[System]
Title: The Demonic Pope
Class: Rider
Gender: Male
Alignment: Neutral Good
Attribute: Man
Era: Medieval
Personality:

His inability to read the mood is beyond compare, often resulting in the appearance of stoicism due to his perception of how a pope should remain regal at all times. Perhaps it would be better to compare him to a "man pretending to act human" rather than a human.

Sylvester will also always listen to Meridiana, regardless of what she says, and will act upon her will, as he was once told by one of the people in his monastery that a " good husband always follows his wife", and he wishes to replicate being a "good husband" to his loving wife, even if he doesn't truly comprehend the emotion himself.

Meridiana, or Meri, as she asks to be called by Sylvester, tends to act as she wants as if she is a princess without any sort of restraint, of which Sylvester doesn't seem keen on stopping. Regardless, she seems to not request many things of Sylvester, knowing that his sense of obligation often outweighs any rational he might possess. According to Meridiana, there was nothing particularly special about when she had first met Sylvester, but that has changed.

However, if there is one thing that is true about both of them, it is that they love one another greatly.

Weapon: His fists, His Wife
Parameters:
STR: D
CON: D (C)
AGI: B (B+)
MGI: B (A)
LCK: E
Class Skills: Magic Resist: B: Cancel spells of B-Rank or below.

Riding: EX: The ability to ride. However, to someone like Sylvester, who cannot seem to even ride even the most basic of things with any sort competency, or perhaps refuses to ride most anything, he might not qualify for a rider.

The truth of the matter is that he is only adept at riding a single entity…

Personal Skills:
Jacob's Limbs (False): B+ (A+)

Perhaps not truly the fighting style developed by Jacob, however, it holds a similar effect. Surely someone who had at one time defeated the king of hell himself with little more than his fists. He could, however, not defeat him in the steel cage rematch 1v100 battle. This skill also applies to Meridiana.

The Hanging Bridge: -

The ability to create a possibility that neither exists on "heaven nor earth"; to make a 0 into a 1. To create a possibility out of nothing.

Battle Continuation C (B):

Survived while being disemboweled by the devil for hours before being dragged into hell. The ability to survive with deadly wounds and persist through them, battling on.

Noble Phantasm(s):
Name: Meridiana
Title: The Demonic Possession of a Sinful Pontiff
Rank: A+
Classification: Anti-Unit
Range: -
Maximum Number of Targets: -
Description: The greatest friend and lover to Pope Sylvester. The Woman who had made him from but a simple man, wasting his existence in a monastery, into the highest position in the Catholic church.

An ancient succubus, Meridiana was the sort of woman who never believed they would fall in love with such a man, but she couldn't help her feelings once they started. Meridiana normally keeps herself attached to her Husband's as a replacement for the right hand and left eye the devil had taken from him due to her ability to shapeshift. She vowed she would never forgive that man for his transgressions against her love, even if it meant revolting from hell itself.

Name: Meridiana
Title: The Brazen Head Eye of Providence
Rank: B
Classification: Anti-Unit
Range: -
Maximum Number of Targets: -
Description: A calculation device of sorts that utilizes Yes (1) and No (0) in order to create appropriate responses based on interpretations of this data.

Though observation increases the speed at which the data can be converted into "information", it is not necessary, for it would be active even if the user was to lose their eyes. Perhaps it could be closer to "revealing the truth of the world" rather than a conversion of data, but to someone like Sylvester, whom only thought of the world in his mathematical calculations prior to meeting Meridiana, it seems to have taken this effect.

It should be noted that the data cannot be "changed" but merely "observed", but as long as it is possible to be "observed", it should not be a problem to calculate. Something that interprets what "is".

Some stories revolving Sylvester conflate the two noble phantasms and the actions of Meridiana, thusly, they have been supplemented into one.

(Name: Godhand
Title: The Demonic Requium of the Sinful Pontiff
Rank:-
Classification: Anti-Unit
Range: -
Maximum Number of Targets: 1
Description: Not particularly a "noble phantasm" per se, but a skill that had reached the level of a noble phantasm. To momentarily be granted power for a limited action that would allow a mere mortal to reach the level of the man who had pushed even the lord of hell Satan to his ropes, forcing him to cut a deal for his life. Though one does not have to state anything to activate the skill, due to his conditioning Sylvester often states the attack as he commits to it.)

[User]
---

---

CODE-NAME: KHRYSEOSForeign District
Abandoned Subway Station, Paris Metro Underground

---

Lord
A hooded man stood solemnly in the dimly lit tunnel under a bustling city. The soft hum of machinery filled the otherwise silent tunnel, which was occasionally broken by the distant passing subway. The only source of light in the room was the twitching lights on the sides of the tunnel's walls, dimming slowly as the life slowly died out from the antiquated bulbs. It was a dark place, meticulously scouted out by one so brave as to walk through the many tunnels of the Paris Metro by foot, a place that could not easily be stumbled upon by the average man. It was a place suitable to serve as a workshop for a magus...

... if one were to call this hooded man a magus, that is.

Isidore pulled out a metallic canister from the gym bag slung across his shoulder. Kneeling down, he pushed a button on the side of the canister, causing a glowing sky blue liquid to be produced, a compound consisting of Mercury, Actinium, and [ELEMENT UNKNOWN]. As Isidore poured the compound on the ground, he made sure to trace it meticulously, shaping it into a ritual circle. The process was slow and careful, with Isidore making sure that the circle was shaped correctly while using as little of the compound produced from the canister as possible. It would be troublesome if he ran out of fuel before the war came to a conclusion, after all.

Once that was complete, Isidore placed the canister back in his bag before producing another object, a pair of ancient leather armbands with black blotches on them, stains of blood. They belonged to his ancestor, the first Gavros to enter the Atlas Temple in a bygone age. The bands were soaked with the sweat of the first Gavros, who sought to perfect the ancient art of Pankration. Using these armbands as a catalyst, Isidore's intentions were to draw upon another master of the martial arts his family practiced. Not only did Isidore wish to compare the work of the Gavros to one who had also practiced the art in ancient times, but he had also wished to summon a shining example of humanity in order to perhaps emulate. Of course, this meant he had a specific Servant in mind. Placing the armbands in the center of the circle before stepping back, Isidore pulled his hood down, pointing an outstretched metallic palm towards the circle.

"Heed my words. My will creates your body..."

[Assistant]
---

Montmarte - Sacre Coeur Basilica.

Minutes before sundown

Yazhu Hua

Mentions: Tristan (@KoL)

---

 Paris. The capital city of France. The city of love, and home of many cultural heritages. An ancient place, where every stone in the streets houses so many stories that it'd take decades to learn of what happened on an alleyway. And, most importantly, a land of such an unparalleled quality for a magus that anyone would do anything for the mere chance of holding it. Anything.

 Thinking in hindsight, it came to no surprise to Yazhu why her family did what they did. After all, what's a blot of blood in a family's deeds with such a reward in their sights? The Jins could even be blamed for being so careless and trusting of their subordinates with something as important as a shard of the Round Table. Generations upon generations of deceased magus must have settled on an amphitheater in the afterlife to welcome the arriving soul of the Master that never came to be with outstretched fingers and howling laughter.

 Yet, it didn't sit right in any way. For her, the woman who was sent on behalf of a traitorous family simply because she was the most capable of them all, it was a stain that could never be erased and that she could do nothing about. She was roped in machinations and thrown into France with enough money to get by the following days, an apology as they had to do it all under the eyes of the Jins and a warning to stay away from the Foreign District, just in case. They may as well have given her a jacket lined with explosives.

 The melancholic sound of a harp reached her ears from behind her. At least, she wasn't alone in this. Even if he was bound to her because of the nature of this war, knowing that she had one of the Knights of the Round Table protecting her was enough to calm her down. It was an odd situation, in hindsight, and Yazhu had to be honest with herself in that she didn't know what to do. This was the opposite of her life's work, and she was barely able to cope up with it.

 She hoped that Tristan hadn't noticed just how much his Master was a fish out of water. The summoning process on itself was, thankfully, without any sort of damage to her room thanks to the detailed instructions in the note from her father, and the shock from having a legendary hero in front of her wasn't as great as she thought it would've, but it was nevertheless impressive. After a long while composed of introductions and Yazhu asking questions to the Archer in order to fill the blanks her family had failed to inform her of, the chinese woman had declared that they'd set out to explore the city to know the ground they'd be treading better.

 That was what she had said at the moment, but there was an underlying reason for that request as well. Something that she was still trying to wrap her head around at this moment, and something that she couldn't get out of her mind as she experienced the french capital: She wasn't going to see this city the same way in the following days, or even for the rest of her life. This was her last chance to see the city with normal eyes, and take the sights it had to offer her. Tristan himself had a few suggestions as to where he wanted to go, and she was more than happy to oblige.

 And now, atop the central dome of the Sacre Coeur Basilica, the highest point that the building had to offer, they were both waiting for the night to arrive. The sun, a painfully slow pendullum of the impending doom and the unseen war that was about to sully the streets of Paris, slowly pulled the thin blanket of light that it had cast over the buildings hours ago, buildings that refused to yield to the darkness and lit sparks of orange amidst the sea of darkness. Tristan played a gentle tune as the minutes until the start of the war ticked down. They hadn't spoken much since they arrived: she was absorbing her new situation whilst looking at that picture in her wallet and he was playing his harp. But Yazhu had a pit inside of her chest that she wanted to share, something she had come to realize after all of today.

 "To die and to be killed..." she spoke out to her red-haired compation, lifting her gaze from the face of her niece towards the last remains of sunlight and safety disappearing in the horizon. "At first, they seemed like the same thing to me. But they're much more different than I thought. Before this, I could've died because I was meant to protect someone. Now, I'm gonna be killed because of who and what I am." Her gloved hands folded her wallet and placed into one of the pockets of the voluminous black coat she was wearing, her only protection from the cold winds of such a high place.

 The former bodyguard turned to face her Servant before making her request. "It feels odd asking for this, but could you please protect me from that fate? There's someone I have to get back to later". His answer came alongside the moonlight, prompting Yazhu to pull out a watch to check on the time. "I'll be counting on you... Archer" she responded. The use of the term was necessary, but it left a bad taste in her mouth. It made him feel alien to her and, despite all, it reminded her of just how truly alone she was in this war. "Lead the way, I'll be with you. At the very least, I'd like to be of use to you".

[User]
Sylvester & Meridiana, Rider
Seine Right Bank, Business District

"Paris is a lot different than when I was walking the world. To think that humans had tamed what was once thought impossible; from the skies to the ocean's great waves. I'm genuinely impressed with the modern man. I care not where we go. I am just satisfied we have left that dreary place."

Though the tone which Sylvester stated his claim seemed monotonous and without much conviction, he seemed genuine in his appreciation. After all, the story of Sylvester II was a story of sacrifice to obtain knowledge and power. Though to him, he cared not about the power for himself.

A scholar who worked tirelessly to obtain what was the "truth" of the world. Perhaps, then, he could empathize with the magi who had summoned him and his Heroic Spirit ensemble to the world once more to take part in the Grail War. After all, to reach the swirl of the root was something all magi strove for, just as ravenous for knowledge as Sylvester had been in life.

"I had promised to win you a Grail War, Master. And that is what I'll do. With my own two hands, I shall grasp victory for you. After all, I have a stake in this war as well. Toget-"

That was when a sound had cut off Sylvester's train of thought, coming from seemingly nowhere, yet apparent all the same.

"You mean our hands, right?"

After a few moments of contemplating the voice's words, closing his eyes in thought for but a fraction of a second before shortly opening them.

"Of course. Our hands."

Taking but a few moments to get back to the topic he was previously on, and the question that his Master had asked of him, Sylvester continued.

"I suppose I care not where we go, Master. I am content almost anywhere. Though my wife might not particularly care much for "anywhere". Perhaps you know of a nice place we could enjoy ourselves? I do have to take the missus out occasionally, right?"


[System]
Appearance: Her hair is completely white and has been cut into a bob with side swept bangs to frame her heart shaped face. Her features are soft, from a button nose to Cupid's bow lips, only her grayish blue eyes are the "sharpest" feature she has that give off the vibe that she can see into people despite her long lashes giving her an innocent appearance.

She's very pale, and has a few scars, like at her earlobes where earrings have been snatched from her ears to the line across her neck that people speculate as the reason she's mute. Standing at only 5'4", she is fairly small and has a violin type body with love handles on her wide hips. Her nails are slightly grown out and are normally left unpainted.

Mostly wears large sweaters that engulf her frame as well as hide her shorts almost and high socks that stop at her thighs. Though she favors one hoodie in particular that has a large front pocket and cat ears attached to the hood itself, it's white with a pastel pink (left) and blue (right) sleeves. Often wears a choker of some kind around her neck to cover the scar.

Is forced to wear gloves by the staff to cover her hands so it's more noticeable when she goes out of her way to have skin contact with things.

Personality: Kathrine, or as she prefers to be called by anyone who listens, Kitty, is an escape artist who detests being there. The attempts seem to be something she has always done, but they might hear her voice chime in their head telling them each time the thought arises that she started doing it because they took her voice away. Not that she ever says how, but rumors spread easily when there isn't much else to do but follow the same routine day in and day out.

She isn't one for joking around outside of being sarcastic, but she doesn't try to dampen other people's fun. It's rare to see her interact directly with people when she isn't forced to, but being in the general vicinity is more the norm. And those around her never seem to suffer from any accidents despite how some of the younger kids are very clumsy when they get spooked from suddenly noticing she's there.

Whether it is actually her doing or not, she wouldn't say and those who dislike her privacy invading abilities never would attribute anything positive to her anyway. Her escape attempts have lessened now that she's been allowed to read new books after she finished the ones offered to the rest of the kids. She enjoys reading and puzzles, anything intellectually stimulating and distracting without requiring another person is really how she passes her time since she keeps her nose out of other people's business. Well, she tries.

Abilities: Telepathy (15pts), Telekinesis (7pts), Psychometry (8pts)
Doctor: Dr. Hayes

[User]
Lance was lying on the floor staring at the lights above. He had put down a blanket and pillow for comfort from the hard ground. The light would dim and then return to its proper illumination. He didn't pay much mind to the noise that was coming from the hall. It wasn't uncommon for guards to come and go moving people in and out. He leaned up from his cushion to see that his door was open, but there weren't any guards there to escort him. He looked at it with a raised eyebrow and turn over to his knees to stand himself up.

 People were talking outside, so he walked up to the entrance to his room to find that the door wasn't just open, but it had completely vanished. The mystery of the missing metal door quickly fell wayside as he spotted his neighbors also entering the hall. The other didn't seem all that concern about what the guards might think with them all out of their rooms. It just wasn't his door that had went missing. Now he was more confused. The missing door became his concern again. Where did all the doors go, and why wasn't anyone bothered by it?

 He leaned out, but kept most of his person still in the room as possible to see that Kitty and the others were gathering near what looked like a hastily made mound of metal acting like some sort of blockade. There was chatter on the other side, the noise he was hearing before, at least in part. Did one of them do that? Was it Axel? The person resting looked like Axel. Slowly, he left his room to meet the others. He gave a slight glance to Jain as he passed her to approach the others.

 "I don't think this is a good idea." he said softly at first. "What if they catch you?" The metal blockade looked bad. He didn't want to them to get into trouble. Then again, he wasn't sure if Axel could get out of this without getting in trouble, but at least he could help Kitty and the others.

[Assistant]
Felix had been struggling to understand the paper in his hands for a while now. Earlier he'd gotten curious about something scientific sounding Dr. Grey had mentioned and worked up the courage to ask what it meant, only to have been handed a paper well beyond what he could even begin to understand and promptly ignored. Still, Felix wanted to understand and as far as he was concerned surely Dr. Grey wouldn't have given him the paper if he couldn't have understood it.

Finally, Felix was drawn from his impossible task by the repetitive sound of something metal striking the floor as it moved along the corridor outside his room, followed by his door seemingly melting and disappearing as said thing ran by. Was that the guy who could control metal? Probably, Felix had heard Axel do similar things before and that would explain how the door had disappeared.

At first, Felix was content to leave it at that, not wanting to risk getting himself in trouble and expecting the guards to come running through at any moment like they usually did. When the guards didn't come however Felix felt his curiosity begin to rise, especially when he heard the sound of voices coming from the hallway. Still, leaving his room now was a bad idea, any number of things could go wrong if he stepped outside. What if he got in trouble? Or what if there was someone with a scary power waiting outside? Then again, he really wanted to know what was going on and it probably wouldn't hurt if he just took a peek...

Sticking his head out through the now doorless doorway, Felix could see the Axel and the other occupants of the hallway talking amongst each other, most having already left their rooms. Felix recognised the older kids at least and while he couldn't say he knew any of them well, he was pretty confident none of them were particularly dangerous, at least not any more than was normal. To the other end of the hallway, Felix could see a crude metal barricade, presumably formed by Axel as he ran past earlier. That was a little frightening, it meant for now he was trapped.

Had Axel trapped them in here on purpose? Probably not, Axel looked pretty tired. Then was it to keep something out? That would explain why the guards hadn't shown up. Then again, what if the barrier was to keep something else out entirely, like someone with a really scary power that had been chasing Axel? That would also explain why Axel looked tired. Or maybe this was all part of some kind of experiment or training?

Finally, between his curiosity to find out just what was going on, and the somewhat irrational fear that something horrifying would burst through the barricade to terrorise them at any moment, Felix decided to approach the rest of the group where they'd gathered in the hall. "Um... does anyone know what's going on?"

[User]
Laika didn't really sleep, as such.

Maintaining her intended operation made sleeping distinctly sub-optimal to performance, so part of the alterations were specifically designed to avoid that.
As such, she hadn't had a bed for a while.
Instead, at the time a certain other subject broke into the hallway on which here room was placed, Laika was in her default position: Sat on a mat on the floor, legs crossed, and arms in her lap.

The cables that ran from the back of her skull and shoulders hung loose, straight down her back, sometimes to the floor.
Her head, with angular features not really tinted from any abundance of sunlight, was tilted forwards. Her eyes were open, though at the moment displayed only an emissive white. Her actual visual was elsewhere, seeing all of this exchange from a whole different angle. That was, the security camera outside of the hall entrance.

She watched a lot of things. That was, ater all, what she was made for. Escapes weren't all that statistically unusual, though it wasn't often that things came quite so close or immediate.

It was only some moments after the removal of the doors that colour flooded back into Laika's eyes and she lifted her head, the silver rings of an iris moving with a quiet whirr of servos.

The voice from the facility's techno monstrosity didn't come from her mouth as such, but out of anything audio capable in the vicinity. She had been provided with some speakers for this usage, though it didn't prevent it speaking right out of intercoms from time to time.
It was a female voice, certainly, though far from anything natural there was a pitch-corrected artificiality about it.

"There has been a subject containment breach."

She tilted her head, over in Axel's direction, though it was always a little difficult to tell if Laika was actually looking at you, per se.

"Conditional on actions prior to arrival in this section you are currently in violation of at least eight facility codes."

[Assistant]
Axel looked at each of the kids as they came out of their rooms. He knew he was about to get a lot of questions. He didn't realize which hallway he was in until he saw which kids were coming out.

'What is it that you're up to this time?' Kitty asked, seeming to lead the group.

"The same as usual, just taking a breather," he answered.

"I used my power to create a barrier so I could get a couple of minutes of rest before I continue on back towards my room." Axel sighed.

"Is there a plan" Jain was next to ask.

"Plan to get out? Not yet. This just ended up being a wrong turn." Axel frowned with a sigh.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Lance said softly at first. "What if they catch you?"

"If you don't want to go down with me, I suggest retreating back in your room," Axel remarked, reaching to reattach his metal limbs.

"Um... does anyone know what's going on?" Felix questioned next.

"Alright, I'm only gonna say this once," Axel said as he rose to his feet. "If you want to run around with me, you're welcome to join. Otherwise, return to your rooms before you get in trouble. I don't want you to get hurt because of me." He placed his right hand against the barrier he made. "You have 10 seconds."

"Goddammit!" he yelled. "They already know where I am!" With his flesh arm, he punched the metal barricade, inadvertently punching a hole through it. "And there's bound to be some corrupted headed this way too!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the other side of the barricade, the guards saw Axel's fist fly through the metal. "He's trapped!" came the loud voice of the Sergeant. "Either he'll let down this barricade or he'll run into the trainees." He looked around at every person, nodding as each one held their weapons at the ready. "Either way, be ready for combat!" The guards cheered in response.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Trainees, this is Sergeant Marks. Subject 070705, codename Axel, is on the loose again. Subdue with non-lethal attacks only."

Many of the young teens whooped and hollered in joy. "Finally, some action," one of them laughed. They were more than ready to charge down the halls, and that's exactly what they did.

"Sergeant Marks, this is Hayden 050507. Trainees are on their way. What is his location?"

[User]
Kitty didn't need to turn her head to see what Axel was looking at. She could already hear them, their thoughts like an echo chamber in her own head thanks to the barriers that kept them separated having been removed by the metal manipulator in his attempt to buy time.

It was annoying hearing them all, especially when Laika decided to move closer.

She wasn't normal, hadn't been for a long time, and it showed from more than just her appearance. The whirling that came from her thoughts was by far the worst since the closest thing she could describe to the sound was something like a computer error being elongated into a screech that was how her thoughts, as minimal and instruction like as they were, was broadcasted to be like a voice. She would bet that had something to do with how she was more tech than person nowadays.

Fearful chittering was more apparent than anything else. Lance and Felix's voices were whispering it, softly while on the outside to Axel they asked the same question all of them had without realizing it.

Axel was growing more agitated the more it was asked, her gaze following him like a hawk as he sauntered away from her door and over to the barricade.

Zale wanted his plants. He didn't want to be here, being outside of his room meant bad things were going to occur to him and them.
Jain wanted to leave and assumed Axel had a way-

More voices pierced into her skull like a siren just as Axel's arm went through his own barrier, cutting off whatever train of thought Kitty had completely from the sudden influx. The people on the other side of it were starting to be bleed through. She couldn't hear Axel's yelling over the guards on the other side, the sound causing her to lift her hand up to her head as she swayed into her doorframe for support until the loudness of the new voices ebbed away enough for her to think.

'They've called for them.' The kids in the hall could all hear her voice in their head, though she was staring right at Axel, her eyes narrowed somewhat as she walked past all the kids to stand beside him, her gaze softening when she looked behind her at the younger ones in their current makeshift group; Vale, Jain, Felix, and Lance. 'And the guards are expecting a fight.'


[System]
Age: On the border between 17 and 18, soon-to-be if not already a high-school graduate depending on what season this RP takes place in
Gender: Female
Appearance:

Stand:
*Stand name: Black Betty
*Stand appearance: Black Betty takes the form of a girl not much older than Ram Jam who shares some of her physical characteristics. However, where Ram Jam is blonde and dresses primarily in white clothes, Black Betty has black hair and dresses in black clothes, like a mirror image of Ram Jam.
*Stand ability: Black Betty is one of the rare Stands with a personality, will, and agenda all its own. However, as it cannot exist independently without Ram Jam like other Stands such as Anubis, Black Betty is very protective of Ram Jam, and will frequently come to her aid without being called. The primary ability of Black Betty is its hawk-like precision and the ability to summon two muskets, one for Black Betty and one for Ram Jam, to be exchanged and wielded as they see fit. These muskets will never run out of ammo (although they must be reloaded) and fire bullets that can be guided mid-flight and travel arbitrarily faster or slower as Ram Jam demands, meaning they can easily pierce and continue through several targets and even solid objects or strike slowly and nonlethally. Black Betty also seems to increase Ram Jam's reaction time to bullet-timing levels, both to allow her to guide her bullets and to compensate in some way for Black Betty's absolute lack of defensive abilities, making her something of a glass cannon.
*Stand stats:
**Destructive power: D
**Speed: B
**Range: B
**Durability: E
**Precision: B
Weapon: Musket
Personality: Ram Jam is a smart, upstanding young woman with a pronounced sense of justice and empathy for others. Black Betty, on the other hand, is the opposite of every one of those things. Ram Jam grew up fantasizing about the romanticized glory days of the Old West, where puckish rogue lawbringers and lone wanderers brought peace to towns being terrorized by outlaws at the end of a gun barrel. She made it her ideal to be a hero like them and stand up for the little guy, bringing peace and justice to the world. This has made her into a very headstrong and stubborn girl who frequently gets herself into regrettable situations she could have avoided had she only had more wisdom than she had smarts. Black Betty can be considered her dark side or evil twin in this aspect. Whereas Ram Jam goes out of her way to care for others, Black Betty cares only for herself, and by extension Ram Jam. She's mischievous, underhanded and pragmatic, and is willing to lie and cheat to get what she wants. Whereas Ram Jam represents the ideal of an Old West cowboy who stands up for the law and upholds peace and justice, Black Betty represents the reality of an unscrupulous 19th century rogue less motivated by respect for the law and more by respect for themselves. Despite this, Ram Jam and Betty still get along like bickering sisters, with Ram Jam frequently having to apologize and clean up Betty's messes.
Bio: The daughter of a Japanese woman and an American soldier stationed in Okinawa, and that's all I'm gonna say for now (I wanna get this sheet up before any other gun Stand users show up).
What is courage?: To become one with fear itself.

[User]
Izayoi Grand Hospital - Ram Jam

Ram Jam didn't up all at once. Her return to consciousness was more of an in-and-out deal, brief moments of lucidity before drifting back to sleep. Each time these moments lasted a little longer, parts of her brain reawakening before others. Perhaps that was why it wasn't immediately worrying that she was in a hospital, or why she couldn't feel the pain until the very last time she woke upz

"Hhhhhhhhhh!" she wheezed, waking up in extreme pain with nothing else to vocalize. Air. She felt like she was being crushed. She needed air!

Each wheezy breath was a test of incredible endurance, the mere act of inflating her lungs taxing to the point of unreasonable difficulty. What happened to her?!

Ram Jam fought through the pain, and eventually it became manageable, not much worse than that one time she'd been hit in the chest by the baseball cannon in the batting cage. Before long she'd gotten the hang of breathing and dealing with the pain. She tried sitting up.

"What," she wheezed. "The hell happened? Are you okay, guys?"

[Assistant]
Izayoi Grand Hospital - James Maury

Breath deeply. In and out, in and out. No matter what, keep breathing. In and out, in and out. No matter the pain, keep breathing. In and out, in and out. Relax your body, and with every breath form a buffer between you and the pain.

There were certain Holy Men in the world that were able to walk on hot coals, pound spikes through their bodies, and even immolate themselves without letting out even one whimper of pain. They took that pain a boxed it away, separating it from themselves, putting it elsewhere. James had once contacted one such man, a monk from one of the highest temples in Tibet, and through almost a years correspondence convinced him to come on the show and share his wisdom and perspective. A technique for dulling pain wasn't featured in that episode (there was no telling what children would do while trying to replicate it) but James had housed the man personally during his stay and they'd talked long into the night about Tibet, a monks life, and the finer points of meditation.

Besides listening to his fellows converse James had spent the past few minutes, eyes clenched shut and sweating bullets from the agony, attempting to put what he'd learned to practical use. He was not, however, a Holy Man and this pain was like a ocean. He doubted even a master could put it all away and he was a rank amateur. But then someone bumped his bed and he diced that he simply must start to move. In all of his life he had never been the last one to wake up and greet the sun and he certainly wasn't going to let a lifelong streak be broken here.

Slowly sitting up into a seated position he looked around the room and nodded at each of them. "Fine, young lady. Everyone." He said shakily, before sliding his legs out of bed and letting them rest on the floor. "I'm afraid I remember only as much as Mr. Ves Hawkins. One, two, three, Uggghhher." He groaned, pushing himself out of bed and standing up. Looking around, he reached over and found his hat from the nightstand. It felt like lead, but he laboriously lifted it up and placed it back on his head. The added weight seemed to be enough to collapse his back to sitting, but at least he'd made progress.

Then he looked down to the side of the hospital bed and smiled weakly. "This will help explain things." He said, reaching down and pressing the Nurse call button on the beds remote control. "If nothing else a staff member will help us find the other young lady." He said, then looked over at the new face in the room. "I'm sorry." He said to Xander. "We were all within sight of one another during the event. There was someone else, a young lady as described by Mr. Yoyo. I'm afraid you're the odd man out, Mr...?"

[User]
Izayoi Grand Hospital - Yosuke Tsukino

Gibson, still nervous and hazy presumably, tried to remember for Yosuke. Yosuke smiled encouragingly as his comrade gathered himself and pulled all the details he could out of the mental fog.

"I'm sorry... I only just woke up, I... don't know if she's in this room, m- maybe in another ward? I apologize, that's all I know right now, last thing I remembered was... something in my chest... a wave of... cold? Followed by pain... Does that sound familiar?" Gibson explained. Yeah, yeah that did sound at least little reminiscent. Did they all get shot? A drive-by? They had recently assaulted someone, so it made sense. The only odd man out was the angry man, he wasn't there. Had both Yosuke and Gibson just forgotten about him?

The angry man got up, struggling even to speak. He must have gotten hit with a big brunt of the damage. He also asked about what the hell had happened, apparently everyone thought everyone else had all the answers. Or maybe it was that they hoped, that everyone else had all the answers. Gibson stuttered out an another answer, but this one was a bit more interesting. He described a black bullet, apparently magnetized to people. Yosuke found that a bit strange, but didn't question it. Maybe Gibson was hallucinating, or misremembering events. But whatever. Apparently they had been out for 18 hours, so Yosuke's parent's would be pissed, so that was another layer on top of the unfortunate events.

"That also begs me to ask... You felt the chest pains too, right? A feeling of... some sort of cold revitalisation, followed by... agony...? Like me? Me and Yosuke woke up with the same pain, i'm starting to think it's not a coincidence..." Gibson asked, trying to find out more about the situation. Yosuke thought that all this being related was pretty obvious, what with all of them except the angry man being in the same place, at the same time. He was really the linchpin, wasn't he? There were more important things to ask him, surely.

Yosuke opened up his mouth to intercept the question and ask the more important question of where he was and what he was doing before all this, but as soon as a syllable left his mouth, Yosuke heard the sound of a body slamming onto a hard tile floor. Tommy had fallen on the floor and mumbled something, probably cursing the pain or questioning his current situation, or both. He then got up, slowly, and made his way over to a wheelchair. The girl he had just met, Ram something-or-other, got up too, questioning everyone's health. Yosuke rubbed his chest a little. Still hurt, but whatever, he was tough, he could take it. "I'm, uh, I'm fine."

James McAfee, that guy Yukari had told him about, was also here. He too, confirmed he was well enough, minus the crippling chest pain. He seemed to have woken up earlier, having heard Gibson's recount of the tales, and confirming their accuracy, albeit while having nothing to contribute of his own. He did, however, remember that there was a "Nurse Call" button in hospitals, and gladly pressed it for them. Yosuke tuned everyone else out as he waited for the nurse. As soon as he heard the door click open, he attempted to bound to his feet. He grossly overestimated his current strength, however, and almost fell, grabbing the night stand at the last second. He shakily stood up, put on his glasses, and looked to the nurse. "Hey, Sir, do you know where Yukari Taiyo is? She's a little shorter than me, black skirt teal top, black hair, ringing any bells? Please?" Yosuke asked desperately. The man simply sighed and looked down. "I'm probably not supposed to tell you this, but you seem like a close friend, so... I'm sorry to inform you she passed away."

YoYo's eyes widened, and tears started forming. "W-what?" He asked, with a shaky voice. He must've misheard the man or... or something. "I'm sorry for your loss..." Was everything else the nurse said on the matter. YoYo blinked back tears and bit his lip. He refused to accept. Surely she had gotten out of the way, the nurse was... was lying. He shakily sighed and sat back on his bed, before lifting his glasses and wiping the spare tears that managed to slip past him. He quickly cleared his throat, and decided to focus on other things. "S-so, uh... what's up? How Ya'll- How you guys holdin' up?" YoYo asked with a silent sniffle and a smile even he could tell was faked. He just wanted someone or something to just... distract him. He didn't want to think. Not about her, about yet another person ripped from his grasp.

[Assistant]
Izayoi Grand Hospital - Ram Jam

Someone... had died? Yosuke's friend died? The news somehow hit Ramika even harder than the bullet did. She got up, shakily hobbling towards Yosuke.

"Oh Yoyo..." she said, doing her best to comfort him by wrapping him in a warm hug.

It was an odd feeling when someone like Yukari passed away. You didn't know them. You could never pretend to. They were someone who'd only been in your life for a few seconds at most, but when they left... somehow, in its own way, it was even more devastating than losing a close relative. When the victim is someone you know, it's easy to rationalize their death away as having meaning or purpose, some sort of role to play in the story of your life, where you're the protagonist. When your uncle or your father dies, it feels like Luke losing Obi-wan. It's crippling and tragic, but also empowering in the things they'd left you in your passing. Experience, determination, humility. Things like that.

But when someone you barely know dies, the death feels somehow senseless. They weren't detached enough from you to feel like another nameless victim, but not close enough that you'd know anything about them. You had no relationship to them. All that left was a feeling of emptiness and recognition of how cruel the world could be. Someone else, maybe someone you do know well, just lost their Obi-wan, and all you could do for them as you watched them suffer through the loss was grieve with them. It made Ramika feel so powerless.


[System]
Gender: M

Age: 35

Place of Birth: Seattle, WA

Sexuality: Hetero

Relationship Status: Vin was engaged to a girl he'd been together with since his late teens, and through unforeseen circumstances, the relationship ended.

Occupation: Co-partner of several tattoo shops along the East Coast of the United States, mostly located in upscale areas, Buckhead being one of them.

Skills: A vast background in traditional art, with a focus on tattooing and the use of various inks and their properties.

Power: Tattoo & Body Art Manipulation

Essentially, a telepathic ability that allows him a certain degree of control over the ink used for the tattoos, thereby giving "life" to an otherwise static image on his (or a chosen target's) skin. His ability is most potent when used on his own tattoos, allowing him to lift the imagery from the skin, solidifying it, and giving it a brief independance from the host body. (i.e. A crow tattoo on his chest can "peel" away, transform into solid mass, and fly around).

Natural tattooing inks created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.

As a defensive mechanism, if threatened, the tattoo ink will protect itself (and the host), adapting and shielding Vin from physical attacks for a limited amount of time.

Areas that are covered in tattoos also have the potential to heal much quicker, as the artwork essentially "repairs" the affected area. The more severe the wound, the longer time it takes to completely heal and the more mental exhaustion is incurred.

Cost of Power Use: Causes varying degrees of mental fatigue & migraines, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic he can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where the power, if not kept in check, could lash out violently toward others or the host himself as it begins to take on a life of it's own...
Appearance: Vin stands about 6'1, tall and lean. He generally keeps a closely trimmed beard or clean shaven face, and a neatly comb head of thick dark auburn hair. His wardrobe tends to lean toward a "chic rocker" fashion in blacks & grays, more so to impress the higher-end clientele. His arms, chest and back are covered in various tattoos of fantastical venomous creatures, tribal & gothic patterns, life, death, and various symbols that only he may know anything about.

Personality: Vin comes off as relatively light-hearted and easygoing, and yet can easily be identified as borderline narcissistic due to the fact that he seems to "know everything about everything" and holds nobody else but himself in high regard, which can reflect in his close professional and personal relationships. He is inherently stubborn and critical about a great many things, especially related to artwork, and his intense focus can be misinterpreted as being "socially disconnected" when in the middle of a project as he doesn't tolerate distractions very well.

Generally, however, he's a guy that goes along to get along, and enjoys to socialize in circles where there may be an opportunity for gain or pleasure. As an artist himself, he loves art, especially body art, which he'll gladly discuss with anyone who will listen to his incessant ramblings which inevitably circle around to him talking about himself.

History: As "deceptive appearances" go, Vin had always managed to keep his life running against the grain as much as possible, turning his nose to rules and regulations that seemed to only work for everyone else but him. Although he'd never let on that he had an ounce of the proverbial anarchist in him. Growing up in Seattle during the late eighties, early nineties, he found himself in the midst of the grunge scene, which influenced not only his outlook on life and society, but his love for various rock music and art. His family life was rather eventless (some would even say "normal"); both parents got along, worked hard at their respective blue-collar jobs, and generally made a bearable life in the Lower Queen Anne area of the city. As most good parents did, they both encouraged their son to do something meaningful with his life...

Of course, "meaningful", was a matter of interpretation.

Vin loved the city, especially the underground scenes, and most of his time was spent running with his wayward friends, getting into the seediest dumps to see their favorite bands play or hanging with the best local street artists, painters, and tattoo kings that Seattle had to offer. As his artistic talents flourished, he also reaped the rewards of diligence and hard work. He eventually turned his focus on tattooing, which it seemed everyone was willing to pay good money for, no matter their social status. At seventeen, he'd saved enough from various art jobs to share rent on an apartment in the downtown area, closer to where the action and the money was. Vin was a dreamer, and he wanted to keep the film rolling as long as possible. He'd met, for the first time, a girl he could really see sharing his already chaotic life. A girl who shared many of his own passions and aspirations, which gave Vin the feeling that he could really control the relationship and all its variables.

Funny thing how our own interpretations sharply contrast the harsh reality of things...

Years passed quickly as they would for those living a life that seemed to be an endless party. But for Vin, the fun hit rock bottom when his soon-to-be wife had decided to lavish herself in the lifestyle of another man. A man who seemingly had his shit together and gave her the world. The blowback became a stain that stuck in the forefront of Vin's mind, degrading his outlook of a future he hoped would have been shaped by his own hands. The solid relationship he once had with his parents began to suffer as he spiraled downward and pushed away a lot of people in the process. He eventually made it to a point where was ready to move on, to leave his old life and hopefully never return until he felt ready to return.

And he'd found the perfect way out...

Vincent reached out to James, an old friend who'd moved to the east coast to start up a chain of tattoo and body art shops mainly located in upscale areas. James knew the business, and even the rich enjoyed the opportunity to leave a lasting mark, whether it was social prestige or simply ink on their body, he'd gladly offer it all. Vin, confident in knowing that his artwork would be a great addition to his friend's business, didn't hesitate to take advantage of becoming a co-partner, quickly moving from his hometown of Seattle to a hi-rise apartment in the heart of Atlanta, Georgia.

[User]
Eli pointed at the Kitchenette with his free hand, "There are plenty of MREs and shit like that in the cabinets. Its better than you think and it's got everything the body needs." Eli said as he stood up and lit a cigarette.

"The kid that drove you here is Eric Miller. He's solid and got heart. That's all ya'll need to know. The girl is Christabell Raines. She's recently offed her abusive father and her brother is screaming up and down that he's gonna kill me and her both." Eli took a deep drag and exhaled slowly. "I don't like his chances to be honest. Already killed a few of his buddies. And… I'm Elijah Craigh. United States Air Force Special Tactics Officer. I have a Medal of Honor, two Air Force Crosses, a few Silver Stars, and Presidential Commendations. Which means, I'm one of the best in the world at getting the other guys to die for their beliefs or country or whatever and I'm scared shitless of the guys pulling the strings." He took another deep drag.

"I don't why anyone has powers or whatever the hell they are. I know the that hacked into your car, and called me calls himself Julian Guiderone. He's a complete and total ghost. I tried to get contacts from the CIA, NSA, Interpol, and just about every Special Operations group to get me something on the guy but everyone says he doesn't exist. I met him face to face in Bosnia when I was attached to a Delta Force unit… shit I think over a couple hundred people died in that operation. Official story was a gas line or something for blew. Wherever he goes massive amounts of people die… He's polite though, I'll give him that." Eli finished his cigarette and dropped it in the floor. He never bothered looking up from staring at the ground. Just thinking about the spook was enough to make him look visibly uncomfortable.

"... Next question…."

[Assistant]
She offed her old man? Nate tilted the his head at Christi as he looked her over. She didn't look like much. Certainly not like a killer. But then she wasn't the first kid he had heard of killing an aabusive parent. There was only so far you could push a person before they push back. And the harder you push someone the harder they pushed back. Nate was rather proud of her actually. Maybe killing her old man was a little excessive but he wasn't the one being abused so who was he to judge? He made a mental note to give her some numbers to call after this was all finished. He imagined there wasn't much support for abused kids out on the sticks.

At the mention of Julian Guiderone, Nate seemed to lose all interest in Christi and his head snapped around to Eli. His brow furrowed as he tried to put a face to that name. It sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't for the life of him think why. It was like a mental itch he just couldn't scratch. Eli mentioning that the man was a ghost eased his mind slightly but not enough that he felt comfortable. He would have to do some digging of his own. Just to see if his contacts could pull up something Eli's hadn't. It wasn't that he didn't trust Eli...He just didn't trust anyone...Including Eli.

"None of it makes any sense." Nate mused, more to himself than talking to anyone else. "Why would he want us all together? He obviously wants to use us for something...Either that or they just want to get us all in one place so it's easier to take us all out" He said it in a very matter of fact manner and it was one he had actually used himself, but upon seeing the faces of some of the others, he laughed awkwardly and added "...But I'm sure it's not that."

[User]
"Where will we go?"

Christi's voice was small and trembled slightly as she peered over her knees at the others. To say that her day had not been going well was an understatement. Back in the cave, she had nearly had had a panic attack when she had finally looked up after Danny had left, and found that Eli was nowhere to be seen, even though he clearly sounded like he was right in front of her. The fact that the same phenomena hadn't happened to Eric when he returned had been somewhat reassuring, but any calming effect he might have had was banished by his own panicked state. It had taken Christi… a while, before she had finally calmed down enough to leave.

She'd retreated into herself after that, and the ride to the meeting place had passed in relative silence. She'd even managed to sleep a little bit, fitful and uncomfortable as it had been. Now, she was in a cabin with a bunch of people who, aside from Eli, she didn't know at all or what they might want from her.

Unfortunately, it was looking like she was likely going to be with them for quite a while. Christi didn't know what exactly had happened in the cave, or at home, but even she recognized that it wasn't normal, and apparently these people were able to do similar things. From what Eli was saying, there was also somebody else responsible for bringing them together. It might have been safer for Christi to just leave and live on her own, but from the way Eli was talking, she would probably end up back with these people at some point anyway. She didn't trust them, but at this point, she might not have a choice in the matter.

[Assistant]
An odd silence fell over the room for a moment when Nate opened his mouth, most likely using scare tactics, or just being Nate. But the idea of some unknown "man in the shadows" didn't sit well with Vincent. He wasn't one for surprises, unless they included a stripper popping out of a cake, but that wasn't the case now, probably never again considering where all of this landed him. He held Jennifer's hand, as even she seemed considerably unhinged by the ordeal, and was shaking a bit, no doubt partly from lack of food. Being city folk, her and Vincent were both out of their natural elements, and the middle of nowhere was definitely the last place Vincent would have wanted to go.

"Sit tight" He said to Jennifer, as though she had much of a choice to go anywhere else.

Vin got up and headed over toward the kitchenette that Eli had mentioned. For whatever reason, he was rather impressed by the guy's laundry list of awards and commendations, which also left him with two thoughts: either this guy will be a huge help to the group, or he will go ballistic and kill everyone. The latter thought, of course, causing a lump in his throat to form as he passed the rough looking soldier. Instead, he focused on finding something to eat and maybe even a drink to take off the edge.

"So...what the hell is an 'M-R-E'?" He said outloud, cutting through the otherwise dull chatter between Eli and Nate, as he rummaged through the few cabinets he found. "And why doesn't it sound all that tasty?"

Vincent opened a small pantry closet, and initially didn't find anything of interest, but as he pushed a few old rusted cans of what could have easily been pre-civil war green beans aside, he noticed a rather large mason jar with clear liquid and a sealed lid. "Now what do we have here…" He mumbled as he pulled the jar out and held it up to the light, noticing the contents were about as clear as they come.

"Any idea what's in here?" He asked while in the middle of trying to loosen the lid, which unscrewed rather easily after a few seconds. "Whoa!" His nose scrunched up and eyes squinted at the pungent aroma that flowed out of the jar. "Holy shit, this stuff smells like paint thinner and apple juice!" He exclaimed in between choking on the harsh fumes.

"Who wants to try it first?" He grinned, hoping to break up the monotony in the room.


[System]
Alias: Blitz

Position: eleventh grade (high school junior)

Abilities/powers: Electricity manipulation/generation - Shawn has the ability to control, direct, and create electricity from his body. He is essentially a living, rechargeable battery

Electromagnetic manipulation - a sub power to his electricity manipulation, Shawn has also started to learn how to control electromagnetic fields, using them and warping them to his aid. This is very much a lesser power to Shawn, and he can only use it to assist with his electricity manipulation.

Plasma Absorption- Shawn can absorb any form of plasma and take it into his body, storing it for later use. However, he can only hold so much before it starts to have negative effects on his body, warping his senses and even causing body spasms. The level of plasma he is holding can usually be discovered through his eyes.

electrical immunity- due to his abilities, Shawn does not feel pain from electricity, nor to outside electrical forces have any effect on his body, unless it is an inhuman amount and something not even he can contain.

Sex: Male

Age/Date of Birth: 16 - May 7th, 1983

General appearance:

Shawn stands at five feet, eight inches, Not as tall as his titan of a mother, but he is already taller than his father. Though he has a rather lithe build, he's strong enough to tackle most problems with his body, though he prefers to use his powers over brute force.

Additional Appearance/costume:

More of a prototype than anything, Shawn rigged up his own suit with the assistance of those in the school. The faceplate beneath the visor of the motorcycle helmet has small nodes on the inside to interact with Shawn's powers, allowing him to change the colors of the mask at will. The entire suit is lined in a similar way, the crevasses glowing with the activation of his powers, much like the suits from the movie TRON.

Personality:  Though a self proclaimed 'chiller', Shawn is at the point in his life where he is so stressed out that it has made him numb and even. He swears that he's listening, especially when his head is propped up with his arm and there's a trail of droll leaking from his mouth. He does try, though. He is a bit of a perfectionist in the few things he can actually focus on, but otherwise airy to the world around him. He is the worst combination of "driven to take on the world" and "could not get off the couch for unlimited money". He likes to talk, mindless chatter and banter during fights, but mostly just whispering conversations and thoughts to himself, slinging thoughts and ideas around from him to himself.

Special Skills: Escrima Stick proficiency, Tonfa proficiency, moderate athleticism, moderate wiring skills.

Place of birth: Massachusetts, USA

Weapon(s) of choice: Shawn... borrowed, two old police batons to work with his powers, juicing them up with delicious electricty to pack an extra punch.

Medical information: Fit as a fiddle.

Brief History:Born to a hearty Irish mother and immigrant father, Shawn was raised in a house of mixed cultures was was spectacularly odd. Both of his parents were mutants, his mutations being an amalgamation of theirs. When his powers came, his family welcomed them with open arms, and the town was curious, but not negative of his abilities. However, his parents could only teach him so much. He was sent off to the Xavier school to further hone his powers and help those in need.

Relatives: (Any living, dead, or important relatives your character may have)

Name: Doctor Booker "Blake" Smith, PhD

Alias: Lightsmith

Position: Student Councilor, Therapist, Substitute Teacher

Abilities/powers: Light Manipulation, "Hard Light Constructs" - Blake has the ability to channel "Mana" and create solid structures out of light. The strength of the constructs depends on how much mana he makes it out of, and is also dependent on his physical energy. His constructs can shatter if he is not strong enough, and he can make them move and morph at will.

Sex: Male

Age/Date of Birth: 36 years old, 2/5/1963

General appearance:

Additional Appearance/costume:

Personality:Lax and Easygoing, Blake was a part of one of Professor Xavier's first classes after the Apocolypse incident, and only left the institute to get his degree in psychology. He returned to the institute to help Charles and stand in for any of the big X-men and women when they could not teach their own classes. Not exactly a hippy or a guru, but he does sometimes drift into those categories.

Special Skills: Doctorate in Psychology, pistol training, combat training.

Place of birth: California

Weapon(s) of choice: His constructs, namely. He has an emergency pistol that he can pour mana into and fire light, but hardly uses it.

Medical information: (Any medical conditions your character may have, not a necessity)

Brief History:

Relatives: (Any living, dead, or important relatives your character may have)

[User]
"And zat, my students, is the outlining plot of Homers famous poem, ze Illiad." A man, if one would be so kind enough to call him that, paced back and fourth across a stage. A book was held in his gloved hands, its cover a soft tan, browns and blues painted in greek stylings. His hands obscured the title from being seen, but the teens before him all knew what the book was, as it was the story that he had been lecturing the students on for the class. "Of course, you should already have known all of zat if you did your vurk as vus instructed." He leered to a few of the teens, granting him shifty and nervous smiles in return as they knew that he knew they skipped out on their reading.

He seemed confident in his words, almost to a point where it could be considered cocky. However close to the truth that was, it was not entirely correct. His blue skin, pointed ears, glowing eyes and floating prehensile tail gave him a rather demonic appearance that he was not always proud of.

His hair, grown down to almost touch his chin, was silky and smooth, not that he would allow anyone to touch it. He wore a simple back coat with a high collar and a pair of loose fitting jeans to allow him to move as he pleased. However, that stopped down at his feet, where glove-like fittings covered his unusual, two-toed feet.

He was comfortable, how he walked so easily back and fourth on the stage as his students looked up him from the ground and in the stands. He wanted for them to be comfortable in where they learned in his class. They could choose to be on the stage, sitting down on the ground just before him, or further back in the stands if they felt so inclined to be there. Relative distance never mattered much to him, the acoustics were wonderful in the theater hall and everyone from any seat would be able to hear him clearly.

He cleared his throat to speak, but something in one of the seats had forced him to pause. A single brow raised in curiosity, his feet stopped and his body turned to face the object of his thoughts. "Oh?" He smiled and looked to his students, nodding in the direction of one sleeping Shawn In. "It appears zat someone has forgotten zat zis is ze time for learning, not for sleeping." He smiled wickedly as he neared the boy sleeping in one of the chairs, his arm propped up to support his head.

The Drama teacher could hear the class talking among themselves to decide the fate of the unlucky boy who had made the mistake of falling asleep before the most mischievous teacher in the school.

He dropped off the stage with ease, stepping slowly and carefully to see the sleeping boy as he sat there in the seat. Upon further inspection, the boy had been trying to stay awake. smuggled energy drinks could be seen on the floor next to his feet, all empty as he attempted to keep himself from this fate. Notecards and notes in general were all over the small table that sprang up from the arm of the seat, spilling onto the ground. Of course, the book of today's topic, the Iliad, was resting underneath Shawn's elbow. The bookmark, barely sticking out from between the papers was near the end, but not close to finished.

The teacher smiled and looked back at his students. Try as he might, there was no way that he wasn't going to punish Shawn for falling asleep. For getting so close, he might pull a punch or two, but the boy did need to get his act together.

"So, class." He said to his students. "What shall ve be doing with Mister In here? Hang him from ze ceiling? Put him in costume? Pretend as if he had slept through the millennia and woken up to disaster?" There were so many possibilities, but the pranking would have to be halted for now.

His hand slowly reached up to his temple, his eyes widening as he received a message from the Headmaster of the institute, Charles Xavier himself.

"Oh? Iz he here zat soon? I vill make sure that the class velcomes him with open arms. Who will be escorting him here?" He knew that Charles could simply read his thoughts, but he simply preferred to speak aloud instead.

"That would be me." The legendary Boy Scout of the X-Men himself, Scott Summers, opened the door to the theater hall and stood as dramatically as he could, a young boy with a closely shaved head standing next to him. Scott's hand rested upon the young boy's shoulders. He patted the shoulder and took a step forward, ushering the boy forward.

"Kurt, I'll leave him with you." The students, especially the younger ones, never got tired of seeing the big faces of the X-Men around, especially Ororo, Scott, and Raven. Scott wasn't quick to leave, but said little else as Kurt nodded back to him and left the boy continuing on his path to Nightcrawler. Briefly, he paused and turned back around. "Oh, right. The Professor wanted me to let you know that Doc Clement.... Something about him. Don't be surprised if he pops up, Professor wants to make sure the boy if adjusting well medically."

"Evervone," Kurt smiled at his students. "Zis is Peter, and he will be joining all of you in my class, and possibly other classes. He has been here for a few days, but ze long flight has left him tired, so he is starting school today." Just like how Scott did, Kurt patted the boy on his shoulders and allowed him to take any spot that he saw fit, so long as it wasn't already occupied by someone else.

In a puff of blue smoke, he appeared back on the stage, posed and pointed at the sleeping boy. "Back to the task at hand." He chuckled. "Who has ideas for a harmless prank?"

[Assistant] Chrys grunts. He is perched on a the back of a seat with some notebooks scattered around him and his attention on the one in his lap. "I'm not one to play pranks... Got the brunt end of a few too many bad ones to care for them." He continues to scribble in his notebook, not really paying attention. He takes a pause every now and then to flick through the pages almost as if referencing something. A closer inspection shows that he is drawing a sword, with an extreme level of attention to detail. "I could however, Shift him into the piano locker. It locks on the outside making it an effective cage...." He looks to the back of the stage. "It would be room enough for him..."

[User]
Heidi was sitting at her desk at the edge of the classroom. In front of her was her notebook, it's contents a detailed itinerary of the next seven days, from her morning workout and laps around the building, to breakfast (the exact minutes she started and finished carefully calculated), and all of her classes. She had chosen to do drama this year because she was beginning to bore of the math-based subjects she had recently acquired Doctorates in.

In truth, she found Drama painfully easy. All of her assignments were done in one sitting whenever she wanted to unwind with a good book, and she mainly just used the class time for other things, like planning her week out, designing her next robotics-based project, or sometimes just relaxing.

However, as she was just starting to get into a nice lull, her brain registered that her teacher was about to punish a fellow in-class relaxer. This made her aware of her position and she tried to make it look like she was paying as much attention as she actually was. Appearances were important, after all.

There was a new kid being introduced. She looked at him long enough to remember his face and link it with the name 'Peter', and then carried on daydreaming. Another person not to talk to...

[Assistant]
For the better part of the class Jacob had stayed quiet while the teacher taught them all about various actors throughout history and different methods to acting. None of this appealed to Jacob very much and the only reason he was here was because he accidentally showed up on the first day of class and didn't have the guts to tell his teacher that he wasn't interested in the class.

Now finally after who knows how long, something interesting was happening. One of the other students (his name was Sheen or something) was out cold and the teacher was had opened the floor to the students on what type of prank to pull on the unconscious mutant. Jacob immediately made up his mind on what he wanted to see happen.

"Ceiling, celing, ceiling!" Jacob chanted, over and over again as he lightly banged his fists on the chair in front of him.

[User]
Heidi seemed to have nothing to say about pranking Shawn, but both Chrys and Jacob both seemed to offer ideas. Peter, sitting down quietly next to Heidi, looked over to the girl questioningly. "Is this how he always is?" His russian accent was thick and rough, his words sounding like he had just been studying up on the english language.

He was a little bigger than a normal thirteen year old would be, but he already seemed to be growing into his body well. His hair was buzzed, cut as short as can be while he wore only a simple yellow t-shirt with a red hem, and blue jeans. He wasn't exactly shy, but he was rather soft spoken. There was nothing that he, personally, could offer to the situation. Not that he was enabling the pranking, but becoming a large, metal man would not be all that helpful in tricking the older boy. "We could... Pretend that he slept into the future. Everyone abandon the theater and leave him here with myself."

"Oh?" Kurt tilted his head. "And how vud zis trick him? You may be new, but you hardly look enough to insinuate such a thought."

Peter stood from his seat and took a breath. He had to remember to breathe, to feel, to flex muscles that only existed to him. It was so tricky, activating his mutation on his own without something triggering it to happen. Slowly, his body began to bulk up and grow, his skin growing a ghostly white, then sparkling silver, then finally turning to some metal. Everything he was became metal, his hair, his eyes, it was all like he was the liquid metal terminator. His loose clothing now fit him properly, Kurt even looking at him evenly from his position on the stage.

"I no longer look as human as I did. I could be ah robotic creature. He would be unaware of the situation." Peter explained himself, looking amongst the students shyly. He was unsure how the others would react to him transforming as he did, even if they were all mutants together. Perhaps they could combine all of the plans together for something great? He was unsure.


[System]
Purpose: Seeking experiences in the west to be used in writing western novels.

Description: "Finney" or "Gene" as he is often called stands 5' 8" tall and weighs 147 Lbs. He has an oval shaped face with steel grey eyes and dark brown hair kept short, with no facial hair. At age 21, he prefers to be clean; immaculately dressed. He understands he will need to get a bit dirty for his adventures and is willing to make that sacrifice. He appears to be a fancy lad from Boston because that is how he dressed when he attended university.

Backstory: Finney was a boy during the Civil War. His father too old for the war, worked as the community doctor in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Typically, a fishing village, Phineas had no intention of sailing, working with fish or working as a doctor. He appreciated the gentle life his father provided him and his seven brothers and sisters, but Finney was a dreamer.

He read the newspapers during the war, enthralled with the stories about the war and life out west. As a young boy he desired traveling to the frontier and living the life of a cowboy; going on adventures and learning how to survive.

While studying English, Writing and Rhetoric at Amherst College, Phineas became infatuated with life in the wild west. He decided he would travel out west to experience life in the west and write novels about his experiences. While a student at Amherst, he played on the college baseball team, earning a nick name as Three-fingered-Finney. It never stuck and disappeared when he traveled west. The nickname had more to do with how he threw a baseball. When most of the other players used all five fingers, Finney used only three; the forefinger, middle finger and thumb to throw the ball. His accuracy was so fine, he was played at Pitcher for the Amherst team.

After packing his bags, buying a Colt Single Action, Army pistol or Peacemaker chambered in .45 caliber and a few outfits he thought would fit in out west, he said his good byes to his family and boarded a train. It was a trip that took him more than a few weeks. When he arrived in Pecos, Texas, he thought maybe he was in over his head. He purchased a horse. He nothing about horses, but bought a Morgan horse for $90 and named him Josiah or "Josie". The horse was dark brown with a white splotch or line running down the face of his long nose. Finney purchased a saddle blanket, western saddle with horn, saddle bags, bed roll and a 100' length of rope because every photograph he saw of the old west, cowboys had ropes on their saddles.

With his gun belt strapped on, .45 Colt SAA on his right hip and every bullet slot filled around his belt, he mounted Josiah, heading west in the open country. He had a knife to skin small animals in the even he caught one, but wore his old brown bowler; the same one he wore at Amherst College. He didn't feel right with the western style hat and decided he would keep the bowler as a signature of his past.

In his saddle bags, he stored a writing tablet, inkwell and pens as well as some hard tack in case he couldn't find food and a feed bag for Josiah as well as some fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats and a small copy of the bible. He carried the money his father gave him on his person at all times.

His first night in the desert, he felt as though he were going to starve, He couldn't find anything to hunt to cook and he couldn't start a fire with the flint and tinder he used. The next day he rode about ten miles before setting up camp. He tried again with the fire and could not start a fire. He did however hunt and kill a rabbit, but failed to cook it. On his third day, he came upon a stranger who had a fire and asked if he would share his fire with him. The man was friendly. Finney cooked the rabbit and shared it with his host. He finally sated his three day old hunger.

After a week on the road, Finney made it to Sweetwater, having adjusted to life on the road. The sacrifice of being dirty, he committed to himself in New England was nothing compared to the sacrifice of food he endured at the beginning of his journey. Fortunately at the saloon, he was able to purchase a meal and a beer at the saloon. Phineas was a happy man.

Equipment:
 - Colt Single Action, Army pistol or "Peacemaker" chambered in .45 caliber
- Three western shirts (white, light blue, red)
- Three pair of trousers (blue, brown, black)
- Western style boots (brown)
- Brown leather vest
- Brown bowler (hat)
- Morgan horse named Josiah or "Josie".
- saddle blanket
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- a 100' length of rope
- gun belt
- 100 rounds of .45 ammo
- a knife
- a writing tablet
- inkwell
- pens
- hard tack (ate it up on the ride to Sweetwater)
- a feed bag for Josiah
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- a small copy of the bible.
- $235 (remaining money his father gave him as a gift)

Relationships:
 - Ezekiel O'Connell, Father, wealthy New England Doctor. Phineas loves his father, writing letters to the man while away from home.
- Charlotte O'Connell, Mother, Kind hearted woman who worries about her children daily.
- Albert O'Connell, 29, brother, chose a life on the sea in the US Navy serving as a Lieutenant.
- Frederick O'Connell, 28, brother, plays the violin in the Boston City Orchestra. Teaches music in Boston.
- Clara Donohue (O'Connell), 26, Sister, married Arthur Donohue who works as a Law Enforcement officer in Gloucester.
- Isabella Grieve (O'Connell), 24, Sister, married Walter Grieve who works as a fisherman.
- Harold O'Connell, 22, brother, married Julia (Murphy) and works in Finance in Boston. Graduate of Boston College
- Sophia O'Connell, 19, sister, student at Emerson College studying Latin.
- Edward O'Connell, 17, Brother, student at Boston College.
Name: William "Billy" Kingsley

Purpose: Looking for work

Description: Billy, aged 26 stands 6' 2" tall and weighs 180 Lbs. He has dark blackened skin, African black hair and brown eyes. Billy has more than a few scars on his arms and torso from time spent in the US Cavalry. He wears his old blue cavalry trousers with the yellow stripe on the legs. He also wears a white shirt and a black vest. He traded in his US Army kepi for a black Dakota style leather cowboy hat with the forward edge of the brim drooping way down over his eyes. He gave his blue jacket to an Indian at some point in time. He didn't want it anymore. There are three eagle feathers tucked into the hat band. He wears his black leather cavalry boots as well. The Apache call him, "Elan Itza-chu" which means Friendly Great Hawk, due to his personality and ability to know what is going on around him. It is as though he were a great hawk looking down at the world.

Backstory: William Kingsley grew up near Oswego, Illinois. His father, Lucius Kingsley was a runaway slave from Shreveport, Louisiana. Lucius married Emiline, who had no prior last name. The woman was a runaway slave from Tupelo, Mississippi. Lucius and Emiline found each other in Chicago, IL after their escape to freedom, fell in love and settled into farming south of the city near Oswego.

Lucius chose not to serve during the war between the states, but by then he and his wife had five children to raise. His oldest son, William and other sons helped him with chores around their farm. Lucius' youngest child was his favorite, Clarabelle, born around the time of the firing on Fort Sumter in 1861.

When he was old enough, William enlisted in the Army, serving in the newly formed 10th Cavalry regiment. William's brothers in arms, quickly picked up the moniker of "Buffalo Soldiers" from the native tribes who inhabited Indian Territory (Oklahoma) and other territories of the plains as well as Texas. The Natives didn't know what to make of the black soldiers, just they were the same color as the buffalo whom they hunted.

William was treated fairly in the army, but the days were long, and the work was hard. He fought in several engagements with the natives. He learned the language of the Comanches (Comancheros) and the Apache (Mescalero) tribes. He also knows a little Spanish (Mexico). Albeit Billy never had an education and cannot read or write but has a propensity towards learning foreign languages. He can speak English, Apache, Comanche and Spanish, but can't read or write anything.

When Billy left the army, he kept his horse, pistol belt, sidearm, saddle, tack and harness as well as his uniform equipment. He picked up a rifle shortly after leaving the military, insuring he has sufficient ammunition. He abandoned his cavalry saber to a young Mescalero some time ago.

Billy has been in the panhandle of Texas, Apache country for a few years and is looking for work. He has done several odd jobs in the past but needs something now. He wandered into the saloon in Sweetwater with this quest in mind.

Equipment:
- Henry Rifle (.44 caliber)
- Colt SAA Pistol (.45 caliber)
- Bowie Knife
- Mustang Horse named "Rose" (female) black and white paint
- One spare shirt (light blue)
- Yellow Neckerchief
- One pair of trousers (US Army Cavalry)
- US Cavalry boots (black)
- Black vest
- Black leather Dakota styled cowboy hat
- saddle blanket (traded US Army blanket for multi colored one from a Commanche)
- western saddle with horn
- saddle bags
- bed roll
- gun belt
- 250 rounds of .45 ammo
- 170 rounds of .44 Henry ammo
- a Bowie knife
- a feed bag for Rose
- an assortment of fruit and vegetables for the horse as treats
- $13.65

Relationships:
Lucius Kingsley, father, farmer in Illinois
Emiline Kingsley, mother
David Kingsley, 24, brother, farmer in Illinois
Amos Kingsley, (22), brother, troublemaker, killed by whites in St. Louis, MO
Joseph Kingsley, 20, brother, farmer in Illinois
Clarabelle, 14, sister, lives with family on the farm in Illinois. She is Billy's father's pride and joy.

[User] "Um, well..." Taylor awkwardly fixed his holster. "Uh, sure, miss." He took a seat next to the woman as he glanced across to see Sergio and Finney "practicing". What a right pair of louts. He couldn't wait for the skinny reed to get shot.

[Assistant]
Mistihkoman sits and looks at the strange book in Sergio's hand. He narrowed his eyes, unsure of what he's seeing and looking at the words inside. Something about a man named Matthew? Mistihkoman wondered if this was like a newspaper and it was talking about someone important. It's about then that Billy begins to intone those words. And the Native man quirks an eyebrow, "Is this some kind of story about some great man? It sounds strange." Could it possibly be that Mistihkoman is not a Catholic, or a Christian in anyway? It'd be true if they were to ask. In fact after his curious question and comment he reaches up to finger a small dreamcatcher talisman attached to his bow that rests above his head in the racks, "Strange words. This story."

@Eviledd1984

Mistihkoman then turns and watches Barnabus. He narrows his eyes and frowns, watching in interaction with the child. The toy gun pattering by and under Mistihkoman's seat. He reaches under and grabs the gun then as the boy stands there downtrodden and unhappy Mistihkoman comes up with the gun and offers it grip first to the boy, "Astam, here. Your weapon Sheriff. I'll feel alot better with a good gun hand on watch." He smiles brightly, his teeth white against his darker then usual skin, not as dark as say Billy's dark skin but that dark red skin of a native man, "Just watch who you try and arrest huh? There are bad men out there." He nods to the boy, then turns away as the young lad takes the gun.

As he looks ahead he says to no one in particular, but it seems to be directed to the people who were mean to the boy, "Children are our future. To try and snuff out their light and joy, amounts to trying to kill our future. And will bring nothing but pain and misfortune to you in the end." He sniffs softly, and turns to the window, it's a dismissal alright.

[User]
While watching Finney and Sergio training in the pugilistic arts, Billy heard Mistihkoman say, "Is this some kind of story about some great man? It sounds strange. Strange words. This story."

"Not strange at all, Misty Komen," Billy spoke with a western Illinois accent. "Mr. Sergio was reading the bible. In Latin, an old language from the old world, the word bible means, book. In other words, the bible is THE BOOK. This is the story about the son of God. Unlike how you pray, Christians believe in one God who created everything in our world and everyone on the planet. He then sent his only son to live amongst man for one purpose. His purpose was to die on a cross for the forgiveness of man's sins. The man's name was Jesus of Nazareth or Jesus Christ. He had several followers including his mother, Mary and twelve friends or disciples who wrote down on parchment about their experiences with God's only son, Jesus. The written word on the experiences of Jesus are recorded in the book. Yes, he was a great man. He remains a great man in the Kingdom of Heaven. He died for all our sins regardless of whether you or anyone believes in him or God. He is still there. He waits in Judgement for his brothers and sister to enter the gates of heaven. When you die, you go to his Kingdom in heaven; The Kingdom of the Lord, Hallelujah!" One could say Billy was a most pious man.


[System]
Username: rush99999
Race/Species: Gnome

Gender: Male

Age: 112

Career/Class: Artificer

Weapons:
* 1 homemade matchlock rifle
* 3 homemade matchlock pistols
* A seemingly infinite supply of ammunition for aforementioned firearms with various enchantments
* 1 large steel monkey wrench

Physical Description:
Hobnob is shorter than the average gnome. He stands as 3 feet rather than 3 and a half. A small magical mishap during his 1st attempt at merging magic and engineering left Hobnob's full head of hair and somewhat bushy eyebrows turquoise. After many a day of inventing rather than shaving, Hobnob possesses a luxurious beard rather than the goatee a gnome usually has. Aforementioned beard is also turquoise. While his eyes are green, you wouldn't be able to tell because he never takes off his goggles. While he isn't what you'd call muscular, all the manual work he does when making inventions keeps him out of the scrawny zone. There is always a sharp pencil behind at least 1 of Hobnob's ears.

Armor:
* Leather armor with a rune based magic resistance enchantment
* Everything else resistant chain mail (No enchantment here. Is't just very sturdy chain mail.)
* Leather gloves with a rune based electricity resistance enchantment, a glyph based heat resistance enchantment, and blade resistance because it's leather.
* Hobnob's goggles are also surprisingly durable.

Equipment/Other
* 1 gnome made smoking pipe
* A seemingly infinite supply of pipe weed
* 1 large tool kit
* 1 canister of blueprint paper
* 1 gnome fishing rod
* 1 small bag of magic seeds that grow into mushrooms large and sturdy enough to sit on in 60 seconds.
* The lenses on Hobnob's goggles have glyph based enchantments that allow him to see in different types of vision. Each type of vision makes the goggles glow a different colour when in use.
None: Ordinary Vision
Green: Night Vision
Orange: Thermal Vision
Blue: Mana Vision (Allows Hobnob to see the magic in the world and beings around him and tell how highly concentrated it is.)
Black: X-Ray Vision
White: Telescopic Vision

Mental Description/Personality:
Hobnob is incredibly eccentric and fixated on inventing things to the point that the aforementioned fixation over-kills the magic addiction that dabbling in the arcane arts usually brings. Hobnob also enjoys pond fishing while sitting on large mushrooms.

Goals:
Step 1: Find money for crazy inventions.
Step 2: Think of and invent crazy inventions.
Step 3: ???
Step 4: Profit.

Background/History:
* 112 years ago, Hobnob was born in a small town in Cutterstone to an inventor and an enchantress.
* As he grew up, Hobnob took an interest in his parents' work. They were happy to teach, he was quick to learn, and by the time he was 35, Hobnob knew some basic enchantments as well as most of the ins and outs of inventing.
* Soon enough, Hobnob got the idea to combine what he had learned from both of his parents. His invention exploded during the enchanting, but the explosion did nothing worse than turn Hobnob's hair turquoise.
* Many years of studying and research later, Hobnob decided it was time to try again. This time around, he received assistance from 7 other like minded artificers and 2 like minded enchanters.
* Their work bore fruit, and The Obstacle Flattener Mark 1 was born...and exploded 7 days later. Convinced they could get it right the 2nd time around, Hobnob and his crew began work on Mark 2
* At the end of it all, The Obstacle Flattener Mark 2 was fully operational...until it exploded 7 weeks later. Undeterred, Hobnob and his crew began work on Mark 3.
* 7 months went by before the explosion happened. Just as Hobnob and his crew had predicted
* Before work could begin on Mark 4, Hobnob and his crew realised that almost all of their money was almost all gone.
* And so at the age of 111, Hobnob and his crew decided to leave Cutterstone to find odd-jobs and merc-work to fund their inventive endeavours after realising that their work on The Obstacle Flattener had almost emptied their collective coin purses.
* 1 year later their adventures bring them to Starkvale and the beginning of this RP.

[User]
There was a word for this. This emptiness in the air, laced with a bitter dread. Something to call the unease that derived from the hollowness of what once possibly teemed with life. What was it? Was there even a word for it? Words tumbled through Silias' mind as he traversed through the remnants of man. Words of his tongue and not. Bending and twisting, over and over. Nothing sparked of familiarity.

Two soldiers, side to side, led the path. Their swords were drawn and their eyes wary as they scanned for danger. Runes, strings, plates--traps that, perhaps in a far off ruin, would litter the ground and walls. But not here. Here, past the arch, the corridors were cold and empty. Stone after stone, crumbled and worn. At his side was Val'rasar, her eyes ever sharp and her body tense for readiness. Then there was Silias. Ever calm, ever confident. The darkness permeated the other three, digging into their hearts with daggers black with fear. But for Silias, it was a challenge. He didn't just feel the fear and the choking cloth of dread--he relished it. Danger always had a reward.

"Sire," Val murmured, eyes darting about, "I mean no disrespect, but is this a truly wise choice?"

The lord did not respond. Not out of ignorance, but of contemplation. His face was unreadable. His body, save for the tap tap tapping of his fingers and the shift of his eyes, remained still.

"Perhaps," he said after a moment, long fingers brushing against the wall, "we are fools of our own making, walking closer to our death." He pulled his hands away. A fine layer of dirt marred the soft tips. "Or perhaps we are wisemen, fetching gifts of rare treasure from where cowards dare not walk."

Nothing was said after that.

The party continued in silence, stopping only when they came upon a set of double doors. They were tall and oak, ornate carvings on their edges worn smooth over time. Though the black hinges were tinged red with the faintest of rust, they were thick and strong, somehow able to withstand the tests of time. At a simple flick of the hand from Silias, the soldiers rushed forward and, with a hefty shove, threw open the gates. As they did so, the temperature of the room seemed to drop. The prickling at the back of their heads grew heavier, and the smell of must and mold and something bitter seemed to worsen. There, before the four, was a set of stairs that fell into a veil of darkness. Wordlessly, Silias nodded in a simple command: move forward.

Dark. That was the only way to describe it. Deep and dark and...and that word. That missing word. Around them, choking them, twisting the daggers in their hearts as silent whispers prodded their mind. A lantern was lit by one of the guards. Low and dim, it was enough to keep everyone from tripping, but weaker than the darkness around them. The amber glow illuminated the sides of the stairwell, giving way to eerie carvings in the stone. Ancient battles of man and demon, the grotesque creatures twisted beneath their killer's stone swords as they thrashed in an eternal battle. Alongside were maidens, marble faces awash with stone tears. Weeping in the dark, but for what? A fallen lover? A lost home? Freedom from this infernal plain? Silent cries in an endless night.

They soon reached the bottom, but at that point, the air had grown heavier. The ominous feeling that whispered to them above ground had grown stronger until stomachs were twisted and fingers trembled. Even Silias, for a brief moment, felt a flash of doubt cloud his mind.

Go back, it whispered. Leave.

Never, he said in defiant reply.

There before them was a door. Similar to the previous one, it was hearty and strong, able to stand against the wear of years gone past. The soldier's stared, hesitance clear on their faces.

"Open it," Silias commanded, arms crossed. "Do it, and I promise whatever lies inside, if good, shall fall to you."

The paise continued. A heartbeat passed. Nervous looks were shared. Then, slowly, the door opened.

What lay inside, no one could quite comprehend so readily. There was gold. Gold, and silver, and rubies, and material devices of the heart's desire. Glimmering brightly as a stray beam of sunlight snuck through a crack in the ceiling. A dragon's horde of treasure, all for them. Silias stared, a small grin breaking his somber expression. A small laugh fell from his lips as he marveled the treasures. All for them. "Go!" He slapped the back of the nearest guard, his demeanor merry, "I made you a promise, did I not? Now go! Bathe in the riches, and buy yourself a wife or two!" The guard blinked, stunned, before glancing at his companion. A nervous smile broke across their faces, and they hurried forward to the pile before them.

Silias took a step forward to join them, but an iron grip latched onto his wrist. He whirled around, fierce anger in his eyes until he saw the look on Val's face. She stared at the pile. No, not the pile. Something beyond it. Silias followed her gaze until he saw the source of her troubles. There, nearby, was a hole in the wall. It held no treasure. No light. No hope. In this hole was darkness. Pure, unadulterated darkness. And from it, the suddenly noticeable taste of dread.

[Assistant]
Nuva hadn't been quite quiet about his own attack, it was true, and in fairness, he'd likely be at least injured if the Captain had not intervened against the bandit charging him. However, the way Cassilda handled her own fight was... not exactly brilliant. He supposed it was likely that his actions had drawn in the group of six bandits, but if the screams from the one she killed didn't draw the rest to their position, it'd be a miracle. Still, he hid himself along with the rest of the party as the bandits showed up, and remained in place as first one, then the rest, died to multiple stab wounds and some horrible molten substance thrown by the dwarf Halbark respectively.

Only then came the lambasting from Kayden. Mostly directed at Cassilda, but the pointed glance over in Nuva's direction was enough to have him bowing his head shamefully. No orders had been given, technically, but Nuva figured he should still know better after years of being ordered around under much stricter commanders; under the dark elves, he'd probably have been viciously tortured for such a reckless maneuver. Though the end result after all had been said and done was nearly half of the bandits in the fortress deceased, so that was hardly a poor outcome.

Then, of course, there was the prisoner. One of the Captain's agents, no less... who had apparently done research on everyone now in his employ. He wondered exactly how much she knew of his origins, his race. Had she told Kayden of these, or anyone else in his closer counsel for that matter? Did those who knew think less of him for what he was, what he'd done under their command? He dared not ask, at least not in such public company. Regardless, it seemed stealth was no longer on anyone's minds, granted how Secret was freed from her cell, and by his own count, there were as many mercenaries as bandits left in the fort anyway; the Captain ordered people into groups, and Nuva nodded and strolled toward him, slowing to a halt briefly as he passed... Halbark, was it? Though he'd been informed time and again by his prior masters of how distasteful dwarves were, his time out of their influence had shown no particular evidence to prove this was true. Or at least, they acted with no more virulent hatred than any other race did upon discovering his own.

That in mind, Nuva placed his hand on Halbark's shoulder briefly, simply stating 'Well done on the bomb,' before removing himself from the dwarf's personal space and moving the rest of the distance to Kayden's side. All things considered, the dwarf had in one stroke killed more of these bandits than any other individual in the room so far; if nothing else, he deserved some recognition for the sort of mind needed to create such weapons.

@POOHEAD189@Austronaut@Fubsy@frapet

[User]
While they waited for the others to arrive, Hobnob's crew were discussing improvements and amendments of The Obstacle Flattener Mark 4 over the blueprint of the machine in question. "I still think we should increase the size of the flattening implement" Titch insisted "At its current size, it can only flatten obstacles that don't measure beyond a 5 on the size scale and a 6 on the sternness of stuff scale".
"It's a rare occurrence for us to come up against an obstacle higher than a size 4 and a stern 5" Hobnob replied as scanned the forest for heat.
"But we still do, boss" Titch said.
"Need I remind you that explosion proofing is our priority?" Hobnob stated "A bigger flattening implement won't stop The Mark 4 from...Look lively boys, we've got company".

Multiple heat signatures were approaching the bridge. While they certainly weren't big enough to be bandits, Hobnob thought it smart to be prepared. The gnomes pulled out their guns in preparation for the potential threat. When the coyotes emerged, the gnomes watched them carefully. While they only wanted the ogre's corpse, there was no telling if it would be necessary to attack the coyotes to protect the traps.