was fine with that. Truth be told, this was the third copy Tori had made so far. Past experience had taught her to make multiple back-up copies and store them separately.

Having finished the last copy, Tori stored the maps away and ignored the rest of her duties and went out, a comical amount of pages following her out of the library and down the hall. Taking out a pocket notebook Tori paused briefly to flip through her half complete, hastily scrawled, notes of the information she had gleaned from the treasure vault the night before and a few hypotheses about the nature or Arcadia. The whole mess involving last night and the reason she couldn't relax was the fault of this Librarian and so Tori silently cursed the Librarian in her heart Goddamn madman! A disgrace to my profession! What self-respecting librarian add terrorism to their resume? Or for that matter be audacious enough to add "the" to their profession, as if any other were bellow respect! Bastard interrupted my studies! and so the true reason for her anger was revealed only to a mind reader.

Coldly glaring at any student or staff that crossed her path, Tori made a bee-line for the staffroom and liberated a teapot and water. Before returning back to her post, hoping the tea would calm her down

[User]
Getting inside the Academy Archives was relatively easy, as far as Alex was concerned. It was just a matter of psychology, acting like he belonged, and some convenient timing to slip past what would otherwise be locked door.s He wasn't sure why it hadn't worked before, but this time it went off without a hitch, and soon enough he was inside the Archives.

Unaware as he was of the fact that he was being observed, at least for the moment, he nonetheless proceeded inside the Archives. He had a job to do, to locate a map of the Citadel or to find some idea of the location of the Relics and such that they were supposed to find. If there was any place to do so, this would be it. The Archives might not have the same breadth of knowledge as the archives that had to be in the Citadel itself, but it would be good enough for his purposes.

The Archives were still impressive, after all. Multiple levels, shelves that ran on in rows for a dizzying distance. He was more impressed that people could even find anything in this place, even with the organizational system that had to exist. But it wasn't too bad, it just meant that he was less likely to be interrupted.

"Well, time to get to work," he said to himself with a grin, snapping as he headed off into the stacks. First he'd check the blueprints, see if he could find any for the Citadel. Then back to the history section, to look for news on those Relics and such. If that didn't work then it would be back to the really old stuff, to see what had gotten covered in cobwebs. And if that didn't work then, well, he wasn't sure what he would do. He'd think of something.

For now though, he had a goal, and he knew what to do. Nothing was going to stop him.

[Assistant]
~The Citadel - Underground Passage~

Just as Meihou's dirty attack was about to hit it's target, something seemed to flash in the otherwise dark chamber, the sound of the turbulent water was temporarily doused by a loud creak. The Aquarian twins turned their surprised faces only to see that Yggdrasil had raised his sword.

"Damn, Linea, get out of the way!" Sienna shouted as she tackled her sister out of the path of the sword. The two of the rolled on the ground, leaving behind their tomes and landing a couple meter away from Yggdrasil's feet.

"Onee-sama, I'm sorry, I guess this is where we..."

"Don't say that, things aren't over till the fat lady sings."

Just as Sienna said so, the ceiling began to collapse, eventually trapping them in the same side as Yggdrasil and old man, and Meihou on the opposite one. "Me and my mouth," was the last thing to be heard of the twins.

However, just before the whole place ruined, Meihou's eyes would be able to catch a glimpse of the murderous look that the Old Man threw towards her as he crouched on the floor, writhing in pain. As their gazes crossed, he let out a grin resembling a rabid dog, almost as if he were saying "If I ever get you... you'll see."

• • •

On the days following the grand announcement of the worldwide search for the Legend Relics, by Her Holiness, the Imperator, the news of the supposed locations of clues and blatant forgery took the land. People of ill faith tried their best to trick and benefit from the excitement of the populace… no doubt, much of this had been work of the vile Librarians, but this is another story.

Anyway, for those seeking the truth, eventually news of places that promised the real chance of recovering the relics and the showering rewards that came with it, could be filtered through the vast web of deception. Though, not of all of those places were pleasant, such as this:

~Der Blutring~

BGM

A grand tournament, sponsored by the Fallen Princess Emilia Warov, will be held at the Blood Sand Colosseum, deep within the ever-shifting sands of Exilia. The Princess seeks to honor the memory of her long lost father through an event that he would certainly enjoy.

"The blood of many will be spilled

The lives of more will be lost

In the end, there can be only one."

Those where the words of the princess herself as she beckoned only the finest warriors and mages to take part in a feast of violence worthy praises of any bard. On Exilia, where no law touches, all are equal, the only truth is blood. Come, if you dare partake on it.

To the one who claims the victory, the princess offer two rewards. First her hand in marriage and an equal share of Warovia's hoard (more gold, gems and art than one can even count), regardless of race and even gender, for Emilia's first and foremost love is for what lies I.N.S.I.D.E. The second boon, is a genuine Legend Relic which has been passed down the Warovia's line since time immemorial.

Once her word is given, the princess never takes it back, rest assured of it. However, the true question is. Is your ambition worth dying for?


[System]
16 | Male | 31 July | 4 Cubits | 3254 Gold Debens

Hobbies
Dice games, chariot racing, hunting, fashion, makeup, jewelry, plotting to usurp his father's throne.

Personality
Sekhandur is narcissistic, hedonistic, indulgent, and uninhibited; all traits one would expect from a one who literally believes himself to be a god walking among mortals. Despite these qualities, he is surprisingly genial, lacking the pettiness or cruelty one would expect from one with his mannerisms. Sekhandur can also be diligent, determined, quick-witted, generous, and contemplative. His more benevolent nature stems from his god complex as well-- he truly believes that he is genuinely a superior being, and feels no insecurity or need to defend that fact. Even so, he is not without a dark streak. If the situation calls for it, Sekhandur can be utterly ruthless, scheming, or deceptive, as he sees no reason to choose the most pragmatic route to attaining that which he desires.

History
Sekhandur is the bastard son of the God-King of the Empire of Kemet, Pharaoh Qezremah IX, and a highborn woman of lesser nobility, Nefertari Khain. Kemet is a vast empire that rules much of the deep desert, famous for its towering stone monuments constructed by legions of slaves and undead. Qezremah, the ninth Pharaoh to bear that name, is referred to by many of his subjects as the White King, partially due to his kindness and generosity, but also due to his perceived weakness and cowardice. It was this kindness that moved him to bring Sekhandur to live with him at court, legally recognizing him as the Pharaoh's son, when he learned of his birth. A largely unprecedented act for a king, this action spurred much discontent among his advisors and the high nobility. Despite their protests, Sekhandur lived as a prince in the royal palace, enjoying the same care and privilege as his trueborn sisters, as for the longest while he was Qezremah's only male offspring.

Much changed when Qezremah's sister-wife, the Queen Manya, bore him a son, the prince Orimund. Now that he had a trueborn male heir to marry to his daughter Itzara when it came time for her to ascend to the throne, he had no need for Sekhandur within the palace. Rather than simply do away with him as a more brutal king might, Qezremah had him sent away to the distant city-state of Genelogia, under the guise of having him study to become Itzara's vizier. In truth, he hopes that Sekhandur never returns to Kemet, and in fact bribed the administrators of Avalice to set Sekhandur up for failure, who complied with his request by placing the exiled prince in the class with the worst track record for graduating students: Camellia.

However, Sekhandur learned of his father's plot quite some time in advance, as he first sensed something amiss when his magical tutor refused to teach him the domain of Kemeti magics reserved for those of royal blood: Sesha-Hebsu, the Closed Book. Rather than having this power denied to him, before his departure for Genelogia Sekhandur stole into his father's private vault and made off with his personal grimoire, hoping to teach himself the secret magic of kings.

Combat Information
Classification
Magic

Mana Color
Iridescent shimmering GOLD on BLACK

Mana Characteristic
The humbling magnificence of a billion stars shining in the desert sky.

Equipment
Sekhandur carries a Was staff for channeling his power, a magnificent tool adorned in pure gold and lapis lazuli. He also carries bears his father's grimoire, the tome "Hymns of the Creation of the Temakh", which carries not only the secret utterances of kings, but ancient history about the origins of Kemet and its royal bloodline.

Magic
Sekhandur is a student of Sesha-Hebsu, the secretive branch of Kemeti magic reserved for its God-Kings and their descendants. This magical style draws on the divine power that has been preserved for generations in the pharaonic bloodline since they first mixed their flesh and souls with the Shan'iatu thousands of years ago. Sehsa-Hebsu literally translates to "the closed book," but is also called "Utterances of Kings," by some, and its power is terrible. This magic can call upon the natural elements to do the bidding of the king, release the pure energy of mana from the king's soul, commune with the stars to divine their secrets, and even assert mastery over the forces of life and death.

Spells
AWAKEN THE DEAD
Sekhandur can compel a corpse to do his bidding. Either briefly rousing it to answer his questions, or reanimating the body as a simple, shambling undead,.

CTHONIC DOMINION
The incorporeal undead are also Sekhandur's to command. With this spell he may reveal the ghosts in an area, render them vulnerable to physical harm, bind them to his will, or swallow them to consume their mana.

GIFT OF THE GOD-KING
Unleashing the majesty of his divine soul, Sekhandur can mend wounds and injuries.

REBUKE THE VIZIER
Sekhandur can shield himself from magic power with special wards.

SECRETS RIPPED FROM SKIES
By staring into the night sky, Sekhandur can divine the his exact location and the hour of night.

WATER OF LIFE AND DEATH
Sekhandur can summon a spring of fresh, clear water where he stands, which heals those that imbibe from it.

WRATHFUL DESERT POWER
Sekhandur commands the essence of the earth. He may scour his foes with blasts of sand, create dust devils that chase down his enemies like living beasts, or create a clay shell to armor himself.

Parameters
Mana
☥☥☥☥

Channeling
☥☥☥☥

Magic
☥☥☥☥☥

Technique
☥☥☥

Strength
☥☥☥

Speed
☥☥

Body
☥☥

Intellect
☥☥☥☥

[User]
@samakama

"Huh?"

Kress turned around, and in that moment of indecision, Misaiya could see someone else slip right in front of the blue-haired boy. Not that the boy in question seemed to notice or care. Smiling at his fellow first year, he chimed, "Yup, nice to meetcha too! And don't worry, there wasn't anything much said. Just some lively debate over what it means to be placed in Class C."

As he spoke, Kress's eyes scanned over the truant student's attire. Interesting clothes, for sure. He was pretty surprised, even, that those fancy robes hadn't been snagged onto anything yet. Magical? Or mighty? Who knew? Misaiya probably did. "By the way, how d-"

Then a familiar face popped up. Not so familiar that he knew much about her at all, of course, but Ankaa was certainly a member of the class, and was certainly a girl, so that was already two things he did know. A silent apology must be said though, to those who she pushed aside on her way here. "Hiya, Ankaa," Kress said. "This is Misaiya, who's pretty late…but also I'm sure Professor Yu- I mean, Nyx, didn't actually take attendance. Probably hard to notice, but he wasn't ticking any boxes or anything over there. So there's like, every chance in the world that he's fine. And yup, I'm just waiting in line-" when there wasn't a line "-and Misaiya just said he'd want to join up. You wanna as well? They even have a shark there to pose with!"

She looked curious enough about the whole affair. First time seeing this, maybe?

[Assistant]
Ty Varen

Ty nodded in approval when Eris called him by just his first name, albeit reluctantly. He always found it weird how all the rich families at this school referred to each other by their last names. He had seven brothers. They couldn't all be Lord Varen, could they? And that didn't even count his cousins on his Uncles' side, which all would share the name Lord Varen. Well, there was only one Ty, and that's what he went by. "Mmm, I guess I should try not to lose my temper like that," he said when Eris clarified her points. "Angry fights aren't fun like a friendly scrap is." Since the subject came up, he was pretty close to offering Eris a light spar to test out their magic, but she seemed to have a bigger target.

As good-looking as the Seven were, Ty had never once considered them potential romantic partners. Not because he disliked them in any way. For the most part they seemed like decent people. But, a hunter doesn't date his mark. And if he did end up falling for one of them, how would he be able to fight them when he needed to? Surely someone as smart as Eris wouldn't make that mistake. "Heh, no worries. I'll introduce you to the club another time. Go get her!" He gave Eris an encouraging pat on her shoulder before letting her go pursue glory. He'd definitely have to grab a spectator's spot for the duel.

But, the cooking club called to him once again. "Come on Ty, we need you to attract new members," one member said. "Yeah, everybody's watching the martial artists fight. Put on a show!" "Welllll..." Ty rubbed the back of his head and looked away, feigning a moment of modesty. "I guess I can't neglect my obligations to my sworn brethren." He darted over to the stand and was eagerly welcomed behind it. The other students were passing them by, treating them like any other food stall. Most didn't even realize that it was something they could join. But, Ty was here to change all that. One of the members tied a headband across his eyes, waving his hand a few times in front of Ty's face to make sure he couldn't see. A couple of passerby muttered. "They doing a blind taste test or something?" Then they put a knife in Ty's hand.

Ty took a deep breath and called out to the crowds with all the volume his lungs could muster. "SHOW'S ABOUT TO BEGIIIIIIIIINNNNN!" Ty channeled his mana and activated his Sixth Sense. He still couldn't see. The headband was tied properly and everything was pitch black, but the knife he held, its weight, its balance, its relative position to the rest of his body, it all became more clear. He knew there was a bag next to him. He had seen it before and could gauge the distance. With no hesitation, he reached in with his left hand. He recognized the texture instantly. A carrot. He slammed it down on the cutting board and ran his finger along it once to gauge its length. Then he chopped. Rapid, precise chops that diced the carrot into tiny pieces, perfect for a soup. The chops came dangerously close to his fingers, but he knew where they were and he knew where the knife was. An unwanted collision was impossible.

The carrot was chopped, then he set his left hand down on the cutting board. His fingers were not spread very far apart, but still he brought the point of knife down between each of them. He navigated the spaces between his fingers with rapid stabs, eliciting some gasps from the audience. Even knife specialists wouldn't attempt something like this blindfolded. And yet, he was unscathed. He reached back into the bag. A tomato. Perfect slices. Another lap across his hand. Another vegetable, another lap. After a dozen runs, he finally set the knife down and took a bow, enjoying the applause. He relaxed his mana flow and gave the crowd a thumbs up, still blindfolded. "If you guys enjoyed the show, consider joining the cooking club. Especially first years. We've gotta teach the next generation how to eat!" With the blindfold on, though, he had no idea whose attention he might catch.

[User]
Sekhandur's quiet enjoyment of his tea was short-lived, as a tallish girl with brown hair and rose-red eyes made herself known. She sidled up to him and made a variety of comments about the brew he was drinking as well as the individual that had made it. Her voice sounded familiar, but Sekhandur could not place where he had seen her previously. It was supremely lucky for her that the tea was easing his headache considerably, or he would not have been in the mood to entertain her overbearing demeanor. If he had been feeling less patient, he would likely have been mulling over what form of facial mutilation would best teach her to mind her manners. As it was, he instead humored her opinions on tea.

"Common things have their place." Sekhandur answered in an even tone. "The king's road winds high above all others, but from his place of privilege he enjoys the beauty of every path." He drained what remained of his tea, and set the ceramic cup down on the nearest stall counter.

They were quickly joined by Kiara, and Sekhandur returned her friendly greeting with a polite smile. Then soon after her, another oddly familiar girl appeared, also asking about tea. Sekhandur felt his restrained smile becoming forced. He was not quite upset by the sudden crowd forming around him, but he had a feeling that he had just been sucked into a conversation that he didn't have any real interest in. Honestly, who cared that much about tea? You drank it for breakfast if there was no coffee, or if you were feeling sick, or if you were eating with your grandmother in the royal gardens. It wasn't that interesting. Regardless, he still felt the need to keep up a decent appearance in front of Kiara, and tried to keep his expression placid.

"Yes, do tell us. Regale us with your expertise." He said to the red-eyed girl, doing his best to not sound too condescending as he feigned interest. He folded his arms over his chest, causing his jewelry to chime gently, and looked down at her with gleaming golden eyes, like a desert cat's.


[System]
Abstract: friendly prankster with a clever mind and an appetite for adventure

(Ignore the cat attributes, but that's basically Nikki, in her original form. Modifications have been made.)

Appearance: Nikki is a nineteen-year-old of about average height, with a solid build that evidences the fact that she's always on the go. She keeps her blond hair cut at her jawline, and her light brown eyes are lively. She prefers to wear flattering clothes, generally showing as much tanned skin as she can get away with. She loves black clothing, and it's always something that lets her move freely and won't get in the way when she's up to her usual activities. She generally wears a pair of woven bracelets with amber and green stones, and shoes are usually a pair of solid-soled sandals with straps so she doesn't lose them.

Details: Nikki grew up with her father after her parents separated. She knows and loves her mother as well, but the woman's job as a trader often took her far from home. Her father, Jasper, runs a general shop in town. Nikki herself has very little patience for work and doesn't have an official job, instead doing odd jobs for various people. Instead of a real occupation, she prefers to get into adventures -- or trouble. She's been filling her time with both since she was old enough to walk. She tried to pay attention to lessons and such, and did alright, but daydreaming or just wandering off wasn't an uncommon occurrence. She's a nice person, if perhaps overly exuberant, though her tendency to tease and play pranks can certainly seem mean. But she wouldn't wish ill on anyone, and is more or less harmless. She's quick and agile, with an ability to keep her feet under her even in difficult situations that would put many cats to shame. She knows how to use a knife, and can hit a target from a couple yards away, but that's only in controlled circumstances. If it came to an actual fight, Nikki is far more likely to keep hold of her knife and use whatever is to hand, often in unusual ways. She's pretty creative when it comes to innovative solutions to problems, though not all of them would be wise to attempt. The girl has a tendency not to think things through that ends her up in trouble as often as not. She actively courts disaster, be it trying crazy stunts or stealing a bun from a food stall for the thrill of getting chased. She revels in danger, carefully balancing on the line between wild and downright crazy. Telling her not to do something is one of the best ways to get her to try; if you don't want her to eavesdrop, you're better off discussing something boring for a bit instead of lowering your voice. She's a superb flier, mostly because she has to be with all the stunts she tries, and enjoys flying second only to exploring. Well. Maybe third if you count pranks? Something like that. Her approach to life is one of humor and gleeful optimism, diving headlong into every opportunity that comes her way. When she decides to do something, she commits herself fully and holds nothing back. Life is something to be enjoyed, and she plans to do that to the utmost.

Other:
~ Glider that's a bit on the smaller side, but it's fast and very maneuverable. She just can't carry too much of anything besides herself. She's damaged it with stunts more times than can be remembered, but while battered it's held up pretty well. Her father decided that if his daughter couldn't be prevented from risking her life trying crazy tricks, he'd at least make sure it wasn't the fault of her wings should she get hurt.
~Lockpicks, because you never know what interesting things might need opening. She totally doesn't use them on things that actually belong to people though. Usually. Most of the time. Well, okay, she does, but she puts everything back where she's found it, so it's okay, right?
~Her knife is a handy tool she's never without. She has a second one in case the first one gets broken or lost somehow.
~A bag of assorted tricks, usually including a bit of food, a grappling hook on a length of light but sturdy rope, a small metal mirror, some stick-on bandages, a few safety pins, heavy-duty tape, some string, a permanent marker, and various things to assist in pranking.

Relationships:
Gaius Stronurr - Nikki admires and respects Gaius, and she /loves/ his stories. She's probably run afoul of him a few times, stealing things and making him chase her down to get them back. Respecting him, it seems, is not enough to make her listen to him. (Would he realize she views it as a game? I mean, if he stopped chasing, she'd stop doing it with the intention of him chasing her down. Doesn't mean she wouldn't aim for other people to chase her, though.)

Forrest Everfree - she's a bit jealous of his freedom, and imagines life without parental figures telling you what to do as fun. Not that she wants to lose her parents, but the lack of a supervising authority appeals to her. As a child she found him fascinating, and often followed him around, eventually convincing him to teach her how to pickpocket and other minor thief skills.

Eli Wyn - friend and frequent co-conspirator. Nikki is impressed by what he knows about gliders, and has actually learned a bit about them from him. His quest for excitement fits well with her own, and as wild as they are separately, get the two together and it's even more intense. He's the one that introduced her to Rahna and Blin/Brytag.

Rahna Altema - Eli introduced the two, and they get on fairly well. Nikki enjoys racing with her and some of the others. She's also learned that playing on Rahna's curiosity is a great way to get her to go along with things she might not otherwise.

Blin "Brytag" Alborse - He's quiet and he always looks half-asleep, but he's not bad. And he has some of the craziest dreams! Palling around with Eli and Rahna means she's friends with him too.

Blank - Nikki's not sure if she likes bothering him or just plain /likes/ him, but she's certainly fond of the mysterious teen. Since his arrival two years ago, she has found him an irresistible target for teasing. He's so cute when he blushes~ Despite his good-natured complaining, the two are pretty tight now, though initially she had to construct circumstances that made adventures unavoidable when he balked at less forceful attempts to bring him along. She's nothing if not persistent.

Tivo Sol - Nikki's encountered him a couple times, both in town and out near ruins, but they're not close or anything.

Kelari Halder - she's friendly, and she tells interesting tales. What's not to like? Nikki is at least on friendly terms with her, though she's probably tried to use Kelari's equipment at least once. Without permission. She got her tattoo at Kelari's parlor, a small pair of stylized wings on her shoulder blades. Hurt like anything, but the result was worth it~

Song: Dangerous, by Within Temptation

[User]
Blank let out a silent breath, resigning himself to give up on training today as Nikki litterally fell into step next to him.

"I was planning to train with the royal guards, but I assume I'll have to put that off till tomorrow once you convince me to join whatever hare brained scheme you've just cooked up." His hand darted out, poking her in the ribs before he continued. "It's not like I can stay behind. If I'm not there to get you out of trouble, who knows what would happen?" He smirked slightly.

For all his halfhearted complaining, Blank actually enjoyed Nikki's adventures. Every time they explored a new wild island or cave, something pulled at the edges of his memory, like reliving a familiar experience. He had never actually remembered anything, but he felt like it was close. Besides, of everyone on the island, he was closest to Nikki. She had been the first one to make him open up.

"So? Do I need to get my glider today?"

[Assistant]
Sera

Chewing on her last slice of bread Sera checked her leather bag one more time. Yup, everything in there. This was it, her last straw. If she didn't get enough money from the artifact she was carrying in her bag right now to finance another artifact recovery operation, she was done for. It'd be back to collecting food scraps for her, something she didn't need to have to do since her 12th birthday. It seemed like all the close ruins had been picked dry by somebody else.
She knew of Tivo more or less hanging around the ruins all the time, but as far as Sera knew, he wasn't in it for the money.
In her time as scavenger, she had run into him from time to time, but mostly ignoring his presence as much as possible. To disturb Sera's work was to disturb her income.
Now, though, it seemed dire. With a long, drawn out sigh, Sera stared at the trinket in the bag. It was a golden goblet, engraved with a depiction of some event. Sera was no specialist, but she assumed it described a coronation, so she hoped it was worth at least a little. Maybe even to the royal family.
"Well, then... Let's go and meet fate...", she muttered as she shouldered the leather bag.
Sera exited her small house, which she bought a few years ago to stay off the street, lying at the border of Heron. She adored the swung roof and the slightly isolated location on top of a little hill with a perfect view to the marketplace.

Slowly Sera strolled down the dirt pathway down the hill until it became cobblestone, she bee-lined for her favourite trader.
"Good morning, Sera. Got something for me?", he yelled as soon as he saw her. More or less, he owed Sera most of his fortune, so he was quite thankful to her and always excited to see her.
"Yeah. Can you give me a good estimate for this?"
Sera took out the trinket and placed it on the trader's table.
Said trader aaahhh'd and ooohhh'd at the sight of the trinket. "This is really good. Have you kept that in a hidden stash until now?"
Sera shook her head. "I'm out of money, so this is my last one.", she confessed.

A bit later, Sera, now a lot more happy than in the morning sat down on a bench munching a sweet pie she had bought with the money she had just gotten. This seemed to have been the best loot she had ever sold, so she was quite eager to celebrate, but after this, it was back to shopping for food to equip her next scavenging trip. But for now, she chewed happily on the pie.

[User]
She giggled, swerving a few steps away at the friendly jab. "Training with the guard?" Any half-formed plans Nikki had fled as she seized upon one that appealed even more. "You mean the knights?" Her grin grew wider, and laughter danced in her golden-brown eyes. "Forget the glider, watching you get your butt handed to you sounds excellent~ You may be good with that sword of yours, but there's no way you're anywhere near a match for them, not yet. I mean, they train /forever/!" The teen switched her collapsed glider, now resembling a thick walking stick, from one hand to the other. "Besides, I'd love an excuse to visit the castle. I wonder if I can sneak in and catch a glimpse of the king...."

She trailed off in a thoughtful tone, something her friends knew was not going to make the end result any less wild. "Landing on the roof somewhere, that's too obvious. I mean, everyone flies, right? Climbing up to a window, though, that they'd /never/ expect~" Nikki turned her attention back to Blank. "So do you wanna try and visit the king before you get yourself all beaten up, or after~?"


[System]
Age: 20

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Standing at about 5'9" tall, Tiral has a fairly average build for his age, which is kind of strange considering how he's perpetually surrounded by the other Iron Rose Knights who seem to be much sturdier than he. His light brown hair is cut short, but has found a way of remaining a shaggy mess that barely avoids his eyes, even while he is wearing armor. More often than not, though, Tiral opts to avoid the usage of any large plate armor or metal armor, instead only wearing stronger equipment over his vitals and leaving the rest under regular leather garb. His sword will often times be sheathed at his side, ready for combat at a moment's notice.

Personality: Tiral is... Actually fairly deliberate for a knight, if not somewhat bored by the peace of everyday life. His journeys at a young age meant he was already able to experience life in the real world, and since then the dusty old libraries that the mages hold in such high regard have been... Well, fairly dull. This doesn't mean that he isn't devoted to his work, but rather that he does not wish to learn anything unless he finds it interesting. Even so, his patience when it comes to such things is unparalleled. Or maybe it's just the fact that he can slap some ice onto people's mouths when he's trying to focus. That too.

Brief Backstory: Having been orphaned a young age due to an illness that wiped out the rest of his village, Tiral was taken in by a priestess of Mayon who was moving with a group of travelers to bring aid to those in need. Though he was never explicitly religious, he greatly appreciated the efforts put forth to save his life, even then. As he grew up alongside these people, the priestess soon found that Tiral had an aptitude for magic. With a recommendation from her (and the goading of those around her), Tiral went off to the capital to further his studies of magic. Sadly, the monotonous life of a studying magician was not quite what the then-young boy had expected of magic.

It was then that he heard of the Iron Rose Knights, whose feats were oft recorded in the books he was forced to pore over. Deciding that the life of a knight was much more entertaining than the life of a magical scholar, Tiral packed up his things once more and went to join the order. Learning the sword came about as easily as magic did to him, but the combination of the two (and his somewhat strange insistence on learning both at once) made him particularly noteworthy among that year's recruits. Since then, Tiral has been honing his abilities, both magical and physical.

Equipment: Other than his rather 'unique' set of armor, Tiral wields a shortsword and a small ceremonial dagger. While the sword is standard-issue, the dagger is mainly used as a catalyst for some of Tiral's larger spells. It may be used as a glorified kitchen knife, but he'd probably never stand for that. More often than not, this dagger is tucked away in his shirt or under his breastplate, but it never leaves his person.

Skills: Contrary to many of his peers, Tiral has chosen not to solely specialize in the way of the blade; rather than just being proficient with his shortsword, Tiral is also proficient in the usage of magic in combat. This magic, focusing mainly on the manipulation on water and ice, has become particularly noteworthy for those who are particularly religious. He, quite frankly, just sees it as sort of a coincidence; his specialty being water does not mean that anything was pre-ordained by the gods.
Probably.

[User]
Marianne Delacroix

With a sigh, Marianne had just started to calm down almost having left the palace. But, at that moment things took an immediate 180 turn for the worst. Marianne stopped in her tracks when she heard two voices screaming that an assassin had just made an attempt at someone's life and she whirled on the spot, assuming the worst. Just as the assassin in question had sprinted past, Marianne laid eyes on Fanily atop the Princess herself and thanked the Goddesses that they were at least alright. Turning to face the fleeing assassin's back, Marianne kicked off her heels and hiked up her skirt to remove the hidden concealable-sword her dearest brother John had created. She would have to thank him at a later day and time. As she moved, Marianne flicked the mechanism that revealed the blade and locked it into place. With a few swift slashes and the sound of ripping cloth, Marianne cut the bulk of her sleeves and skirt off to increase her mobility. It was just a dress after all. A material possession that could easily be replaced.

Exploding into a sprint after the assassin, she took off with break-neck speed. Compared to the rest of the Iron Roses she lacked in many comparable areas, but if there was one area she specialized in. It was speed and agility. Not bearing the weight of her regular armor and equipment, she was possibly at her fastest even barefoot. Now with a target to channel her agitation on, her electrical field surged back to life. Practically a white blur, as if she were a vengeful spirit chasing after own killer. Her moniker of 'Lightning Princess' was two-fold, when one thought of it. The first part was obvious for her affinity of lightning-based magic. The second part was her fleet-footedness, her forte. Raising her sword arm, she could hear the roars of that loud-mouthed little girl who had molested Captain Fanily and the other little girl with the infuriatingly familiar sword behind her, though they were not as close as Marianne was. Bearing down hard on the assassin, refusing to allow them out of her sight, she gave chase getting closer and closer. As soon as she was within range, Marianne would swipe at their legs and heels to cut tendon and ground the assailant. Once taken to the ground ,Marianne intended on throwing her body on them to grab at their throat and treat them to a debilitating electrocution.

Such a bold attempt should be dealt with swiftly, but Marianne had no intention to kill and shed blood just yet.
Information was paramount at the time being.
Marianne realized that she could very well be rushing straight into a trap, but she accepted those consequences.
This could not go unpunished.

[Assistant] Hearing the call of assassin stopped Viviane in her tracks from chasing down a certain fleeing herald. Spotting her target she rushed forward pulling a small dagger out as she quickly started to chase the one who tried to kill the princess. How dare this no name good for nothing speck of insignificant piece of flesh stop her. This was starting to piss her off first the herald started to run from her when she was asking about where her announcement was than this little piece of filth tries to kill the princess THE FREAKING PRINCESS! Anger over the events slightly clouding her mind she continued her chase while not as fast as some she would exact quick and merciless vengeance upon the the person. "COME BACK YOU INGRATE OF A ASSASSIN COME BACK HERE AND TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT!" She Viviane screamed out as she gripped her dagger tighter as she continued her chase not noticing her knocking over some girls that was frozen in shock.

[User]
"hmm, oh yes, I had seen the dwarven city. It was-" Ian leapt up when someone had shouted assassin and a call to arms from the captain, whirling around to see that most of the other knights where swarming after what must have been the assassin. Throwing back an apology to the girls he'd been talking to he took off toward the princess and the Captain, barely noticing the barrier put up by Christina and stopping himself just short of ramming into it.

He nodded at them and, since most of the knights were already chasing after the assassin, kept close just outside the barrier with the intent of helping guard the princess. His eyes still looked after the group chasing the assassin and his ears stood on alert, pointing in different direction to try and pick out the sound of the assassin or another crossbow preparing to fire. His stance had him ready to leap in any direction should he detect something or need to help the other knights.

[Assistant]
As knights approached to defend her, Christina even supplying a barrier, Fanilly reached down with her free hand and took Princess Eliabelle's hand, pulling her to her feet. The Princess's eyes were wide with shock. Not only had someone tried to kill her, but someone had tried to kill her in a crowded party, seemingly without being noticed up until the very moment it happened. Fanilly internally feared she wouldn't have noticed if not for the image of the strange hat-wearing figure that had appeared moments before the assassination attempt. But this wasn't the time to dwell on that.

"What... who tried..." Eliabelle mumbled, trying to recover from the shock of an attempt having been made on her life.

"We don't know yet, your Highness," replied Fanilly, "But you're safe in here. It'll be difficult for anyone else to get through a barrier like this."

At least, Fanilly hoped so. Magic wasn't her strongsuit, but it looked sturdy. Especially after one of the panicking nobles had bounced off of it.

"Dame Christina, Sir Ian," she began, "Do you see anything else suspicious? If there's another assassin they'll probably try to act while everyone else is distracted."

"How did she get in...?" the Princess asked, taking a deep breath, "... W-well... at least the legendary Iron Roses were here."

The last note was a clear attempt to cheer herself up, at least.

---

The assassin heard the air rushing behind her and darted immediately to the side. She glanced back only briefly in time to see a long, sharp blade slam down on the ground where she had occupied. So they were trying to kill her...? Well, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, really. She'd failed. She didn't understand how someone had seen her before she'd done it, but the fact was she'd failed. The barrier she had glimpsed glistening around the Princess made it impossible to make another attempt...

The screaming girl hurled herself at her moments later, in a bid to tackle her. The attack was so wild it was almost difficult to react to, but she managed to sidestep, feeling the girl's hands just barely miss grasping her heel. Damn it. Most of the knights were likely faster then her, due to the simple fact they were larger... then again, it didn't really matter if she escaped, did it? She'd already failed.

Once again, an attack brought her out of her thoughts. A swiping blow towards her ankle? It was a hard target, given how much larger the attacker was, but the Assassin still knew it was a threat. She didn't have time to draw a weapon and deflect it... so she spun and put her hand in the way.

Now it was apparent, however, she was not simply sacrificing her hand to spare her leg. Her glove was studded with thick steel, allowing her to deflect some weapons with her hand. It was enough to stop this one, at the very least. The assassin's crimson eyes locked on her attacker, glaring, before she attempted to break away again.

Of course, this slowed down her escape attempt quite a bit...

[User]
Damn it, the girl had avoided the attack and now there were too many knights around to attack effectively without risking friendly fire on top of this already being a crowded party. But she was so close and distracted. The dwarf probably had the right idea for dealing with the assassin in this environment but since she was so short, it would be difficult for anyone to get a grip on her...

She was smaller even than Tyaethe herself but the difference was far slighter--child compared to a somewhat younger child. This meant she could get a grip without diving to the ground like the others were attempting. All told, Tyaethe probably had the best chance of getting a grip.

The paladin dropped her sword, trusting that nobody would be stupid enough to try and steal the blade from her in plain view of royalty, and copied Martina's tactics in trying to bearhug the assassin. Hopefully, Marianne wouldn't get her with that knife; the dress was an old present.

[Assistant]
"Guilder's modified scrying spell, huh...? That one actually didn't enter my thoughts when I was examining my resources last night," Tiral responded, nodding his head thoughtfully. "I'll have to see if I can't access a copy from--"

The young mage's response was cut off abruptly as the sound of an arrow whizzing by and lodging itself somewhere in the crowded hall, to which he responded with a hurried glance around the area. While a few of the Iron Roses (who had apparently been bickering until a few moments ago, if their earlier shouting was anything to go by) immediately sprung into action, Tiral was left attempting to identify who the hell the would-be assassin was. With the cries of panicked nobles becoming increasingly louder, Tiral took a deep breath and turned towards the Court mage, a solemn look on his face.

"This might be a bit sudden, but can you cast any mass-sleep spells on the nobles? They might end up getting caught in the crossfire if they keep running around like headless chickens, after all. I'll block off the windows, but since I have nowhere near your level of prowess, I'll have to request you handle the main entrances. This is all I can do without putting anyone else at risk; my apologies."

Before he could allow a response, Tiral deftly tossed his dagger into the air and caught it by the hilt as he began to chant. Improvised chanting was always something of a strong suit for him, at least... Hopefully that sort of thing wouldn't screw up this time.

"O goddess Mayon, under thine own divine vigil:
Let not our enemies escape, nor may they enter. Defend our bodies and souls from eternal sleep, to which we may continue to serve.
For the nation of our kin, and of our kin's kin;
Seal off this land, and remain until that danger has been warded off!"

With a frown, Tiral glanced at the windows at he pointed at each in succession with his dagger, quickly covering each with a thick layer of ice. A thin layer of mist could be seen emanating from it all, alluding to how cold the material was at this given moment.

At the very least, the assassin probably wouldn't be able to dive out of a window if it came down to it. Frost like that wasn't something people broke through all that easily...


[System]
(Picture coming soon)
Age: 35
Species: Human
Appearance: Mocha-colored skin, long dark hair down to mid-back, dark brown eyes, slender frame. She holds a modest but classy sense of style.
Occupation: Traveling merchant.

[User]
Miria found it mildly interesting that the jinni clarified so quickly and firmly that he wasn't a runaway. She believed that part of the story only because he said it in such a candid way that she could not believe it acted. This was a slave with pride, someone that couldn't possibly have done something terrible enough to need to run away. If she chose to let him go, she would know that she at least hadn't allowed a thief or murderer to go free.

Until he mentioned that his master died. At once, Miria thought of that gruesome scene: blood everywhere, her family dead, their jinni clearly in shock and mourning their loss, assuring her that he hadn't killed them.... Miria had to breathe, to remind herself that this jinni's master died with a task for him to do. Surely, if he had killed his master, he wouldn't have been so clear about not being a runaway, would he?

Miria wasn't sure about the rest of this jinni's story. If he wasn't a runaway, then what was so important that he needed to do in the wake of his master's death that warranted being hunted by the guards? She racked her mind for anything her former jinni lover had said regarding their customs and culture but could not come up with any reason that would lead to this slave's current situation.

He continued with his story. Miria could understand his fear for being caught and he seemed to hold at least a little respect for his dead master if he wanted to complete her last task for him so adamantly. Still, there were too many holes in the story, too much that didn't make sense. She knew this jinni wasn't telling him everything. Perhaps he had done something horrible and all of these gaps in the story were red flags to that fact. Perhaps she needed to do the right thing and alert the guards. However, there was still that risk that they would associate her with whatever crime he committed anyway, and whatever the gaps in his story were, he did not come across as someone who would kill. This jinni's mannerisms didn't reek of that sort of desperation, she did not feel like she was in any danger, nor did this jinni's behavior mesh with the unsettling calmness of a sociopath.

Miria sighed, feeling drained and exhausted. The only thing she was sure about was that he wasn't a thief. Anything she had of value was currently with her; there was nothing in the cart that was worth stealing or making a fuss over. Frankly, she had a long day, she was hungry and tired, and in no mood to spend hours dealing with the guards' interrogations once they had apprehended the jinni. She had heard enough of this jinni's story to be convinced to let him go. Besides, she had not the energy or the patience to involve herself in his affairs, whatever they would be.

Cautiously, Miria looked around before whispering, "I have no time to deal with you, and frankly I don't care. There is one guard in the alley to your right. If you leave quickly and quietly, he may not notice you. I would rather you not get caught in my vicinity, so go now while you still can. I would like to never see you again."

[Assistant]
He heard that sigh.

It was, so he believed, a good sign. It surely meant a decision had been made and, regardless of what came next, he would be happy that the wait was over. The woman hadn't taken long to reach her conclusion, but when it made the difference between success and failure, even a single breath seemed an eternity.

Her voice came again, just as quiet as before, but with far less anger it in. And no shouting, a very good sign, indeed. Beneath the canvas, Curdle's whole body felt suddenly limp and shaky, the relief was tangibly heavy and weighed down every muscle. He did not mind that her reasoning was more for herself than to help him. This was not an instance where charity would be applauded; there was no reason for her to act otherwise. Trembling, he made sure he knew his right from his left, in case his mind had ceased basic function, and took another light breath before trapping the air in his throat and lungs.

The simplest of magic. He'd used it twice already today, and was tired enough that a third might well prove too much. Still, the attempt was worth the effort if it succeeded. So, the aging jinni held his breath and worked to empty his mind. It was the mind that shaped the presence of an individual, after all, without a mind, he might as well be part of a crowd, unremarkable and unimportant. Of course, it would only last for as long as he could hold his breath and avoiding clarity of conscience. He did not dawdle in getting out from under the canvas, though he did try to make the act as normal as possible. A most difficult endeavour, to be sure. And his face was turning red with the effort when he finally stood and glanced towards where she'd claimed the guard would be.

The alley, he saw immediately, and the guard a moment later. He seemed as yet unperturbed. Good.

Despite the risk, and his now rather disheveled mien, Curdle spared a second to face the owner of his safe hiding place and bowed enough to make his gratitude clear. He had no other means with which to thank her, he couldn't speak, and his lungs were beginning to burn, restraining magic as they were.

Thanks given, he straightened and walked deliberately away from both her and the guard, pace increasing the farther he walked, until he was once again running as he turned a corner out of sight. He didn't make it much farther before he had to lean against a wall, gasping for breath and desperately swallowing the coughs trying to escape. Too close, too loud. Someone would hear and look and notice. Not that leaning against a wall looking ready to vomit (and that may not have been an exaggeration as his stomach began to twist itself around a lump of hunger and fear-wrought adrenaline) was in any way less out of the ordinary. He could recover his dignity a little faster though, and started walking again without any of the speed he'd achieved earlier.

His throat was dry. His joints were stiff. His chest ached. His mood was unpleasantly hopeful. He had no reason to look forward to what would come next. But now that he did not have the urn weighing at his shoulder, his steps seemed strangely light. And Curdle even smiled at the market guard as they shouted and fussed about his sudden appearance. He made no attempt to fight back when they restrained him, and held his silence when they demanded to know what he'd done with the Lady. It was only as they marched him away that his heart sank yet again.

What if that merchant did not do with the urn as he hoped? Was his final act for Fiira going to be giving away her trust?

As he stumbled and felt his knees hitting the floor of a holding cell, hands tied behind him, Curdle realised he had made the wrong choice. Fiira had not given up on him, believing him capable of this one thing. He had stopped trying too soon.

[User]
Miria lifted both eyebrows as she watched the jinni leave. She expected him to bolt out of the cart like a cat sprayed with water, but instead he shuffled out, moving quite strangely, and even paused to give her a bow of respect. She didn't return the bow, far too anxious to do much of anything except tap her foot and wait patiently for him to leave. She kept casting anxious glances at the guard, hoping the jinni would get out of the area before the guard to turned to see. Just go already! she wanted to shout if she didn't worry so much about drawing attention to herself and to the jinni.

At last, he moved out of sight around the corner, and Miria released a sigh of relief. "Hopefully, we never see him again," she murmured to Raha, giving the donkey an affectionate pat on his neck before hoisting her bags up and moving around the cart to dump them inside.

She saw the urn almost immediately; the cart was simple without cubby holes, drawers, or the like, and the only other thing in it was the canvas tarp. With a frown, she pulled the tarp aside, shoved the bags into the cart, then climbed in, stepping over her belongings to investigate the vase. It certainly looked like an urn, which was what stopped Miria from picking it up right away. Already she could feel her skin crawl; why would the jinni leave the remains of someone in her cart? She had dealt with enough death in her lifetime to be used to things like this, but the manner in which this particular urn was presented to her made her feel uneasy.

Perhaps the jinni was hiding something. Perhaps the contents in the vase weren't at all ashes. Hesitantly, she lifted the lid of the urn to peer inside.

The material certainly looked like ashes, and Miria closed the lid at once, wiping her fingers vigorously on her clothing and wondering why a jinni would leave a person's remains in her cart... unless he was hiding something within the ashes.

Dread followed the thought, Miria not wanting to handle the urn more than she had to. She could always just dump the ashes somewhere, but what if the urn really did contain nothing but ashes? She didn't feel right scattering the remains of someone that she didn't even know, yet she had to be sure of the contents. If her cart was inspected in the morning and the guards found something strange in the urn, she'd be arrested.

Miria hopped out of the cart and wandered around the darkened square until she found a twig suitable enough for her needs. Satisfied, she rubbed it clean the best she could then climbed back into the cart, carefully re-opening the lid to the urn. Cringing and barely able to stand to watch her own progress, she stirred the ashes with the stick, relieved when she felt nothing out of the ordinary. With a grimace, she discarded the stick over the edge of the cart, closed the urn, then gently picked it up. She looked around and spotted a shadowed crevice against the wall of the inn. Glancing about to make sure she wasn't being watched, she placed the urn in this crevice, satisfied with her decision to leave it.

This satisfaction gradually changed as she prepared Raha and herself to rest for the night and for the journey the following morning. Her mind kept drifting to the brief conversation she had with the jinni. His master had died and he was tasked with one final order. What if that task was to scatter or bury the remains of his master somewhere? Perhaps the jinni had somehow forgotten the urn.

Thoroughly annoyed by her current situation, Miria trudged back to the spot where she had left the urn, picking it up with care. She ought to be looking for that jinni to return his urn, but she had no idea how to find him, especially if he was still actively trying to make sure he couldn't be found. Frankly, she couldn't stay up all night to look for him. Grumbling under her breath, Miria set the urn at the end of the cart where the jinni could easily grab it if he returned, then she settled in for the night.

~~~

Departure mornings were always very stressful, this morning no exception. Miria rose before dawn, hurrying to wash up and prepare to leave. Despite the early hour, the inn was bustling with other merchants doing the same thing; Miria had to wait in line for food. To make matters worse, Raha decided to be stubborn, refusing to move from his seemingly never-ending supply of hay. After much coaxing, a lot of swearing, and offering Raha a dried date, they were finally on the move, Miria rushing to get to the city's front gate.

Here, too, was a line, and she groaned, worried that she would miss her caravan. Only a caravan leader had the magical connections to get heavy carts across the desert sands. Only caravan leaders knew how to navigate these sands without getting lost, and only caravan leaders had the means to protect the party from bandits. Miria had already paid the caravan leader the night before for her spot in the caravan, but she knew that it would not wait for her. Traveling the desert without a caravan leader was almost a death sentence.

Finally, after what felt like ages, it was her turn at the gate. She waited patiently for the guard to check her things, waiting for the usual, "Nothing strange here, move long," but instead got, "What's this?"

She turned in her seat, surprised, then gaped when she saw the urn in the guard's hands. She had completely forgotten about it! "Those are my uncle's ashes," she blurted out. "He died recently, so--"

"Mmm-hmm," the guard replied absentmindedly, opening the urn. He brandished a small dagger, stirring it inside the urn, squinting at the contents, then taking a sniff. "Where is your uncle from?"

"He died in Hudris a little while ago," Miria rattled, angry with herself for forgetting the urn. "I have not yet arrived at the designated spot to--"

"Mmm-hmm, move along!" The guard set the urn back down, then motioned for the next person in line to step forward.

Miria did not need to be told twice. She nudged Raha forward, the open desert spreading before her. And, with luck, Miria found her caravan group, the leader a little delayed due to a heated verbal dispute with another caravan leader. After an exchange of hearty insults, her group finally began the move, Miria at once more relaxed knowing that she would make the trip safely.

She wondered why the jinni hadn't returned for his urn over night; had he been arrested? Suspecting that she would never see him again, she decided that when the caravan camped for the evening, she would gesture a small token of respect towards the remains of this unknown person she assumed was the jinni's master and leave the urn there.


[System]
Age: 8 years old

Sex: Male

Appearance:
As depicted in the picture above and stands roughly at 3ft 1 inch tall.

Role: Warrior (Scout) and Hunter

Abilities:

* Now you see me... - Due to his irregular choice of apparel, he tends to stand out in a group of normal goblins.
* ...Now you don't. - Even so, he is exceptionally skilled in keeping hidden and moving silently...well for a goblin that is.
* Griz be nimble. - Griz may not be as strong as most of the other warriors, but he sure is one of the fastest and most dexterous of them all.
* Hits *just* right. - Griz's choice of weaponry may not be intimidating like a morningstar or a battle axe, but he sure knows how to use them to maximum effect.
* Hunter's Intuition. - Griz is at home in the wilderness just as he is in the village. He is knowledgable in survival skills as well as hunting skills.
* Pyrophobic. - Due to an incident when he was a youngling, Griz is extremely wary around large open flames.

Clothing/Equipment:

* Black Hooded Cloak. - A cloak made from dyed leather modified to fit a goblin's diminutive size.
* Black Leather Shorts. - A pair of shorts made with dyed leather modified to fit a goblin's diminutive size.
* Cloth Hand and Foot Wraps. - Strips of cloth used to muffle and offer mild protection to the hands and feet.
* Iron Hunting Knife. - A simple single-edged knife meant for hunting animals. Griz's most reliable weapon.
* Wood Short Bow and Arrows. - Mundane bow and arrows made from the wood of the surrounding trees. Griz's favoured weapon.

[User]
A random warrior goblin answered Vos as the spear-wielding goblin and the blacksmith rushed the unconscious goblin back to his hut to rest and be attended by one of the village's healers. "Griz got beaten up by something, Vos. I'm surprised to even see Griz in such a state. What in the nine hells could have even caught up to him?" the random goblin shakes his head side to side in confusion.

It was known among the village that he was one of the best archers in the village, despite his age. He would never go up against a foe one-on-one in melee...unless it was the last resort.

"Whatever Griz fought, pushed him that far. Scary." The warrior says with a hint of fear in his voice.

---

Griz awoke a couple of hours later. His cuts had been cleaned and healing salves applied to them, his swollen ankle and his bruised neck was wrapped with a bandage dipped in a mixture of cold water, and his torso felt significantly less painful. The spear-wielding guard smirks at the injured griz and welcomes him back to the realm of the living. "Heh. Can't say I'm not surprised myself. I thought I was going to die out there." It was then Breden burst into his hut and asked him what had happened, panic in both his voice and face. "I got into some trouble while trying to hunt for some dinner." He tried to reassure the younger goblin with a tired smile but he still needed to explain how did he manage to get the sack full of loot. "I tried to hunt a giant frog but underestimated the distance and I got thrown into the river and the current took me into the northlands. Orc territory. The sun was setting when I came to. I wandered the woods until I found a clearing and saw the stars, that was when things went to shit." Griz pauses to request the healer to pass him his water jug. The healer complies and hands over the piece of pottery to him, wherein which he takes a deep sip of water before he continued. "When I was walking south, I saw an orc trying to dig something up. Usually, I would have left him be and kept on moving. But I saw what was inside. It was full of valuables" He uses his head to gesture to the mud-encrusted burlap sack on the side of the hut. "Those kinds of things, would be worse off in those brute's hands. So I what any sane goblin would do. I rushed in and swiped it from the oaf's hands and made a run for it." Griz's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. "I didn't expect him to have been so fast. If not for the mud that caused both of us to slip and gave me an opportunity to deal a lethal blow, I am almost sure that he would have eventually caught up with me and killed me...I limped the rest of the time back to the village. And thats where my story ends."

[Assistant]
Breden listened intently to Griz, growing more worried as the story continued. "You don't think this got the orcs angry at us, do you? We're ah- we're- we're no match for them. The last time our people fought the orcs, we were stuck sending them some of our children as slaves for almost thirty years!" He was describing a war which the goblins of the village had lost over 100 years ago, yet the loss still resounded with them to this very day.

There was a silence in the room which lasted for almost a minute. "Who else knows about this, Griz? The danger sounds like something the chief ought to know about, or-or at least the shaman!"

Meanwhile, Siwa had woken up late that day. She wasn't expected anywhere today, and part of her didn't really want to get out of bed. She slept in for another hour before getting up and doing her stretches, and made sure to give her legs, feet, and arms a quick massage. After stretching and eating a quick breakfast of flatbread and berries picked from the woods, she dressed and went to go find Koglan. As expected, he was busy working the forge, not that she cared. The gobliness had done what was asked of her.

"Kog? Koglan, are you there?" She had to raise her voice over the din of the smithy, but she was positive he had heard her.

[User]
The fire in the forge is actually low. The heat waves from the chimney above the hill aren't as hazy as normal. The work of the billows aren't as loud and thunderous. It's odd really. Even at this hour the old goblin would be awake, working on some project. He had said he'd be working on the rest of that axe. To give to the new chief. It's truly strange to say the least. And no answer comes to Siwa immediately. It's almost as if Koglan doesn't have his full faculties.

It takes a quick look around the forge to see why. Koglan stands, a hand on the chain of the billows. Firm, but lax. The poor smith looks to be half asleep. He stares into the guttering flames of the forge, rings around his eyes. And the evidence of a long night of smithing in evidence. A finished spear head. What looks like the half completed sword billet resting just out of the fire. A partially rounded helmet.

The poor old goblin doesn't even seem to be fully aware that the flames are startign to gutter. And it's a short while before he turns, as if finally registering someone calling his name, "Ah...Siwa...oh..." He then finally pulls the chain and the smithy is filled with renewed heat as the billows go to work to return the flames to rights, "I'm sorry...it has been a very long night...I don't know if I slept at all." He sniffs then looks to the young gobliness, "I assume you coming to me, means you did as tasked? Tried atleast to find someone else to mate with before coming back to me?" He archs and eyebrow and smiles, "Good..." He nods slowly, "Good..." And trails off a little, absently grasping for his hammer and tongs again, "Very good..." His hand rests on his anvil as he yawns, "Em I'm sorry...what...oh yes..." He looks at Siwa expectantly.

[Assistant]
The guard goblin and healer goblin stood there in a mix of horror and disbelief.

Griz, of all the goblins in the village, was crazy enough to not only steal from an orc but also kill one? This was like stories mothers told their children from wandering too far in the forest near the village. 'Don't go far into the woods today or you'll be in for a surprise. Don't go into the woods if you don't want to say goodbye. The orcs will snatch you up and quick and beat you to a pulp with a crooked stick. So don't go into the woods today and you better heed my advice.' Orcs were boogeymen for races like goblins. The only real difference is that orcs are real and boogeymen aren't.

"You've doomed us all! It's the Blood War all over again! You've just started another Age of Sorrows, you bloody idiot!" The guard goblin vented his frustration to the bedridden goblin, to the point that he kicked over a potted plant over. The healer goblin's eyes teared up and her heart sank at the thought. She had a good year in regards to rearing a litter; she only lost one of her children. It was hard but honest work to keep her younglings safe...and now there was a possibility of her losing them all in one fell swoop. "EVERYONE CALM DOWN!" It was not normal for Griz to let his emotions get the better of him but this was not a normal situation. "There will NOT be a second Blood War, NOR another Age of Sorrows. A fresh body that deep in the woods would be barely identifiable by this time. If the scavenger animals haven't eaten the body, surely a landshark wouldn't have given up on an easy meal." His knowledge of the orc lands was sparse but he at least knew that opportunistic scavengers would never leave a fresh body untouched.

As soon as everyone regained their composure, Griz apologized for his outburst. "Nobody else outside this hut knows about what I did. The chief and shaman deserve to know what had happened but know full well that what I did was justified." Griz grimaces as he forces himself up and limps over to the pack and pulls out the necklace with a black dragon pendant and shows it to all present. "This thing was glowing with unnatural energies when that brute gazed deep into its eyes. I'm no magic expert but I think that this pendant is why that lumbering oafish orc was unnaturally fast. Whatever this thing is, it is powerful...and it's better in our hands than in any orc's hands." He then puts away the necklace and limps back to his bed. "And by the looks of the contents, it ain't even theirs, to begin with. Probably nicked it from an adventurer they killed or something."

[User]
Siwa cleared her throat. "Kog, I did as you asked, and couldn't find anyone" she walked over to him slowly, tip-toeing her way closer to him as she looked him over in much the manner one would when observing a piece of meat, briefly running a finger over his strong chest and arms. "We're not gonna do it this instant, of course. Whatever you worked on last night took too much out of you. I'm eager to get on with things, but I'm not blind to your exhaustion. Don't worry, we can fix that."

She stretched her hands out and gently laid them on his shoulders, starting to gently massage them, letting her skilled fingers work their way into the nooks and crannies of his well-worn muscles. "You do such fine work for our tribe. Surely, you deserve to relax just a bit. Shall we go to your bed? I can't really rub you down very well standing up." She positioned herself in the direction of his room, but she couldn't exactly drag him off to bed. Not unless he wanted to go.

Breden took a few moments to calm down. He wasn't a coward, but talk of an unwinnable war and the possibility of slavery didn't exactly put his mind at east, either.

"Griz, we really need to do something about this. I-I understand that it isn't as bad as another Blood War, but this could lead to something bad, especially since magic is involved. What do you think we should do about that necklace? That dragon design looks omin-omen... omenous? Well, however you pronounce it, it looks bad! The shaman should do something about it."

[Assistant]
"I know it looks like it could bring trouble, Breden, and I don't know what kind of powers this thing holds...but at least it's in our hands and not in the orcs'. Think how much worse it would be if they were the ones to discover what this thing did." Griz shakes his head side to side. Thinking about a legion of orcs sent chills down his spine, what more magically enhanced ones? "I'll give the shaman the thing when she gets back to the village. Until then, it stays with me for safekeeping."

The guard goblin looks away, irritated. He did not like the fact that Griz did this kind of stunt. It was understandable that he didn't want something that may be a powerful magical item to be in the wrong hands, but did he really have to be the one to do it?

The healer goblin quietly accepts the fact that the events of last night were done and over with, not even the gods could change that. She just hoped that whatever power this necklace had, it was worth risking another war and the lives of their future children.

"Also, Breden." Griz reaches to his broken dagger in its sheath and hands it to him. "Would you kindly give this to Kog to see if he can fix it? I'd do it myself if I was in better shape." And the fact that he's kind of afraid to face the old goblin blacksmith after what he had done to a dagger he lovingly forged like many other iron weapons he produced for the tribe's proven warriors and hunters. Bringing the broken and battered blade to him is like personally returning to an artist with one of his works torn to tatters. It simply didn't sit well with the hunter goblin.