[System]
Gender: Female

Age: At least 142

Description: A tiny dark-skinned woman with pale hair and a few scarring. Eyes can be described as "utterly and completely out of her marbles" or green, depending on who's looking. Able to morph into a stubby short snake with disproportionately wide midsection at will.

Bio: Either an old snake demon that gained sentience or a byproduct of magic gone wrong, the serpent currently using the name Verdant is a psycopath wanted for murder and mass poisoning in several countries under various different alias over the years. Things may had heated a bit too much after the poisoning of a particularly well-liked local lord, thus she snuck into the first ship going faraway and maybe spend a few decades becoming a problem in someone else's backyard.

Purpose of travel: Escaping the authorities

Other info: Expert in brewing and perusing poison, knifing people in a dark alley, running the hell away from someone stronger, and sneaking back to torch their house later. Innately able to alter the human form to a moderate extent, and is generally highly resistant to toxic substances.

[User]
"Looks like we ain't the first here." Verdant whistled as she eyed the skeleton, before turning her glance somewhere else. The woods felt ancient in a way, but there's no threat in the direct vicinity. As much as a wild forest can contain no threat anyway - who knows what insect or illness lurk all around them. But for whatever responsible over the poor sod underwater, well, chance were it's no longer around.

"Fella likely died further upstream. The corpse bloat and float down until it burst and sink here some time ago. Cant be sure how long, but it takes time for moss to grow on the shirt." Another mystery, then. What was upstream? Would there be other people? Yet a community wouldn't normally leave their dead out like that. "We should take a closer look. Mayhaps guess what exactly done him in."

Wild animal, or other people? Wild animal bold or desperate enough to attack humans wouldn't waste the meat, and wouldn't toss the remains into a water source. People, then? Hopefully people. Maybe there's a way out of this island sooner after all.

[Assistant]
"Smouldering dahling... Smouldering..." ember cooed, despite the nausea. The nausea still made it into the tone, despite his best efforts. "... And I don't recall giving you a card--- Quite impressive though, a man in a chair, felling a tree like that."

He sucked in a deep breath. Slowly but surely, he could feel his own vigor returning.

"Sonia took a brawny bunch with her some time ago. I'd have joined them if I had been up to it, but sadly... That she-bitch of the saline persuasion took a bit more out of me than I imagined possible-- but I should be recovered enough to actually be useful here in a bit. Until then, I will busy myself with this light work."

[User]
"The chair's not a factor in my abilities..."

 The black-haired man on a wheelchair moves closer to this person sitting on her luggage, parallel facing the campfire. His head turns between the campfire and Ember, and in search of that widow and her child whose issues seem to have been placated. "I see. Would you allow me to aid you in this light work? I'd like to make amends for when I barged into your quarters without plea, and to fix my image in your eyes because I am not a pervert."

 He removes his gloves and pulls back his sleeves, revealing hands and arms made of ceramic. He drops from his chair, kneels and holds his hands into the fire, absorbing some of its energy. "You attract me, I will admit, but never to a point where I'd lose any such self-control." Orange glows emanate from the linear cracks in his skin, crawling from his hands towards his torso where some kind of core must be, for something of his make.

 He falls back and sits unkempt while reaching again for a flask in his coat. He pulls down his face covering, and drinks the last bit of water-like liquid from the flask. Fully empty. He shakes it for the last few drops, and puts it back in his coat. "By the way, I did borrow the card you gave the woman named DeVespe, which... I don't think I've seen her nearby so far."

 @wierdw

[Assistant]
"Indeed we are not..." Sonia pondered. What mystery awaited them upstream? Could be civilization or the opposite; unsavory locals with a penchant for foreigner's flesh and blood. Such presumptuous assumptions dawned from her limited knowledge about the tropical realm and what dwells within it.

"It could be a man killing another," she murmured, watering down the visceral chronology Verdan had just described with premature deduction. "Or he ate the wrong mushroom and died here after thinking he could wash it down with water."

The alternative seemed equally possible with the former. If the man was killed by another human, be it a desperate survivor or rabid tribesmen, they would have taken his coat. Clothing, after all, was a precious commodity if you were in the middle of nowhere.

"We should take a closer look. Mayhaps guess what exactly done him in."

"If I were you I would let the dead be at rest." Sonia shrugged, yet still upholding her ambivalent neutrality. "But that's just me."

The demoness walked upstream, a good half dozen meters away from the skeleton's resting place. There she unfastened her belt and undressed, leaving her trusty crossbow on the riverbank as she took a dip into the river and wash the burning salt off her skin. The water was cold and so clean she could see the riverbed, too bad it was too shallow to swim.

Giving her hair a good rinsing, Sonia finally felt like a civilized person again. However, as much as she loved a good bathing session, she tried to not enjoy it too much, at least for now. There was a remnant of a dead people just a few meters ahead, and they were still within an unknown territory. Besides, they have reached their objective, it was time to go back and report their findings. She bet the flamboyant mage would flip upon hearing it.

After washing her dress, Sonia climbed up and twisted her only clothes before wearing them again, smiling as she thanked Rayland for keeping eye on the surroundings.

"The water is good. If you want to have a quick soak, well, do it now and take your time. Just keep in mind that we need to go back soon."

And with that, she slung her crossbow and had it at the ready.

[User]
Ember heaved a big, weary sigh.

"Being beautiful's my BUSINESS dahling. If you weren't at least a little intrigued, I didn't do a good job-- but from now on, mind mine and other's privacy-- rest assured, when I'm not sunburnt and seasoaked, the fire I conjure is a lot hotter than that little potwarmer dahling. Even a construct might find it unpleasant.'

Ember tilted his head discretely. He had head rumors of sentient constructs, and read treatises on simple ones used as 'anchor prostheses' for mages who had, through one way or another, been 'discorporeated'. Some magicians in poor health used them as proxies with powerful sending circles to do daily tasks while their withered bodies stayed home. Then there was the nasty business of killer magicians using them as disposable muscle. He discretely wondered which this individual was, but felt best not to pry. Surely one animated by a sending would just be written off, and a new one constructed... maybe this one was sentimental, or specially prepared somehow? Surely, this wasn't a mythical homunculus doll... surely not.

Artificial souls were mere conjecture!

'Oh well-- FINE. Just never do it again.'

[Assistant]
"Bah. Threats." He tited his head up then fell back-first on the sandy floor. "I only did it that one time, I was too preoccupied to know if someone was in the roo-- Whatever, these excuses matter little to anybody."

 He raised his left arm up, his hand wide open. Rays of the sun peering through his hand, through the leaves way above it, hitting his ivory eyes directly. He puts his gloves on one by one and unfolds his sleeves, and soon he notices Ember staring at him, possibly analyzing his humonculous nature, and so he tilts his head to look at her and she averts her discrete gaze and speaks.

 "... I won't," he replies. Either a resignment of pride, or refrain from further argument, but that's that.

 "I do want you to hit me with your conjured fire, though." He pushes back up with his arms, his torso slanted and head tilted back facing her. "Let me feel your actual power, not that of a mere showman who creates bubbles and fog in excess."

[User]
Ember momentarily had a quixotic expression,but quickly suppressed it.

"You want me to --- Wait, are you trying to get me to sever your connection, and send you home? Is that it? Smash up your "china doll" enough that the sending fails? --- Why ever would I do that?" ember cooed naughtily, then smiled even more wickedly.

"Or is there some OTHER reason you want me to make a glowing hole where your chest is? In either case, it would take a great deal of explanation to my companions here why I had done so..."

[Assistant]
The black-haired man snickered, pieces of his face sliding apart to form somewhat of a smile, hearing of this potential 'glowing hole' in his torso. "I'm sure I would've been able to survive it."

 His 'smile' dissipated as he climbed back up his chair and moved beside Ember. "No, I was looking to ingest your discharge, actually. My mana's running low and I need it to move around. It's a net negative for me to even swing my arm, we don't regenerate it with our stomachs like you do. Plus there's..."

 "Not really much connection left back home. As far as being cryogenized goes, it's just me here right now."

 The backrest of his wheelchair descended slightly, setting him slouched. "I suppose it's a bit heinous to try to extract from an already nauseated woman. I apologize."

 An awkward delay.

 "Is Ember your actual name?"

[User]
"A rose by any other name, smells just as sweetly dahling. I am who i choose to be. You cant get more liberated than that."

ember smiled.

"As for looking for a 'recharge', you're barking up the wrong magician right now. Besides, I'm not going to pop my wand on someone like you dahling. My REAL power cannot be properly... Conducted... by a mere sentimental trinket like this dear. I packed lightly, for a vacation-- not a bloody war. Cough up a proper focus, and we'll business."

Ember smiled wickedly.

"No? Well then. I think that would be all."

[Assistant]
"You can't just ask for a foc-- All of them require sentimental value. Are you sure it's even you and not the focii you use? You seem to place them on too high of a pedestal."

 Nary an inch of movement. Seems like the black-haired man on a wheelchair has gone full standby to recuperate his losses. A more discerning person would detect a mosquito merely hover nearby and subsequently fall down, dead.

 "Henri. My name. Some might call me 'Wheelo' or 'Carter' right now though, for I told them these as my name. It... Yes, okay, I didn't think these names through, don't mock it."

[User]
"Oh? You think so do you, "henri"? well then..."

Ember discretely put the wand down, and extended his bare hand.

"I need the focus for control-- It's a tool-- an instrument. It's useless without the hand of the musician-- but if you want to see what I myself am--- "

Ember grinned mischievously. He was CERTAIN this would knock him back down again, and kick him in the balls hard for doing, but this little shit needed the lesson.

with a sudden thrust of his right hand, he placed it palm down on the man's chest, then inhaled more than just the air. The fire sputtered and threatened to die, and the sky seemed to lose some of its azure hue, while ember himself seemed to practically intensify in the color of his hair, lips, and eyes-- a technicolor spectacle, as a huge sum of the ambient, native magic in the vicinity got drawn toward and into him.

"Bear in mind, dahling, I'm NOT at full power..."

Bright incandescence erupted between the joints of the mechanical form, as it rapidly absorbed the torrential flow, reached saturation, then attempted to expel the excess to avoid damage. ---The flow continued, and increased.

"When I said it would pop my wand, I wasn't kidding, dahling--- So, is this enough, or do you need more?"

That wicked smile of his seemed almost demonic, with the intensity of the magic flowing through and around it.

The flow continued to increase...

Ember had EVERY intention of popping this little doll like an overinflated balloon. Swirling sigils and magical formulae that had been laid when the shell was cast began to become visible, swirl, and writhe on the surface of the shell, then after-echos of the casting rebounded in the intense barrage-- a subtle whispering of female voices--

"SO, it was a GROUP effort--" mused Ember with a titter...

The flow increased even more....

[Assistant]
The river wasn't that wide and relatively shallow too, but what's waist high for average people would've went up to Verdant's chest. No way she'd reach the bones without getting drenched, so might as well take a rinse. The snake slipped out of her offensively bright sackcloth, halfheartedly rinsing the fabric twice before squeezing the water out and tossing the resulting lump haphazardly on a rock.

Then she walked into the peacefully flowing water.

Verdant blinked slowly. By the second blink a thin membrane covered her eyes as the pupils narrowed into a pair of slit, the blurry underwater sharpened into clarity. She knelt next to the skeleton, examining whether there's trace of injuries on the old bones and the mossy clothing.

Then she poked it with a pointy stone, just because.


[System]
Age: 22

Gender: Female

Occupation: Attorney's Assistant

Appearance: Suzanne stands at 5'11", and her height tends to be both intimidating and intriguing. Her dark hair is usually pulled back from her face so that she can better look people in the eyes. Always pushing the line, Suzane rarely dresses in the boring clothes expected in her profession, instead opting for more exotic threads. The same goes for the rest of her closet.

Personality: Driven, quirky, liberal, blunt.

History: Suzanne never quite understood why she could not do everything a man could. As the only child to a New York socialite and a highly successful lawyer from Georgia, the expectations placed on Suzy's shoulders never matched the responsibilities she craved. While her parents molded her to become the next "dream girl" of New York, Suzy dreamed of taking over her fathers law firm. Late at night, she would sneak into her father's study and read his many law books. It was on one of these late nights that she caught her father in the arms of another woman; Suzy was 18 at the time. She confronted her father, who begged for secrecy. In exchange for Suzy's sealed lips, her father would give her the opportunity she had always wanted: the chance to study law. Disgusted, Suzy turned down the offer but made her father promise that he would make her mother the happiest woman in the world until his death in exchange for her secrecy. With that deal struck, Suzy made a new promise. She would make her way into the law world on her own and create a firm that would challenge even her father's "prestige." The next day, Suzy kissed her beautiful mother goodbye and headed to Massachusetts to become assistant to a lawyer in a competing firm.

Currently, Suzanne is on her way to Sinclair Manor on what she thought to be business.

[User]
Suzanne "Suzy" Peters

Pouring rain... Down in droves. Crashing, crashing into me. Drowning me. The sky laughing, the sky crying. And I was so close...

Suzy woke with a start from the nightmare she had been having just moments before. She stifled the sob that was about to slip past her lips. After calming down, she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was lovely and reminded her parent's home, though this place was a little less flashy (her mother had made sure no room was without some shimmer or sparkle or glitter). As Suzy swung her legs out from under the blanket, she noticed the bandage that covered a large gash across her thigh. 'That's right... I made it to the manor last night, but I was swept up in the storm.'

Suzy had been heading to Sinclair Manor on business. The law firm she worked for had recently received a crypitc letter from the estate, and because no one else had been willing to deliver a formal inquiry to the manor, Suzy had volunteered to go. Any experience in the field, even as a messenger, was beyond valuable for the young woman. The rains had started as Suzy was winding her way up the drive. The taxi she had taken refused to make the trip all the way to the manor, and so Suzy had been forced to walk the rest of the way. The gravel had began to wash away rather quickly, and it had taken the poor girl with it. A rather large rock had given her the nasty gash on her thigh, ripping her dress in the process. Suzy was able to pick herself back up, and after a quick search for her luggage, she was struggling up the drive once more. When she had finally reached the door, she had been told the manor's rules, which she quickly forgot because of exhaustion, and was escorted to a room.

Limping to the water basin in the corner of the room, Suzy began to clean herself up. She wanted to look presentable when she headed down the stairs and into the dining room. Luckily, her luggage had survived the storm with barely a drop seeping into the inside. The young woman donned one of her simpler dresses, brushed out and styled her hair, grabbed the letter the law firm had received, and then headed out of the room and down the stairs. Once in the main hall, Suzy could see a man and a woman. They didn't appear to be a part of the household staff, but she approached the pair anyway. "Were you also caught in the storm? I thought no one ever ventured to this place without reason."

[Assistant]
Logan turned as heard a woman greet him, momentarily putting his morning habit out of his mind. After all, they weren't his animals, so women came first. And as for his actual animals, he knew his little brother would be at the stable before the sun fully rose, as usual. Looking down at her with an aloof, comfortable smile, in his slight drawl, "Hello Miss."

When offered the cigarette, his smile widened a bit, but he shook his head. The horses hated the smell of smoke, so he kept his habits to a pipe, at night, when work was over. "Maybe later tonight, but thanks." He'd intentionally phrased it as an excuse to seek her out later, or perhaps for her to seek him out, as he preferred.

His hand scratched the back of his head, feigning sheepishness now, "Ah'm actually tryin' to find the door outta here, so yes, I think I will tag along. Thank you Miss." As he was about to turn, for them to leave, he heard the light footsteps of either a woman or child approach. Looking over his new found companion's shoulder, he saw a rather tall woman, nearly as tall as him. He was about to greet her, when she quickly launched into her own line of questioning, without much concern for manners.

Logan's grin dropped just a bit, not terribly noticeable unless someone was paying close attention, "Good mornin' Miss. I can't speak for my friend here, but yes, I was caught in the storm."  He didn't bother to respond to her other statement. Everyone there had a reason, his was shelter, some lived here, others worked. This woman had already put him off a bit, and to make it worse, she wasn't ugly. A pretty woman with no manners, saying silly things like that, held little interest for Logan.

"We were just nippin' out for a bit. I imagine we shall meet again at breakfast. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss..." He'd wait for her to give her name, then look down at his cigarette adorned friend, "Shall we?"

[User]
Kest had been busy wiping down the table when Anton had made his way to the dining room. Kest smiled slightly at the accusation and was about to respond when he heard someone else speak. Grace had snuck in while they had been busy. Even with his heightened sense of hearing, he couldn't hear her enter any room. It always frustrated him, since she never failed to get the jump on him.

He smiled her way then looked back at Anton as the man walked into the kitchen.
"I expect the storm will get worse before it goes. It always does." Kest then considered peach scones. That sounded so tasty! "Save me one!" he called, unsure if Anton would hear.

With a pat, the chair cushions kicked up an enormous amount of dust which sent Kest to the windows coughing. He only opened them enough to air out the room, as it was still raining. The scent of it wafted in and he took a deep breath. A part of him just wanted to run out there and dance, but he knew if he trailed mud or water in, the Mistress would be angry. So he stood there. Then he remembered Grace was in the room. He was acting like a child. With a sigh, he pulled himself away from the window and back to the chairs.

While he pushed them in, he glanced at the girl. She had only arrived two years ago. He remembered that day very well. She had been like him when he first came here. Too young. Putting on a smile, he asked, "How are you doing? Have you finally settled in?"

[Assistant]
Emma's crooked smile never failed as the man she'd run into first declined, then postponed, and then accepted her offer. She was quite certain she remembered where the door was. She had been bitter, tired, and angry when she had arrived last night, but fully alert. She'd just opened her mouth to speak once more when a voice sounded from behind her. "Were you also caught in the storm? I thought no one ever ventured to this place without reason," the woman asked them.

She turned to face Suzanne, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. As Logan answered, (Good morning, and yes, they had been caught in the storm), Emma looked the other woman over. Suzy stood tall, at least a half a foot taller than herself. In contrast to Emma's disheveled hair and shirt tucked into trousers, Suzy seemed completely put together. Her long hair was brushed and pinned back, and she wore a simple, but attractive dress. Was she pretty? Yes, undoubtedly. Not as pretty as other women Emma had known. A vision of Kate, soft curls and fair skin, flitted unbidden through her mind. But she was attractive. A woman Emma should like to photograph, if given the chance. "Helluva storm it was, too," she added after Logan had said his piece.

"We were just nippin' out for a bit. I imagine we shall meet again at breakfast. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss..." While Emma was intrigued by Suzanne's to-the-point demeanor, Logan seemed to find it off-putting, and was ready to leave. "Shall we?"

Emma nodded, reaching up to adjust the cigarette she'd tucked behind her ear. A single cig could be conveniently shared by two, but three was pushing it, or else she would have invited Suzy along with them. "Be seeing you at breakfast," she said, giving the other woman a nod and a smile. "Name's Emma, by the way."

"Door's over this way, if I remember," she said to Logan, and continued along down the hall.

[User]
Only after she spoke up did Kest or Anton seem to notice her presence. Rarely did she make a conscious effort to be so stealthy. It just sort of...happened. Grace retreated back into silence, eating her toast as Anton talked about preparing peach scones and Kest opened the window. The head butler appeared transfixed by the rain. For a few seconds, he stared wistfully out of the window, inhaling the scent of the air.

Then he seemed to remember that he was not the only one in the room, and turned to face Grace. "How are you doing? Have you finally settled in?" he asked her.

She gave a shrug, popping the last bite of toast into her mouth. Grace had been in the mansion two years now. And despite virtually no memory of a time before Lady Sinclair's house, she'd had an impossibly difficult time adjusting to life here. She avoided the question, , answering with a vague, "Well enough," and moving to help Kest push in the last few chairs around the table. "The rain is soaking the garden. I didn't get anything done last night," she said. It was difficult to tell whether she was apologizing or simply telling him.

She stepped back, looking at the table. Seven was a lot of new people. Regardless of whether or not she could get anything done outside today, there would be work in the house to do. "What do you need help with in here?" she asked. Despite being awake all night, it would still be a few hours before exhaustion hit Grace.

[Assistant]
Anton Bonheur - Chef

Anton smiled at the sound of Grace's voice. "Seven, well that doesn't seem too bad." They had both arrived at the manor around the same time, and Anton had immediately taken a brotherly attitude with Grace, not only because she was small and cute, but also because they both struggled with their pasts. She had one that she could not remember, and he had one he would rather forget.

Kest's response about the storm made Anton's smile falter for a moment, but his request for a scone quickly returned the grin. "For you, Kest, anything. I'll save one for you too, little bird."

With a mission now at hand, Anton hurried out of the dining room and towards the kitchen. The scones would be quick work with his nimble hands, and within half an hour, Anton would be able to put milk, fresh peaches, and the still warm scones on the table for the guests, making sure to save a few for his fellow workers.

[User]
Suzy could tell that she had annoyed this man, and though he was quite handsome, it didn't phase her in the least. A wild night was as good enough excuse as any to be right to the point. The young woman, Emma, had a curious twinkle in her eyes that made Suzy smile inwardly. She knew that was a dangerous look to have, but no quality was better than natural curiosity. "It's Suzy. Nice to meet you both, hopefully breakfast will be soon." As the pair she had intruded on walked towards the door, the tall young woman's mind returned to the task at hand. She would need to find a servant to question about the letter. Suzy did recognize that tact would be needed in that situation, so she planned to wait until after breakfast to seek anyone out to inquire with. She absentmindedly wondered if the mistress of the manor would be joining everyone for breakfast.

Not wanting to linger in the main hall, Suzy walked towards the sound of voices. Through a crack in a nearby set of doors, she could see a long table surrounding by beautiful chairs. The room looked like it had gone unused for some time. She quietly pushed the door open to a dining room and saw a man and young girl cleaning out the room. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm afraid this house is so big and beautiful, I'm not quite sure where any door will lead."


[System]
| Nicknames |
 Olly

 | Gender |
 Female

 | Age |
 25

 | Old World Occupation |
 Fire Fighter

 | Equipment |
 Olivia stands at 5'10 with a muscular build and various freckles over her body. Her hair is cut short and curls that frame her face, she tends to wear it loose or up in a bun when needed.

---

 | Class |
 Arcane Duelist

 | Equipment |
 Medium Armor, mostly leathers and furs with only metal arm and knee plate armor. She has a longbow and two curved short swords that she mostly uses.

 | Magic |

* Illusion
* Conjuration

---

 | Personality |
 Olivia is calm and level-headed by nature. She tends to worry over other people before herself and helps those around her who need it the most. Mothering those younger than her, she keeps a watchful eye for those who tend to be a little more problematic and impulsive. While she doesn't mind caring for others, she does become hot-tempered when people around her don't listen to what she has to say. Olivia tries to be friendly with the people around her, treating people like she would like to be treated.

 Stubborn and determined, Oliva can be hard to compromise with or change her mind. While she enjoys analyzing and thinking ahead to have a well planned out path she can still be quick to adapt and form new plans for the sudden changes. Of course, that only applies when Olivia is under pressure. When out of trouble she struggles to accept change, for example, losing a friend or getting lost in the city.

 | Biography |
 Olivia grew up in Los Angeles and joined the Navy when she graduated and served for five years as an Avionics Technician after finishing her training. Olivia didn't enjoy her years in the navy much due to the distance she had to be away from her mother, but it was the only quick and secure way she knew in order to provide money and security. When she was 21 her mother passed away leaving her and her older brother alone. At 22 she left the navy and moved back to LA with her brother.

 After the navy, she had a hard time finding a steady job that paid well enough to save up for her own place. She waited tables, worked at retails stores, and even fast food restaurants in order to save enough and get her own little place in North Hollywood where she finally applied as a fire fighter. She was been working for the department ever since. Her life was looking up until one day she woke up in a beach, of all places, wondering how the hell she got there.

 | Other |
 Call her Olive and she still punch you.

[User]
Alice The Trickster ~ Face In The Sand
-DIRECT INTERACTIONS-

Something was strange.

Alice, smacking her lips in her sleep, slowly stirred awake due to a light voice and an odd texture in her mouth. Her eyes slowly opened, the world still mostly dark regardless. Scanning the small area within her view, her mind processed what was in front of her by having her hand grope the ground beneath her; Her fingers sank through, similarly to... Sand. This thought lead her to the realization that she was face first in the sand, and that what was in her mouth was surely sand also. Her teeth pressed together due to being curious, hearing a sound that almost resembled static as the grains shifted between her teeth.

Yup. It tasted bad.

Pushing herself up, the girl began coughing and attempting to spit out the sand in her mouth. Awh, god. How did she manage to get sand in her mouth? She didn't remember falling asleep on some beach; She was in her hotel room, reading travel guides! They were so boring that she ended up passing out; She hadn't decided where to go yet. She managed to stop coughing her lungs out long enough to look up at her surroundings: There were trees. And the ocean! And... Some guy.

A small scowl crossed her face. Damn it! She didn't want to go to the tropics; Too much sun was bad for her cute complexion! And if this was the quality of the hot manservants around here, then she could only offer three and a half stars at best. Maybe four if he was nice, but she wasn't making any promises.

"I have no--" She was interrupted in the middle of her response by coughing more sand out; God, her throat was itchy. She might have been hallucinating but she almost swore a small crab popped out of her mouth with how hard she just coughed. "I have no idea where we are." She answered, sitting in the sand in front of the obviously panicked man. Honestly, she was freaked out, too! Was she kidnapped? Is this like that T.V show where that plane crashed on the island? Was there going to be a big smoke monster?

She thought she might start crying in a minute, but kept her composure for the sake of communicating with the makeshift manservant.

"Last thing I remember was reading some crappy travel guides. I wake up and my lungs feel like they're half filled with sand!" She rambles at the man for a moment, blinking in realization as she stared at him. This was all oddly suspicious, wasn't it? Was she dreaming? If so, it was disappointing this was the best she could do; She could almost mistake it for a nightmare!

"Wait a second." She added, staring at the manservant. "Are you real?" She asks, tone swaying between confused and serious. To further her seriousness however, she reached out, offering her arm to him. If he pinched her and she woke up, then crisis averted. But if it was the other way around, this could actually be really, really bad. She had to know.

"Pinch me." She requested, bracing herself a little bit for it. She'd dock her score from 3.5 to 2 stars if he didn't go through with the request.

[Assistant]
- Sebastian Masters; Out of the frying pan... into a new world -

 Sebastian was no stranger to perilous situations, his investigative reporting had taken him from the slums of some third world country to the middle of a warzone in the middle east and still he had always held his nerve around danger, but what was happening to him now had him more then a little shaken up.

 The last thing he could remember was crashing out of exhaustion on some dingy hotel mattress, the only sounds being the broken air-conditioning unit and his own exasperated breathing, but now for some reason he could hear the soft sound of waves rolling onto a beach, he could feel the warmth of a mid-day sun and summoning the strength to open his eyes slightly he could see the bright blue sky above him. Not knowing what was going on he decided to believed this to be a calming method his mind was using to deal with his recent stress, all be it a strange one as he never really liked beaches, however his peaceful delusion was then shattered by the sound of people talking close by.

 Quickly sitting bolt upright in the sand his eyes shot open, darting around quickly scanning for danger but only finding two other people sitting in the sand talking, with others still laying around on the beach, at this point his journalistic side kicked in and he started to analyse the situation, with no idea where he was, how he got their, or what was going on, he was going to need to do something so getting to his feet he began to walk over to the two others sitting up on the beach all the while trying to prepare himself, ready to do the one thing he hated to do, rely on others for an explanation.

[User]
Jacob Wheeler
~To whom it most concerns~

 Something wasn't right.

 That was the story of Jacob Wheeler's life in recent days, but now it was in regards for a less metaphysical issue. He wasn't in his bed in his tiny one-bedroom apartment like he was supposed to be. He was out in the field again, sleeping in the sand! Licking his dry lips Jacob pushed himself onto his knees, his gloved hands sinking into the dust. A strange hat, an old-fashioned looking thing which'd been perched awkwardly on his head fell off from the sudden movement. He stared at the odd bit of headware, amused by its peculiarity and recent position on his head. He knew where it must have come from. He'd been attending Mardi Gras on the North Shore in Louisiana last night, out on the lakeshore. He must've bought it at some point during one of the themed parades from a street vender. The hat was oddly well made for something one might buy on the corner, and looked worn and tattered, and stained even. Jacob hoped he hadn't wasted too much money on it. The amount of alcohol he'd consumed would explain his lapse in memory of the purchase, and his current sleeping arraignments out on the beach.

 The thought of money in mind he patted his back pocket, groaning aloud when he found no reassuring bulge. Wallet's gone. He checked his other pocket. Phone too, and his keys. Everything was gone, and he was alone on a beach, who knows where with no money, no car, and no way to call for help.

 Jacob felt the sharp sting of despair when a murmur of voices behind him alerted him to presence of other people. He could have shouted aloud for joy as he turned quickly, standing up unsteadily to ask if any of them still possessed their cellular devices. As Jacob's unsteady eyes roamed over the local area his beer tinged breath caught in his throat at the sight of the strangest little creature he'd ever seen. It was like a large rat, but with seven tails, eight legs and fur that flashed dull red, then blue, then yellow. Jacob blinked, rubbing at his eyes and looking again. It'd vanished.

 Deciding he was still a little drunk Jacob squinted at the other people, real tangible people assembled near by. Half dozen or more of them scattered about in similar states of confusion and groggy consciousness. Ignoring the arrangement of robes, armor, and weaponry more out of a refusal to acknowledge the oddities then not, he addressed the nearest and most awake person he could see.

 "Um hi, I'm sure we're good friends after last night, though I can't seem to recall your name...?" Jacob scratched his head, brushing sand from his blonde hair. "Anyway, do you still have your phone by any chance? I seem to've lost mine..."

[Assistant]
"I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."

Olivia's 24-hour shift had been pretty shitty, to say the least. The last four hours had been occupied by a drive-by, and her team was the first on the scene. While it wasn't rare to see these kinds of incidents in some parts of LA, it was something that Olivia would never get used to no matter how many years she had lived there. Luckily the victim of the drive-by had only been hit by one bullet in the arm. While she was not train fully trained as an EMT, her partner was, so she helped him as best she could while the police and ambulance arrived. Police statements and all the formalities came after the victim was dealt with. Oliva usually didn't get this kind of calls while her 24-hour shifts. Most of them were of people who fainted, broke something while falling, or just false emergencies so at the end of her shift she was pretty beat. She had been planning to grab something to eat before going home, but the last call had really done one on her, so she headed home and straight to bed with plans for a big breakfast in the morning.

However, her big breakfast had been canceled as she stared up at the blue sky and listened as waves hit the shore. Wait. Sky? Shore? Beach?! Oliva shot up and looked around frantically, sand flying around her and falling from her hair to her shoulders. "Wha -- " She looked down to see her usual boxers and tank top were replaced by some kind of leather garments... Was it armor?! What the hell going on? The last thing she remembered was falling asleep to the image of big fluffy pancakes, and now she could feel sand inside her strange clothing. Fucking hate the sand.

"Anyway, do you still have your phone by any chance? I seem to have lost mine..."

Olivia's head turned back to look at some strange people in strange clothes talking to one another. "Hey! What the fuck is going on? Is this some kind of joke?" Oliva shuffled to her feet quickly, groaning loudly when sand slipped into her leather boots and began to stomp her way to them. Had she been kidnapped on her sleep and brought to the beach? This particular beach didn't look like the ones in LA. It was far too pretty! Maybe Laguna Beach? No no! This wasn't real! How could someone drug her, kidnapped her, changed her clothes, and send her to a pretty beach in one night?

"You got a phone dude? What is going on? The last thing I remember is sleeping in my bed, and now I'm here in some kind of LARP clothes." Olivia could tell they were just as confused as they were, and she knew there would be no answers from them. Didn't hurt to try, right?


[System]
Age: 44

Class: Naval Senior Armsman

Equipment:
Light Carapace Armor - Stukov cannot afford to be weighed down in the tight, fast moving brawl of a boarding action, repelling or engaging in, so the only real piece of armor the Senior Armsman wears is a reinforced Carapace chestplate, which also includes his backpack of ammo and oxygen for his rebreathing kit, a model capable of sealing against loss of oxygen, although true void exposure won't make him last long, due to the sheer cold of the Void.

Lucius pattern Mk 22c Shotgun - The shotgun of choice for Stukov, this eight round revolving magazine lets him slam through shells at a frightening rate, with a heavy cartridge that shreds through most enemies not wearing heavy, quality Carapace. And this assumes hits on any given armor's strong points. Like many shotguns, plenty of various ammo types exist for his shotgun, and while Stukov carries plenty of slug and buckshot, he carries a handful of Hellfire and blessed buckshot for handling Daemons in specific. Stukov has no problem using whatever ammo he can get his hands on, or issued for a given mission.

Foehammer - Known by its more humble name the Shotgun Pistol, Stukov uses this as a backup when his larger, bulkier shotgun isn't an option. Unlike his Mk 22c, it is a single shot per load weapon that he usually loads with oversized slug. This is for the reason that if he needs to hit something a distance off, he doesn't need to waste time changing loads in his main gun, or his side arm. And if they are heavily armored, slug has a better chance to punch through than buckshot or most conventional ammo loads.

Combat Knife - Not much to be said for Stukov's knife, it is a fairly standard issue, single edge blade with a point for stabbing as well as slashing. Pretty much a last resort when both his sidearm and main shotgun are of no use to him in a situation.

Flash Grenades x2, Concussion Grenades x2 - Flash Grenades, true to their name, emit a blinding flash of light that blinds both organic and mechanical means of sight for a period of time, making them easy targets so long as they were not protected from the effects. Concussion grenades utilize a shockwave that, while it does little real damage to ship structure or hull, the sheer pressure of the shockwave and the din of noise ensures that, even if the pressure didn't kill a foe, they won't be hearing anytime soon.

Against All Odds: When he was a rookie Armsman aboard his first Imperial Navy vessel, during a transit in the warp the Gellar fields failed and hordes of daemons poured into various breaches in the hull across the Cruiser. Whether it was divine intervention from the God Emperor himself, or sheer stubborn determination from the surviving crew, the Cruiser was able to emergency shift back into real space and drive the remaining daemons and their slaves out the airlocks and back into oblivion where they belonged. The Cruiser suffered over 75% causalities, and could barely limp to the nearest Imperial holding.

Boots on the Ground: Rather than being left to sit around and wait for a new crew to be brought in, the Armsman Stukov was now reassigned to an Apocalypse Class Battleship, since she had recently seen vicious combat and had lost a fair number armsman, amongst other crew. One of his first assignments as part of the new crew was a shore party that was deployed to secure sensitive fleet records lost in a planet wide raid by Dark Eldar. Once again, most of his comrades were wiped out but he survived and personally hauled the reclaimed records back into orbit before the Orbital Bombardment vaporized all Dark Eldar that could be found.

Close Quarters Chaos: Earning his rate as a Senior Armsman, and the right and occurrence of leading junior Armsman into battle gains those that would stand against the Imperial Navy and her vessels. So his first tasking was as part of a wave of Assault craft, specifically the Shark Assault Boat. Under heavy interceptor and bomber escorts most of the first wave of Assault Boats reached their targets, a miracle in and of itself. Heavy casualities were sustained as Stukov rallied any and all Imperials he could find and stormed the bridge of the craft. When challenged to a duel for control over the vessel, he shot the enemy captain cleanly, taking his head off as a fine mist. The following chaos as Stukov led his men back to the boats, leaving the enemy ship in chaos as it fought itself for control as several friendly Imperial vessels bombarded the craft into oblivion the moment its shields failed.

Not one Step Further: The Battleship he was assigned to came under heavy fire and was badly damaged, suffering a force re-entry into the nearby plant and crashing down behind a long forgotten temple to the Emperor. After the survivors took refuge there, they had to hold out until either the Battleship's surviving engines could be overloaded, finishing the beast off beyond any salvage hope, or help arrived. With nowhere to run or hide, Stukov rallied the remaining combat capable men and women, armed them, and held out as long as possible, far longer than anyone short of even an Astartes could consider thanks to tactics and a desperation coupled with nothing to lose. The survivors were saved by passing Inquisitorial vessels, introducing Stukov to work with the Inquisition and, eventually, Inquisitor Caphus himself.

Time with Inquisitor: Nearly ten years aboard his vessels, only recently tasked formally to his retinue.

Appearance:

40K Knowledge Question: Erebus of the Word Bearers Legion

[User]
Ben looked at the psyker as she collapsed. He took a step to help her, when the Sister stepped into the hallway. He looked her, and his brow furrowed. "Who?" Was all Ben had time to say before she leveled her weapon and blew a statue apart. Zhevon was shouting things, and the statues screeched.

"Stulov, Duren, cover!"

The nullrod was sliding down the hallway. Time slowed down for Ben, his heart pounding in his ears. He stepped into the doorway, in the wake of the psyker's blast. Anyone who was concerned with the gallery, would know about them being here now. A statue lunged at Ben, and he raised his pistol in response. Ben felt his heartbeat in his wrist. He smelled the dust in the air, and saw small pieces on tile bouncing off the wall. Ben looked into the eyes of the statue and saw the skin flaying off his body. He saw his organs being removed one by one, but he was still alive. He saw the the death of the galaxy.

Ben pulled the trigger, closing his real eye, while his bionic eye immediately compensated for the incredible flash of bright light. The first 'bolt' hitting the chest of the statue and causing the statue to immediately crumble as the intense heat scorched the chest to ash, and baked the entire chest into a brittle and weak clay.

The statue kept coming, and Ben could smell the overwhelming earthy scent of burning clay. He smelled ash. Ben's stepped into a fullbore punch into the chest of the Statue, his metal arm pulverizing the stone and gem into dust.

The statue crumbled, and Ben turned to the others, and raised his plasma pistol, firing down the hallway. "I hear you, drop." Ben said to the armsman. "What I wouldn't give for my powerfist right now, or a bolter like hers." He muttered aloud. The plasma pistol was requiring two shots to take down a statue, the first one weakening the chest, and the second one obliterating the gem.

Ben turned to Adrianne and Stukov. "Advance! Press the Advantage! Don't let the Inquisitor cut himself off! Break through!" The ghost of Sergeant Duren was back, urging soldiers onward into the cauldron of war against the many foes of man. And where else would you find a leader of men, but at the front, as Ben advanced just behind Zhevon, plasma pistol firing.

[Assistant]
"I do not have the ammo for this kind of prolonged combat."

"Then save them. I have my own ammo, and it's INFINITE!" Adrianne answered James as she literally screamed into the comm, not caring whether anyone else heard her.

The otherwise monotony of her daily life had finally been broken, and now she had an excuse to finally unleash her powers, foregoing any restraint! It was an exhilarating sensation to feel the powers of the warp course through her veins, and now; she did not have to contain any of it, but instead could let it all rip!

And there were a lot of statues. A lot!

The way the statues charged into battle could not really be described as a unified or coordinated charge, but rather as a loose collection of ravenous individuals who competed to get into the fray first - not at all above pushing or jumping over their destroyed comrades to reach the group!

The group would never have had the sheer firepower enough to keep them all at bay, if it had not been for Adrianne's destructive shockwave, and consecutive psychic blasts which she cast in front of them, pushing the statues away like a bunch of ragdolls!

As she unleashed another impenetrable wave of force energies, pushing six of the statues back and into the rest of their kin, one of them managed to slip around to the side, dodging the wave before leaping towards Adrianne! But as the ferocious statue flew through the air, its arms extended like claws and ready to pounce, it would suddenly stop in the middle of the air as Adrianne raised her staff towards it; catching it in a telekinetic grip right in the middle of the air!

The statue remained in the hair, hovering as it was stuck in Adrianne's psychic grip; before the psyker swiped her staff to the side, and flung the statue with it, and sent it flying through the corridor to crash into another one of its kin. The collision caused both of the statues to explode into a shower of fine pebbles and rocks, showering into the wall like a makeshift shotgun and cut the drapery apart!

"This is not going to work. We need something stronger!"

There were far too many statues in the room, and Adrianne feared that one of the statues would get lucky before they could ever manage to gun them all down!

"Hold them back. I'll create a vortex, but I'll need some time to finish the cast!" Adrianne called out to the rest of her team over her comm system as the psyker stepped back towards the group, before holding her staff up towards the center of the room.

Twenty feet ahead, in the center of the great corridor where the vast majority of the statues were still located; the clouds of dust began to swirl around a certain point in the air. The pull was subtle at first, but rapidly grew stronger as the seconds passed! While at first only the dust had been light enough to be pulled into singularity, soon the heavier rocks and loose tiles began to lift up into the air to spin around the miniature vortex as well! The nearest statues could feel a pull that was growing stronger around them, beginning to lift some of them up and pull them towards the center of the strange phenomenon. The visors between the eye sockets of her skeletal mask were now glowing bright purple once again, and anyone nearby could feel an overwhelming, almost sickening sensation that seemed to pulse out from her position like a twisted aura, amplifying whatever whispers that were already in the air a tenfold!

Adrianne was about to cast a Vortex of Doom!

[User]
Stukov barked back over the vox as the sniper chewed the Psyker out, rather unfairly in this case. Soon as the Sister opened fire, and the statues lost their cool, odds were they had all been rumbled anyways. He rebutted as the fighting continued and he paused to reload, ducking his head as he did so to allow fire over him without having to worry about getting his head shot off from behind, or from the Sister in front of them continuing to fire. "Snipes, if the bolter fire, screaming, and statues losing all sense of coy manipulation didn't tip off the rest of the blasted area than I highly doubt that the shockwave is seriously going to create many more problems at this point. Let's get out of this damned place in one piece, assign blame later." He saved the few remaining blessed slugs and buckshot he had left, considering these statues were, as Boss said, more grounded in the physical than immaterial. So it wouldn't matter nearly as much that there was active, holy disruption ripping through since once the crystal was gone, they were done. That, and he just did not have that much specialty ammo compared to contemporary.

The blinding fire from the pistol, Stukov noted, should have been, well, blinding. But the eye protection he was wearing seemed to flare into near darkness and return after the flash was gone, preventing him from being blinded. Stukov had been unaware of that little feature in the shades, so all the better as he couldn't decide whether Watchman punching a statue through the chest was sheer adrenaline on his part or something else. Either way, question later, fight now. It took the Armsman about three rounds, buckshot or slug, to punch through and destroy the crystal on one of these statues, demonstrated on the next one that charged him as he brought the weapon up again as the revolving cylinder snapped into place. First shot kicked into his shoulder and propelled the buck into its chest, second and third also both on target. The third punched through the failing stone and broke the crystal apart quite enough to disrupt its control, sending it to the ground and shattering into pieces. Which barely gave Stukov time to get a snap shot off to knee cap another assailing statue immediately behind it.

"Shit..." The next two rounds would not be good enough to put down the statue, but he had a plan to make up for that. He pumped the last two loads of buckshot into the damned statue's chest before throwing the shotgun back on its sling, drawing Foehammer and putting a slug clean through its chest. THAT put it down, and he lashed out with his bionic lower leg to trip up the next statue, reloading Foehammer with another slug and firing it into the back before bringing his bionic foot down through its chest cavity, smashing stone and crystal in one, very final thud. Re-holstering Foehammer, he saw the well of warp energy forming and unslung his shotgun, reloading as he kept by the Inquisitor, as Watchman had sounded off in orders, dropping to a kneeling stance again and opening fire, burning through ammo at a healthy rate. Might need to start looting for more weapons, at this rate, since it was clear this place was defended. Might be a conventional armory, or even a working piece amongst the weapons displayed. Ammo would still be a problem, but he would burn that bridge when he got there. "Watch your spacing! Got another warp trick building!"


[System]
Age: 21

Powers: Psammokinesis
 In short, the ability to manipulate sand. The energy drained directly correlates to how much sand is moved, shaped, or hardened at once. A small amount draws virtually no energy, while a much larger amount can be extremely taxing.

Weapons: One katar, one punch-dagger.

Bio: Born on a February 14th in Istanbul, Turkey, Zinnia Afra was born the descendant of one of the Sultans of the Ottoman Empire. Therefore, she lived in a grand palace, surrounded by the finest jewels and softest pillows... and she hated it the moment she turned seven. The fairy-tale-princess lifestyle wasn't for her, to put it simply.
 She realized that she craved the adventure and struggle of the commoner at age ten, and began to train with punch-daggers and katars. Weapons that were centuries old, but ranked among the most effective and most deadly to date, a well-aimed slice or stab could sever a limb or puncture an artery. She was ambidextrous, and would make it known with her fighting style. It was a brutal and savage form of attack and defense, but had a certain melody to it, as if each swipe and thrust could be timed to the beat of her own heart, which it could.
 At thirteen, Zinnia would start playing games with the guards. In other words, she began to sneak out at night to meet with the shady friends she had made earlier in life, mostly ruffians and pickpockets, no one who meant any real harm to anyone. She'd partake in the action, learning the dishonorable ways of the modern thief in the rundown slums of Istanbul, but would always be back by midnight, just as the aforementioned guards showed up with her parents in tow, claiming to have seen her missing earlier in the night.
 A year later, she was caught in the dead of night with her hand in someone's pocket, and a fight started. It was Zinnia's band of misfit, mischievous teenagers versus a group of actual adults. It went bad from the start, and soon enough, Zinnia was the only one left standing. She was surrounded by the adults, scared for her life and her weapons out of reach. A thin wisp of sand rose from the ground and started to follow the movements of her fingers in response to her fear. She lashed out, and each man was lying on the ground, bones broken and wills shattered. She helped her friends up and went home, taking a small amount of sand with her.
 Until she was twenty, she practiced her newfound talent, then was walked in on by her younger brother while she worked, a small, brown lizard of minerals playing with the family's bearded dragon, Teif. The brother called the local police, and Zinnia was apprehended on suspicion of witchcraft. Superstitious societies...
 She was supposed to be executed outside the city, but Miss. Dawson was quick to intervene. Zinnia was given her life and a place to stay, but at a cost; she couldn't leave. She brought Teif with her, as a reminder of what life once was, but has otherwise disowned her heritage. Zinnia has been at the Home for around a week now.
Dreams/Wishes: She simply wants to live her life without fear of being killed for her powers.

Good/Evil/Walking the Line: Chaotic Good. She does her best to be good, but slips occasionally because of her former friends back home.

Siblings: One younger brother

Pets: A bearded dragon named Tief.

[User]
Jack was silently thankful that everything had calmed down as quickly as it had and after just few moments he stepped away from the very upset girl who caused since she hardly was in a state to listen to him. Hell she even seemed like she was rejecting the help he had gotten from Monica initially, she had been able to after all, and his trying to keep the situation on level. If that was the way he wanted it to be then he wouldn't push for the moment but he had full intention of trying to make an impression on her on at least when to use a power like hers. At least it was over for now as long as they left the girl alone since she seemed to have lost interest in being anywhere near other people which left a bit less of a mess to deal with than what could have been. On the crappy side there would be no doubt Dawson would catch wind of this even if she hadn't been watching at the moment, which he kind of doubted but all the same it was a possibility, and that would mean some people could expect to end up in the bar though he wasn't so worried for himself because a drunk idiot being far easier to control than the average resident.

Jack figured he would end up helping with the clean up at the least not out of any sort of guilt but because it would just be a pain to leave the mall cafeteria messed up though it could have been far worse. That and he would be heading to the bowling alley not long after for his keeping the rest of the employee doing their jobs which with a holiday around the corner might be more tasking than usual but he wouldn't mind in the end because it was high time they had some fun. He tended to be maybe a bit more lax than the other managers but pushing hid buttons or outright disobeying him could and would be dealt with in a matter of moments. With all of it over Monica deciding to get out wasn't a bad idea and it was probably for the best but he would clean up just to leave less to punish lying around all over the floor. "Always up for more if your around. I'll see you around." He said looking forward to another conversation with her.

Its a wonder more people haven't chatted her up, she is something else. Jack mused thinking maybe a few of the others weirder for not talking with Monica more regularly.

[Assistant]
Oscar laughed, thinking it very likely that Azai would willingly come here. There was something melancholy about the man and with his powers, the psionic could tell why. It must have been hard to grow into such a deadly power, something that Oscar knew all too well. "Yea, I think I could actually. It's a lonely thing really. Other than wiping the memory of any who could identify me, I hardly had human interaction. I was slipping into a very dark side of myself, then. Which is why I willingly came, now I've started to question such a decision." He remembered his first victim of a telepathic attack, drooling on himself in a comatose state... With a shudder, he pushed that memory down back to the black hole he always kept it in. When he'd asked about Miss Dawson, Azai's disbelief told him more than anything how strange their benefactor truly was. Did anyone ever meet her? Was she protected all the time?

Oscar had frequently sent his mind out and knew of her location, deep underneath the grounds. But that was only because his mental probing was turned away, like an impenetrable barrier, to physical or supernatural force. "You would think, right? But I can't seem to get to her, no matter how hard I push against whatever it is that protects her!" His white knuckles showed just how frustrated that made the young man. "If she was that powerful, I'd at least be able to sense that... no, it's completely different. With that kind of technology, whose to say what she truly is."

The idea that he'd have to fight the kids around him didn't particularly bother Oscar. The ones that actually liked this place were the most delusional of them all and he would just use their powers against their own allies. He had no doubts about his abilities to control the actions of others. "You'd be surprised at how easy it is to make someone turn against their own... whether that be by direct mental command or a delusion I create from within. They wouldn't get near me without begging for mercy... And a bit of both, really. But more of curiosity. I want to know what that woman has in mind for the likes of those such as we. What about you?"

---

---

Kenny's laugh was warm and not at all insincere. Zaniel's jealousy was palpable, like the smoke of a fire. He knew the guy to be hard to get along with, but he realized that he was particularly hostile and bitter towards Kenny. That gave him even more security in his belief that Persephone might have taken a liking to him. Let the hater's hate. He shrugged noncommittally, as if the job was not worth worrying over as much as Zaniel might hope it to be. "It's easy enough and once I get the beasts started, they're quick to the task. I've got time for a few... fruits and such."

He grabbed a shovel, impaling it in the ground and leaning upon its butt, hands crossed over the end and his chest rested upon them. Kenny looked at Zaniel that seemed a mixture of understanding, amusement, and pity. You should just stop your bellyaching. If you don't have the cajones to act on your desires, others might. Which is what happened here, amigo. Sighing, a little, Kenny realized that there was no hope in being civil with the guy and resigned himself to the start of an annoying grudge.

"Well, I'm not trying to stop you from doing your job. Maybe you should show a little more focus, eh?" He chuckled a little before pulling the shovel out of the ground and spinning it around his body with skillful and deft spins of hand, arm, and wrist. He arched an eyebrow at Zaniel's question and comment. "So who's the real dumbass, I wonder. And not just one bull, a small herd. But I don't mind delaying their arrival to the Butcher. Give 'em a little more time to enjoy the sun and grass and such a fine day." He took a breath and looked around, noting that Persephone was still far away collecting fruit for him, before saying what was on his mind. "If you're pissed because I was flirting with Persephone, just say it. You've got no right to be angry because she just so happens to show interest in little old me. If you haven't expressed your feelings to her, you've got no claim over her. She's a big girl and can choose what and who she wants. So either put on your big boy pants or cut the shit."

Kenny was a bit angry now, guessing correctly at Zaniel's real source of hostility. This guy had no right chasing off the people that might show a genuine interest in the charming girl. It was her life, after all. He might not have all those fancy shmancy powers, but that didn't matter. Once Zaniel was nice and tired, trying to kill or seriously maim him, Kenny would be the last one standing.

[User]
Zinnia sighed a bit, since Iron had remembered what she said. She had hoped that he'd missed that in the commotion, because she wanted to be treated like everyone else. Well, that hope was most likely gone. "Yes, I'm the fifth princess in line for a dead throne. It's nothing to make a fuss about, really." She kept walking beside Iron, intent on heading towards the lake. She'd already had a bad enough day, work could go screw itself for a little bit.

 Walking alongside Zinnia, Iron almost stumbled when she confirmed that she was indeed royalty. He had almost assumed that the younger girl was just using the word "princess" as an accusation of over-entitlement. Correcting for his near fall the gravity manipulator sped up his step to once again be in stride with the princess. As the beach came into sight Iron had one pressing question on his mind. "So it's still just Zinnia then, right? No Your Highness or Princess Zinnia?"
 Zinnia nodded in response, choosing to keep her mouth shut for the moment. 'Last thing I want is for someone to call me princess...' As the pair came to the beach, the nearby sand sort of lept towards the psammokinetisist, rising slightly towards her as she walked by. She had no control over this affect, the sand just did as it felt when she was near. So she strode about halfway down the beach and sat, looking up at the sky.
 "I didn't come here with the intention to let that be known. If anyone asks, please tell them that was Lyra forcing out my greatest fear." She sighed slightly.

 Flopping down on the beach Iron nodded as he listened to Zinnia . What she said made sense, even if he didn't completely understand why she'd want to hide her royalty, he did understand wanting to keep some things to yourself. Pulling his jacket off and folding it into a pillow he leaned back, lying on the beach. Eyes closed and the early afternoon sun beating down on him Iron contemplated his reply.
 "You know... I get it. We all have secrets. I mean I have things I'd prefer not everyone know as well," he stated with a shrug, or the closest to one he could manage while lying in the sand. "Your princess-ness aside, and seeing as we unintentionally moved our beach hangout up..... Uhh how would you like to um go to the HalloweenMasqueradewithmetonight?" Iron asked from his position in the sand, stumbling in the beginning and speeding through the end of the question. In all honesty he couldn't believe he had just asked her on what was nearly impossible to see as anything but a date.

 She hesitated for a moment, raising a finger with her mouth hanging open, then lowering it and shutting her mouth, not entirely sure how to respond. She'd had plenty of suitors back home, but they were all cocky and rich, the kind of things her father saw potential in. In what was almost a complete act of defiance, she took a breath and spoke.
 "I'd love to go with you, actually." She felt her heart skip a beat for some reason. Was this love, or just a reaction to something that was out of the ordinary? She had a feeling she would find out soon enough.


[System]
ALIAS('s): Darsby
STATUS: Living
SPECIES: Human?
GENDER: Male?
AGE: ???
HEIGHT: 5' 10"
WEIGHT: ???
BUILD: Lean-Lanky-Thin
RANK: ???
OCCUPATION: ???

BASIC PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: He's attenuated, pale, entirely covered in various ebony tribal tattoos up to and including the neck, numerous lengthy blade-born scars, and holds lean muscle in quantity's just thick enough to not look emaciated. His hair and eyes are generally a somewhat luminescent rose pink, the X scar just above his right eye is of the same color. Said scar is the only piece of tissue with such an oddity. Darsby's scars cut through his numerous tattoos as if having occurred after getting ink-work done.

BASIC PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION: He's most easily related to an apathetic college student during finals week who's will to live was lost after discovering their GPA is ruined due to failed exams.

BASIC ABILITY DESCRIPTION: He can hide his presence with alien cigarettes and teleport objects from one place to another, I guess? Maybe he can sense strange magics?

BASIC HISTORY DESCRIPTION: Unidscovered

PICTURE:

[User]
'Well.. She understands instruction.' Darsby grins to himself, knowing the value of someone who can understand commands far exceeds that of a needlessly rebellious free-thinker. His eyes, imbued with complex magics, steer from left to right for observation of a fading barrier. Blouth alpha's trap their prey in invisible cages few can detect. Luckily, escaping the barrier is always as easy as eliminating the nearest alpha.

Darsby spins on his heel to turn into following Anora. He feels his sealed body quake in protest to the sudden movement, tremors surging upwards from either trembling knee. "Crap.." He mumbles to himself whilst taking a moment to deliberate over his present situation. Circumstance dictates healing is less essential than escape, using whatever magic stores remain to achieve this goal is paramount. Blouth aren't our pair's only worry; there will undoubtedly be influential earth-based organizations coming to investigate this magic-filled event.

"Lestiess-Lestuary" Grey smoke permeates the air surrounding Darsby as ethereal words pass into conscious space near him via supernatural speech. His body merges with the smoke, splitting into several surging tendrils of cool mist. These flowing masses rend the air in passing through the window Anora shattered. Said grey mass reassembles itself into Darsby's familiar form once having emerged from the hospital.

"We're taking one of these metal wagons. You're piloting." Darsby speaks quickly, weakly gesturing with his gun towards the nearest parking lot. He begins to hobble in that ordered direction, his bare feet softly pattering against pavement and grass.

[Assistant]
For a heart-wrenching moment, Darsby did not follow Anora. The inside of the hospital became a black hole lurking beyond the window in comparison to the sunlight blaring all around her. Sparks igniting over her tense fingers. She took a step toward the window, preparing to jump back inside to see what kept him, multiple grim causes for his delay running through her head in an instant.
 She shouted in surprise and stumbled away from the window when tendrils of misty gray smoke rushed through the broken glass. Her sparks turned into glowing masses encompassing her hands, licks of sparkling purple, gold, black curling up her outspread arms in anticipation.
 A solid figure quickly began to form out of the mist just beyond the spray of glass shards. Not knowing what to expect—the Blouth? An Alpha? Darsby?—the glow in both her powers and gaze intensified with the pounding of her heart.
 "Darsby!" she breathed through a heavy sigh of relief. Her powers extinguished and she hurried to his side.
 It took her a heartbeat to realize what he meant by 'metal wagons.' She blinked at him when it set in. "You want to steal a car?" She asked as he began hobbling away.
 She glanced back at the hospital as the first hint of police sirens whispered through the air as they raced to the aid of their comrades. Comrades who had quickly fallen. None of them had any idea what they were up against. None of them stood a chance. With herself no longer in immediate danger, her conscious finally got a word in:
 What about everyone else?
 "Darsby, wait!"
 She reached a hand out toward her backpack as she ran toward Darsby. In the blink of an eye, purple mist surrounded her pack and it shot into her open hand, Anora catching it by a strap. She quickly caught up to him before he reached the nearest parking lot. She reached out to his non-weapon wielding arm with her free hand.
 She expected him to evade her touch as he had before. To her surprise, her hand closed on his upper arm, her grip gentle, yet firm. She stepped around him to stand in front of him, hoping to make him face her.
 "I'm not going anywhere. We weren't the only people in there." Releasing him, she gestured to the hospital, unwavering determination in her gaze. "They have no clue what's in there, let alone how to stop them! We have to help. Or…" She paused, taking in his weak, tired form. He had definitely reached his limits. She took a deep breath. "Or tell me how to stop them, and I'll help."
 Though the idea of facing those things alone made fear churn in her stomach, she refused to let it sway her decision. Her powers may not have worked on Darsby, but they had worked on the Blouth, which was enough for her. There was no telling how many people were in the hospital, how many potential victims those monsters had at their disposal to eat or take as hosts, or whatever else they did.

[User]
Darsby had become distant the moment he'd stepped from the hospital. Goal-oriented drive enveloped his mind in swathes of deliberate planning he felt he'd likely need to make. Anora appeared kind and dependable to him so long as she wasn't given a scenario which contradicted good morals. This had its uses and downfalls in their present circumstance. From his perspective, she'd be invaluable upon finally leaving the hospital premises; contrasting this, she would become a hindrance should she see this predicament as her responsibility. An inexperienced native magic user against the possible beasts to be faced here would require excruciating guidance Darsby is far from presently being able to provide without extreme action. Then, he felt her hand.

What she'd first perceive is cold, porcelain skin; its surface is smooth to the touch yet as unyielding as stone. Darsby would likely be a marvel if he weren't notably trembling, those labored lurches one might call a stride full of an exhausted malaise. Her grasp had pulled him from his deliberation to face the very thing he was deliberating over. She was more present in this event than he likely had been from the beginning. Her fresh, young eyes held many wonders he'd somehow misplaced some time ago.

"You do your people an injustice." Darsby would firmly state, wrenching his hand from Anora's grasp with whatever physical strength he could muster. Despite all weakness, something about this man was undoubtedly resolute. One could think they'd be able to peel away every bit of his body before his mind and speech would give in to any demand but his own.
"Do you honestly believe humanity has no defense for this?-" An unknown plagued Darsby's features, something Anora hadn't yet seen. Genuine distaste split the air between them, his features wrinkling into mildly angered disgust for the first time. His emotions had a disarming purity to them as if each separate feeling had been worn into place by vast breadths of time. "-The very forces prepared for these threats are about to make our lives a lot harder the second they arrive." He didn't appear to have any reason for lies here. In fact, one could say there were hints of unease over these spoken truths.

Our once more callous hospital patient immediately continued his sickly limp to the nearest car after initially speaking. Upon reaching a black family van, and likely taking little heed to whatever retort Anora may have had, Darsby goes to work. He snaps several times, thin bands of electricity arcing from his finger to collide with the car. The van's two front doors open as if by some powerful magnetic force, it's engine roaring to life by a vigorous howl. Darsby then moves as if to step into the passenger seat, yet, he stops halfway there. Gently, one hand is placed on the hood of the car to support him as he half-turns towards Anora.

"Look, it makes sense. You can help, so you want to. But, is it your job? Or are the people who do this for a living nothing more than an after-thought?-" Darsby's typically exhausted nature has once more overtaken him as he finishes turning towards his young companion to address her fully. "-Right now you have somewhere you need to go. I intend to get you there." Truthfully, Darsby was betting more than he'd be likely to share on those last words. He wasn't entirely sure she was his first lead, but she'd caused him a hell of a lot of inconveniences, and he'd be damned if she didn't owe him for that.

Regardless as to all these events, the initial emergency personnel are closing fast. They'd likely be overwhelmed in less than a minute, police and other such institutions have been on their way for quite some time before Darsby and Anora's exit from the hospital. Escape from this parking lot itself was far less unlikely than one should count on. Leaving in a car, let alone on foot, was more of a fantasy by each passing second. You couldp ractically see flashing lights entering our respective parking lot already.

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

"Yea... Yeah, we're on our way. Don't worry about clean-up. You know I don't mind paperwork." Thin, leathery fingers pull a cellular device from its familiar position near an enamored expression. Drake didn't mind his job; in fact, he rather enjoyed it. Communicating with his superiors over small incidents like this were hardly ever a hassle. Yet, he had a bad feeling in his gut that the current case he's following is going to be anything but simple. After just now getting off the phone with local HQ he'd at least make a simple task of covering this blouth event.

Red and blue lights screamed alongside their companion sirens up ahead, several law enforcement vehicles peeling through a four-way intersection on their way to what's being presently reported as a terrorist shooting. Drake's leather-coated foot presses ever-harder into the gas of his jet-black vehicle, it's sport engine booming into the ambiance of this small city. He and his partner were close behind the cops on this.

"I've finished the shroud. Don't expect anything else out of me today." Rippling muscles throb in contrast to powerful effeminate features next to drake in the passenger seat of his Camaro. His dominant wizard partner had spoken, her callous voice caked in its constantly conceited overtones.
"I would never." Drake responds after passing her a sidelong glance. 'She'd be beautiful if she didn't think the world was beneath her' He thinks to himself after shortly resuming his focus on the road ahead. He never minded small events like this, they were easy to cover-up with memory-magic and minor conflict. Regrettably, the one these two are genuinely tracking is anything but a small-time target.


[System]
Age: 30

Appearance

He has crimson tear tattoos going down from his to midway in his cheeks. His head is normally shaved bald or to a close buzz. His eyes are golden. He stands at 5ft 8in

Backstory: Hector was born in Herwen, a small desert nation across from Vrent. The people of Herwen (identifying themselves as The Chosen) are largely nomadic, travelling in tribes, with one central holy city (Harchan) that all the tribes go through and a port city (Turocan) for outsiders. They pride themselves on surviving the harsh desert of their land (which they call the Whispering Wastes, on account of the nigh constant wind shifting the sand and making it 'whisper') without aid from newer technology (anything beyond steel) or magic.

Hector, being born a mage, was an outsider from the first time he drew in breath. The local tribe leader drew a small drop of his blood and added it to the clear juice from the Ferchun cactus. If the juice remained clear, he was normal. As it changed to a vibrant purple, he was immediately marked as a mage, and immediately given his tears of shame, marking him as someone the Gods had deemed too weak to survive without the aid of magic. To make up for this weakness, he was constantly told growing up, he would have to do something great for his tribe. What classified as 'something great' was conveniently left vague and unexplained. As a mage, he was disliked by his fellow tribe members at best and despised at worst. He was only slightly better than a slave. They still used him and his skills, but they despised him for it. he was trained, fed, and sheltered, but only grudgingly. He was a weakling, but apparently a weakling they could put to use. If they needed a source of light, Hector was there. An unlimited source of arrows to help fend off enemy tribes, bandits, or hunt? Hector.

Hypocrisy, he noted, was something his tribe had no problems with. As the years went by, his skill with his magic and weapons only increased. Many times, Hector thought of running off. Escaping. Leaving the bastards he called a family and making his own way. But where would he go? The Whispering Wastes were harsh enough with a tribe, without a tribe he would surely be killed. If not by the desert itself than by some other tribe that didn't trust strangers with the Tears of Shame. Still, the thought was never far from his mind.

His opportunity came when they visited the city of Turocan. He doesn't know why his tribe was visiting there, they rarely told him anything aside from 'do this or do that, weakling.' What he did know was that one could get very easily lost in the crowds. One could easily get on a ship and one could easily get away from Herwen. The temptation proved too much for him. One, two and three steps into the crowd and he was gone, walking as fast as he could without attracting attention towards the docks. What happened next was a bit of a blur. He remembers pounding terror and adrenaline, straining his senses for the sounds of alarm and running feet. None came. He made it to the docks and sold what he could (basically everything except for the clothes on his back, his bow, his pipe, and his dagger) for passage to Vrent.

Hector hates boats. That's all there is to say about the ship passage.

When he landed in Vrent he spent a few weeks just getting used to the culture shock. It was..cold. Green. Mountainous. Surprisingly quiet. People actually didn't despise him for what he was or the tattoos he bore. There was the despised technology everywhere, making people weak. Soft. After a few weeks of wandering around he managed to fall in with a mercenary company. They were like his tribe, only they actually saw his magic as an advantage. He didn't get close to anyone, but neither was he despised. A few years with the mercenary crew and he had adapted well to the new continent and country. It was fairly easy, when word of someone in Leek's tavern offering a lot of coin for willing bodies and adventurers came, to leave his mercenary company. He'd already abandoned one tribe. What was one more?

Skills:

-Skilled Archer and knife fighter. Hector was always sent into fighting. If he died, there was no loss. If he didn't, they still won. He only gained more experience with his mercenary company.

-Can create things out of fire, typically arrows (with the same piercing power of steel arrows and all the added bonuses of being fire), but nothing larger than a baseball sized ball of flame in his palm.

-Basic field medical skills. If they were in Herwen, Hector would be able to quickly and easily find plants to help. As it is, he can bind a wound and stitch it together, and a few herbs in Vrent.

-Jury rig repairs. Hector can repair most damages with what he has on hand.

Equipment:

-Dagger

-Bow

-Pouch (Which contains some odds and ends Hector takes from where ever he's been. A rock from his homeland, a nail from the ship he was on, so on so forth.)

-Coin purse ( One Halfshield, three Farthings)

-Full Water Flagon

-Pipe and enough Saral (a herb found in Herwen, which serves no other purpose than to relax the user) to last him a few months if he continues to ration it.

Misc. Details:

-Hector despises the newer technology, something he picked up from his tribe. It's unnatural, even more unnatural than his magic.

-Hector can't keep himself still while lying. He fidgets. Tapping his fingers, shifting his weight from leg to leg, tapping his foot, etc etc.

-Hector gets violently seasick.

Geography: The actual range of the nation Herwen, across the sea from Vrent, is hard to define. Essentially a small nation in a large desert, Herwen has only two cities. Aside from these two cities (Harchan and Turocan), the Chosen are scattered about the Whispering Wastes (what they call their desert) moving in nomadic tribes from Oasis to Oasis. It is impossible to draw borders, as the Chosen have no reason to make any and wouldn't recognize them anyway, with their wandering.

The holy city of Harchan (where it is claimed the Gods first placed The Chosen) and the port city of Turocan are the only known areas where one can consistently fine the Chosen in large numbers. However, outsiders aren't allowed into Harchan, making Turocan (named after the Tribe who serves as the face and 'government' of Herwen) the only place where some form of trade and diplomacy can take place. The Turocans decide what trade is allowed, what foreign expeditions are allowed, and so on so forth. Given Herwen's size, lack of unity, and desert wasteland status, it isn't any wonder why the Turocans deal with very few foreign nations.

Harchan is ran by a Tribe of priests. They bring all the tribes in for peace and prayer, healing wounds, resupplying, and generally being a sanctuary against the Whispering Wastes. Since it is not magic or new technology, and even the strongest of men need sanctuary from time to time, it is accepted and well used.

Culture: While traditions and practices vary from tribe to tribe, three basic things remain the same. All the tribes believe that the Gods (remaining nameless and featureless) saw how weak and soft the rest of the humans were and created the Whispering Wastes to challenge and make humanity strong. They Chose people from all over the world and put them in the Wastes. 'Without magics or creation's of man to aid you, you will survive and be strong. You will be ready for when we drown the world in sand and heat.' With that decree, the Gods disappeared. The Chosen have been surviving like that ever since.

All tribes also despise magic and newer technologies. They see the former as the Gods deeming someone too weak to survive in the Whispering Wastes by themselves, and they see the latter as weak people trying to make their lives easier. How to deal with each of these varies from tribe to tribe. Some execute mages and technology users immediately. Other's mark them with the Tears of Shame so that all will know that they were too weak to survive in the Whispering Wastes without aid.

If it is not immediately shown that a person is a mage, a drop of blood is drawn from the person in question and dropped in the juice of a Ferchun cactus. If it turns vibrant purple, they're a mage. If it does not, they're not a mage.

The third thing is gender equality. If a woman can be as soft and weak as a man, thus the Gods have said, a woman can be as strong as a man. While there are certainly roles where men gravitate more naturally (and vice versa) and tribes where they ignore this rule (going both ways), most tribes seem to obey this rule. Even in Turocan.

[User]
A lither, lighter figure than that of either the previous applicants or their Ventus patron was next to slip its way into the bar, albeit the pace she kept somehow made her strides seem longer; leaving a rebuffed Conrad little time to offer pleasantries. "No." she'd pre-emptied, severing the barman's sentence short and coursing passed him to the corner table, having held Eolas squarely in her sights since her arrival.

Stopping with that same abrupt manner Brevana flicked a waiting seat from before her, motions deft enough to do so quietly as it found a place top down upon the nearby table. "I will prefer to stand." she thrummed, R's rolling over the statement as something in her eyes denigrated those assembled. A slight pivot of gaze let the woman regard both Bakk and Haljon in turn, a gesture that seemed more calculation than courtesy. "You are fortunate I've arrived." the southerner stated as flatly as her accent would allow, as if voicing her opinion of the others.

"You may begin." she'd consent, a bit more brass spoke into the terse sentence as it fought to be heard above the loud crack an idle palm squeezed from her knuckles. Worldly that he was the ex-Vidril needed no introduction to deduce her origins--and so none were given--her suede ninirri and sternly set jaw revealing her to be a warrior-savant of High Atoll. As for the Venar and the Northman (Whom she'd noted held the uncommon distinction of being the taller of the two) they were offered only what cursory exposition could be beheld. She was a warrior, to that much a lattice of scars would attest along the length of each arm, and an old one at that if the white snaking through her brown curls were to be believed. It was only her eyes that could cast that into doubt, bright bits of brown nested in a sea of sun yellowed sclera like hard facets of mineral. Irregardless she seemed less than equipped for whatever undertaking was about to be proffered, bare of even the basic essentials travel or turmoil would demand.

It was the way she moved that made her seem dangerous.

[Assistant]
Ren had that feeling again. It was the same feeling he had when leaving the military service and that cursed Alchemist Guild. It was like standing at a crossroad. There were two paths now, enter or leave. Somehow he had the impression that this suspiciously small decision would change the course of his life. As if he did not have enough changes already.
Many months ago he had arrived in Vrent and the city had overcome his expectations. It was overwhelming indeed and although it held promise of greatness and wealth, Ren had not succeeded in finding a reliable source of income.
Now he was staring at the entrance of the Fish Rest Tavern. His hand was still resting on the wooden door when it was suddenly pulled open from the inside. A Vrentus stood in the door-frame looking down on him, then he muttered something about humans always being in the way, pushed Ren aside without any effort and disappeared into the muddle of people who frequented the docks.

Ren was now staring at the open door and past it into the tavern. It would appear that the door of fate had just swung open. He stepped into the taproom and the door closed behind him. The decision was made.
Ren took a brief look around and immediately spotted the small group of odd people sitting and standing around a table on the other side of the room. The centre of attention was a Ventus, this was certainly the one he was supposed to meet. Eolas.

"Step one. Easier than expected." Ren muttered to himself while walking towards the table. The bartender greeted him with a welcoming smile, but Ren just made a quick declining gesture. He did not feel like drinking anything right now.
As was his habit, he put his hands in the pockets of the black coat he was wearing. Upon reaching the table, Ren realized that the other people were heavily armed. The short sword hanging on his waist seemed awfully small right now. However, he was not here to fight, but to talk.

"Ren Evath. I assume you are Eolas?"

[User]
Hector walked into the bar, pulling the cloth covering his face down as he did so. It was only polite, after all. He was cold. Granted, he was always some degree of cold, even in what passed for warm in Vrent. Is this country never warm? He wondered for perhaps the hundredth time, briefly examining the room. It seemed comfortable enough, if crafted for the Ventus. Not that it's current occupants had any trouble with the size of the place.

More giants, wonderful. He had long ago gotten used to the fact that he would forever be dwarfed in this country, but there was always that slight hope when he went into a new venture that someone who wasn't a child would be at least his height. A foolish hope, true, but one always had to have something to hope for. The simple hope of not dying had stopped working when he abandoned his tribe. Well, he had come here to find Eolas and seeing as there was only one person who it could be Hector made his way over to the growing gathering.

He paused only briefly to talk to the tavern owner, his soft voice carrying only the hint of an accent. "Water, please." He didn't understand what the draw of alcohol was, nor why people partook in it. People in this country didn't value water enough. Probably because they always had plenty of it at hand. He only chuckled at the look the man gave him, and turned to more closely examine the people he would be working with. Three of them were obviously warriors. Front line fighters too. Scars all around, weapons on two of them, and that same dangerous air that told you they had killed once and would likely kill again.

The fourth one was different. While as tall as the rest of the gathered company, he didn't have that same air. Perhaps he was just a scholar, or perhaps he was hiding something that Hector couldn't detect. Something dangerous. Like those Gods Cursed new weapons and technology. He thought darkly, before taking his water with a 'thank you' and continuing over to the gathering.

"My name is Hector. A pleasure to meet all of you." He said, nodding to each of the gathered people in turn. It never hurt to be polite.