[System]
GENDER: Female (she/her)
AGE: 19

APPEARANCE:

BACKGROUND: Daughter to a carpenter and a poet, Ardonne was steeped in the fantastical from an early age. She was one of the few girls in her hometown, the village of Bresh, to become fully literate before her tenth birthday; a precocious habit that stuck to her psyche like glue and became one of many damning marks against her. Her father needed a woodsman, not a daughter, and reared Ardonne as such. Her mother valued the virtues of femininity and oft imparted lectures and lessons to smooth the roughness of her eldest's character but only found purchase in deciding what Ardonne would read. Her weapon of choice in securing a steadfast daughter was the fairy tale and with it, the enchantment of the forest heightened to extremes. Ardonne never demonised the woods for taking her father at the tender age of twelve because of these tales.

The wilderness and the thrill of its stalked borders fascinated the youth and became a symbol of escapism, of paternal guidance, and of immeasurable danger. In her father's absence, Ardonne brought hares and even the odd doe to the table. In the hardships of famine during winter she scraped the lichen off the cairns and chopped the firewood herself. She stared into the depths of the North road and waited to be acknowledged by its fearsome resident, figuring herself as less of a damsel and more of an errant knight. These fancies were dashed quite swiftly with her mother's remarriage and though Ardonne revelled in the beauty and allure of Bresh's transformation for a springtime wedding, the veneer faded into the tight grip of patriarchy. Her younger half-brother was the golden child and placed before her in most aspects of life. Ardonne started to find a bitter satisfaction in the sting of the false father's palm on her cheek because, to her, it signified a step in the right direction. Make no mistake - the villagefolk regarded the biligerent Ardonne as churlish, coarse, and airheaded. She was being stubborn for the sake of stubborn and chased her childhood to its ragged edges. She spent too long replicating her fairy tales and clutching to the ghost of a brave but foolish carpenter who underestimated the horrors in the woods and it was widely believed she'd go down the same path. What Ardonne perceived as mystifying solitude was simply her peers' aversion to her surliness. What she saw as daring skirmishes along the forest borders were dangerous and stupid forays into hostile territory. The only benefit to her gambols came in a sometimes bloodied burlap sack and went unacknowledged into the meals for a few days after, and her shirking of her familial duties resulted in the dictation of her future without her input as she was too busy traipsing in mud to notice.

When Ardonne did notice - when Bresh readied itself for a grand springtime festival, her measurements were taken, and a middling merchant man often frequented her home - she took to her heels and found solace in the one place she'd always flown back to at the slightest instance of discomfort. Only this time, in her typical fashion, she submitted her fate to whatever lurked between the branches; wholly disregarding the very real and not-so-fantastical stories from whoever was lucky enough to crawl out of its murky depths.

MOTIVATION: Some short weeks prior to the group's venture into the forest, Ardonne decided that she found death in the jaws of the Beast preferable to life in the arms of the Province. That said, her ambitious escape attempt is distorted and romanticised by her choice in literature; it is far more likely that her dreams will be met with a narrow escape or a rude awakening.

GEAR:
-A yew shortbow with a quiver containing 15 arrows.

-A butcher's knife, wholly unsuitable for combat due to its one-sided sharp edge and utilitarian blunt-tipped shape, but heavy enough to be used to skin and dress animal carcasses.

-A field guide for local fauna and flora in the Faro Province, dogeared and kept in a waterproof leather satchel on her belt.

-A bedroll and mess kit.

-Two flasks of water and a bag full of smoked rabbit, dried blackberries and chanterelle mushrooms. Chunks of stale bread.

[User]
Galia Guardstrike

 Galia had nodded at everyone one at a time. They looked experienced. A bowman, a cleric, a spearman, and a masked man. They all looked capable enough. However, the fact of the matter is that no one here has had any real combat experience for the last ten years, and appearances could be decieving. They could all be wormfood within the next few days for all she knew. But Galia wasn't going to die, she was going to win. There was no other option other than coming out of that forest alive. Perhaps the others here had nothing to lose or everything to gain, but Galia had everything on the line. If she failed...she couldn't fail.

 "My name's Galia Guardstrike," she said, voice low and hard, glaring at the North Road. "My goal is to kill the Beast, and collect the reward. I'm not leaving the North Road until I do." Galia held the handle of the sheathed sword at her hip. Her fingers impatiently tapping the wood in a wave pattern, the steel pommel glowing dimly in the light of evening sun. Galia didn't mind repeating herself for whoever else came. Her name would ring of it's given nature, not one chosen by parents or by oneself, but one earned through combat. A title of mercenary making.

 There wasn't much else to say, not yet, anyway. She did recognize some of them. Mort, the hunter. Zahir, the guard, with that funny little mask of his. She had seen him, as Eleanor had dragged the Practicioners around Feros Province, and that little town he protected spoke fondly of him. The others she didn't recognize, but Feros Province was a bigger place than one might imagine. She had come to see it has home. Infact, Galia hoped to spend the rest of her life here, once this was all over. Feros Province wasn't the problem. The North Road was.

[Assistant]
"Aye, the beast has to go." Heddwyn uttered as he looked over the woman.

She was fierce. Strong-willed. He had known many like her in his time away from his daughter as he walked the low roads throughout the province. He hadn't heard her name in his travels, but that didn't mean she wasn't important. Her surname did seem strange to him; the kind of name someone would create for themselves, but etymology was sometimes strange, it could've been a proper surname for all he knew. It was a large and peculiar world.

"If introductions are in order, I'd be Heddwyn."

He decided to not lead with his own surname. House Brythendale wasn't a large house nor one native to the people of this particular province. Besides, he liked blending in among the commonfolk. His eyes moved toward the huntsman and the others who had arrived after him, curious about their own names. Perhaps they would share vocations, but he imagined they would have much time to talk once the sun set. They would need to make camp soon enough. The woman who took stance to be the leader of the group did not seem the type to want to waste daylight.

[User]
"No, no, I don't mean any offense," Petyr stammered, "It's just-...well, you seem a little old to be courting."

Ardonne smiled weakly. She was taking her time with the meal - partially to amuse her benefactor and partially to savour what it was going to be like being in a nice warm tavern for the last time. There were plenty of last times today. Just that morning she hugged her mother for the last time... Ardonne looked away for a moment and busied herself with dinner. "My mother had to remarry first. I needed to support the family." She drank her ale and watched Petyr's expression for the crinkle in the brow, the grimace, the doubt...there wasn't any. He was genuinely curious.

"Well, with me by your side you'll never have to worry about work again. I started looking into those books you like, too. There aren't many calligraphists in the province, but I was considering a wedding gift. Which tale was your favourite, again? The bear in the woods?" Petyr was a warm and personable man. For the fifth time that day Ardonne considered a life with him and took a deeper draught of ale to steady her resolve. It was bitter and room temperature.

"Oh, you needn't do any of that. I'm simply content to move out of Bresh." It wasn't a whole lie. Ardonne emptied her bowl and her flagon and lingered over it wistfully. Last hot meal. All gone.

"Oh but it'd be an excellent investment. You can read it to the little ones and when they're old enough they can pass it on to our grandchildren." Ah yes, there it was. Ardonne smiled blithely and rested her hand on her stomach, wondering if a human life felt like a full belly. Then again, she'd helped her mother birth her younger brother...it seemed more laborious than a heavy meal. She had finished her ale but the bitter taste revisited the back of her tongue at the mention of it.

"Perhaps I can teach them how to shoot," she ventured out of curiosity.

Petyr laughed. "If you still remember how by then! It'd be a good story for our son."

Ardonne smiled blithely.

It wasn't good enough. Petyr caught the dullness of her stare, the clenched jaw and the faraway expression. "Is your fever coming back, my sweet?" He asked nervously. "We don't have to rush anything. I promised your father two weeks, but I'm sure you can rest easy until you feel better."

Ardonne bit down on the opportunity and dropped the act, expressing her fretful nerves and everpresent nausea. "Well, I did not want to impose upon you," she murmured softly, fidgeting with a lock of her hair and looking away from him.

The merchant was keen to pander her. It would have been perfect. It should have been perfect, but Ardonne recoiled at the thought of a life with him. "Money is no object. Not when it comes to your health," he reassured her, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. She wrapped her fingers around his. Last hand to hold.

"Would you mind if I rested tomorrow? I want nobody to disturb me. Just...a loaf of bread, a pitcher of water. My stomach is-...unsteady." Not an entire lie either. Ardonne felt the bile ride again as she faced her decision as if it were inevitable fate.

"Of course, my dove. Would you permit me to bring you to your chambers this evening? If I'm to be away from you for the whole day…" Petyr's smile was hopeful and mischievous and Ardonne's heart ached for him. It felt like a cruel twist of the knife to put him into such a situation.

"Yes, but if you go any further than my door then I shall ride home to my father." Petyr's smile faltered and Ardonne cursed herself for being so steely. "I mean no disrespect, this is our first private outing. And I've heard such tall tales about some of the coarser village boys back home…"

Petyr laughed and Ardonne exhaled in relief. "I'm no mere village boy, my dove! I shall fetch you your bread and water."

Within the hour Ardonne had locked the door and barricaded it. She was staring at her naked body in the mirror. Last time she'd see her reflection. She took stock of what she had made of herself, poked and prodded her blemishes and got changed into her hunting gear. She checked her quiver. She packed her bread and poured her water. It was still light outside. She checked her belt and her field guide, fingers slipping absentmindedly over her real father's name in its browned ink on the contents page. "I'm so sorry," she croaked, looking for his ghost. The stress of it all made tears well in her eyes. She took a shuddering breath and stared at her face, willing herself to feel his hand on her shoulder, praying for a sign, anything…"I'm coming, dad. I'll be with you shortly."

It was like all the tales. Sometimes there wasn't a happy ending... sometimes you just had to accept your lot. She wouldn't face it as a blubbering mess. In whatever lay beyond her life, she could sit and cry for millennia. For now, she wanted to do it on her terms. Stoic, calm, and ready for what lay beyond. After she passes those cairns she will step into the limbo between worlds and she will test her mettle until the bitter end. And who knows? Perhaps she'll find her way out, a changed woman ready to face the North and take no man's order and foster no squalling babes in her stomach. And if not... she'll see dad again.

Ardonne only left once the smudges of orange had slipped below the horizon. It wasn't that hard to sneak out of the window, she'd been doing it for years back at her childhood home and Faro rural architecture was a fairly universal affair. What mattered now was making distance. They wouldn't be able to see much using torchlight but movement was quick to spot in one's periphery so she kept low and darted up towards the distant cairns, stopping only to crouch and hide behind an errant rock or the base of a tree. It was only as she made it to the edges of the woods that she noticed a group maybe a kilometre away, a little less, by the cairn adjacent to the one she was headed into.

What the group saw was a dim figure jogging up and even slightly into the heavy canopy of the forest before it stopped and lingered by one of the trees, staring unabashedly towards the gathered bounty hunters with an indistinguishable expression - it was too dark.

Ardonne thought fast. For one, there was no way anyone from the town over had noticed she was gone. Also... safety in numbers. She may be able to make some considerable distance if she travelled in a group. Then again, they may be guards patrolling the edges of the forest. They hadn't come to detain her yet...she started to panic. She wasn't expecting people to be as foolish as she was and she certainly wasn't expecting them to come armed and ready for a fight. Her flightiness kicked in as she hastily got her bow out, nocked an arrow, and fretfully skirted a little deeper into the beast's domain, watching to see what they'd do to her.


[System]
Age: 45

Gender: Female

Appearance Without Armor:

Appearance With Armor:

Homeworld: Coruscant

Race: Human

Rank: Jedi Master

Position: Jedi

Primary Weapon: Double-bladed lightsaber, one end blue and the other end purple, which both can be separated into separate lightsabers.

Secondary Weapon: The Force though she is more of a blade master but can use the force effectively.

Personality: Sari is very smart and wise among her fellow peers, she is a very good strategist, though she is very friendly and will listen to those asking for advice when needed.

Bio: Born as an orphan in the slums of Corusant Sari always tried to get by with stealing from others one day she came across a Jedi master, Sari would sneak up to him, only to have him turn around sensing that she was a force sensitive he offered Sari to come to the Jedi Temple. Having nothing else going on for her Sari joined him at the Jedi Temple where she started her training. After several years when she turned twenty she was given the rank of Jedi Knight, finally having the freedom to move around Sari explored the galaxy until the Sith finally emerged and she joined the front lines.

Sari was eventually given the rank of Jedi Master due to her skill with the lightsaber, she was then given command of a small fleet ordered to watch over the unknown regions of the gakaxy. She eventually started to receive a distress call and was ordered to investigate.

Misc Info:

Name: Darth Nara Crescent

Age: 35

Gender: Female

Appearance Without Armor:

Appearance With Armor:

Homeworld: Tatooine

Race: Human

Rank: Darth

Position: Sith

Primary Weapon: Dual lightsabers one red and the other purple.

Secondary Weapon: The Force has a better mastery in force lightening.

Personality: Nara always seems to be very angry a lot of the time when she is not in her armor her face always seems to be in a constant scowl, and she has been known to throw a person across the room just because they had angered her in some way.

Bio: Nara was born on Tatooine as a slave to a crime lord, used mainly to get information anyway possible from her boss's rivals, when a Sith came searching for force sensitives he came across young Nara when he was going to buy her Nara's owner at the time said no only to anger the sith and killed him and every single last soldier he had in the room except for the young girl. He took her with him to train her as his own apprentice.

He would constantly abuse her though throughout training her until one day she cracked when her master was not paying attention she would take his lightsaber that was not on his person and quickly slew him with his own weapon taking both of his lightsabers as well as his armor as her own. She eventually was given the rank of Darth and took a small fleet to the unknown regions of the galaxy along with the Oppressor, and her own flagship Crescent's Wrath.

Misc Info

[User]
Unfathomable Truth

An echo ran through the halls of the ship, alerting Khazo that there was a problem with the engines. He hadn't felt any tremors or heard any alarms so the theory of the heretics attacking was ruled out. Still there was a problem and he needed to be briefed on the situation, if it compromised his mission he needed to formulate an alternative to complete his task. Intelligence stated that the human ship they were engaged in, this "Trinity", was created for locating artifacts of the gods. His mission was to get aboard that ship, acquire any information on those artifacts and report back.

With weapon in hand Khazo exited the crew quarters and made his way through the halls dodging crewmen scrambling to get the ship back to optimal standards. A Jiralhanae attempted to shove the Sangheili out of his way but was quickly put in his place with a single leg sweep. In another situation Khazo would have ended the Jiralhanae's miserable life, but he had more important things to do and so moved on ignoring the idle threats thrown his way. "Khazo! Khazo 'Tevum!", a familiar voice sounded from behind Khazo quickly made its way to his side. The voice's owner was Zalfud, a Unggoy assigned to the engineering level of the Unfathomable Truth. Khazo had become well acquainted with the Unggoy after meeting by chance before boarding the ship. From what time the two spent together Khazo saw a bit of himself in Zalfud, he lost many brothers in the war with the heretics and wanted revenge. Even if he wasnt a fighter Zalfud took pride in helping disciples such as Khazo take the fight to the heretics. "What is it Zalfud?", Khazo answered looking down at the Unggoy sprinting to keep pace with him.

"There has been a problem with the engines-", he said almost out of breath. However Khazo kept his usual pace despite the Unggoy's lack of stamina.

"I am aware of that. I am heading towards the command center to speak with the Fleetmaster"

Zalfud took a deep breathe from his methane tank and sprinted up to his towering friend, "That's not all! From what I've heard the entire fleet is experiencing the same problem! What's more, we activated the thrusters just after exiting the void and immediately after our engines failed sending us on a intercept course with the heretic ship!", Zalfud had to stop, his energy depleted he took a moment to catch his breath. Khazo stopped as well and looked down at the Unggoy engineer. "Thank you Zalfud, once I get more information from the Fleetmaster I will inform you of what I learn", It was unusual for Sangheili to show respect for Unggoy, they were the underlings of the Covenant and many saw them as useless fodder for the heretics. Khazo however respected the little Unggoy, his loyalty to Khazo in the short time they knew each other showed him that the Unggoy are more than simple minded fools. "Thank you Khazo, good luck on your mission my friend!", Zalfud said with the before having to take in another breath from his tank. Khazo had not told anyone but the Fleetnaster why he was here. Officially he was not a stationed member of the Unfathomable Truth's crew but a passenger, Fleetmaster Verdin had only been told that Khazo was here to acquire information from the heretics.

Khazo nodded and continued on his way to the command center. Upon arrival he approached the Fleetmaster and bowed slightly before looking around to get a sense of the situation, "Fleetmaster Verdin, I require a status report of the ship, I assume the situation is under control, as it usually is with your leadership", Khazo glanced over to find the body of a dead Unggoy being dragged out of the room, his cause of death Khazo would guess was the Fleetmaster. "However if the ship is incapable of assisting me in my mission I request a handful of Sangheili Rangers to accompany me on a transport ship to continue my mission", while he did not outrank the Fleetmaster Khazo's mission was stated as highly important by their superiors making Khazo and his needs among one of the Fleetmaster's priorities.

[Assistant]
Spartan Watters when not in cryo was usually in one of two places training on S-Deck or in the armory. This time though she was patrolling the most likely areas for a boarding party with a squad of ODST. These ODST she had known before her ascension to Spartanhood. They knew her better than her parents did. They understood her unusual way of speaking and even her nonverbal communication.

Watters had no need to call in for a status update her A.I. Taber Fuson kept her apprised of all relevant information. Taber also kept an eye on the Covie ships looking for smaller ships coming their way with a boarding party. If one was sent Taber would calculate the most likely insertion point so Watters and her ODSTs could get there hopefully before the they could exit their craft.

[User]
Foxtrot-228, lovingly called LT by Alice, wasn't in his cryo pod, nor was he training his hand-to-hand techniques on the S-Deck. He was on the firing range, checking the range that his sniper rifle was calibrated to. Normally he kept to sighted in to just under it's maximum range, so he was always able to take out any priority targets he came across on recon missions deep in Covenant territory. He'd gone straight to the firing range when Alice informed him that the battle had been interrupted by a sudden and forced jump into slip space. Never hurt to sight in one's weapons, or to clean them even though he'd not really fired them much since being assigned to the Trinity. "Orders coming in, LT. Looks like we're prepping to take the fight to the Covies." Firing one last round down range, which took his target in the head. Placing the weapon back on it's place on the rack, he grabs his shotgun and places it on his back along with his katana and the M6G combat pistol he almost always had on his hip.

"How's the damage to the Trinity? Anything we can use to keep them at a distance?" Alice rolled her eyes in her picture on the top left of Foxtrot-228's HUD. Of course he was more worried about tactical information than anything else. Guess old habits really did die hard with her Spartan II. Of course, her concern was him and always would be. And her Rampancy had been taken care of when the UNSC had recovered the two of them from Requiem, so she wouldn't be leaving the LT anytime soon.

"Engines and weapons are down from what Sharia will share. Shields are just barely in working order and our friends followed us over to...wherever the hell we are. Astrogation charts are useless as there's no readily identifiable star clusters nearby." 228 grunted and headed for the bridge. Maybe the captain could shed some light on what exactly had happened.

[Assistant]
"Are you sure you want to use that?"
Emily shakes her head in response to Cody's question, slinging her rocket launcher onto her shoulder and grabbing an MA5C off of the table in the center of the room. Cody shrugs and grabs his own set of weapons. A moment after they begin picking grenades, Andrew strolls in as if he was having a casual day at work, grabbing a standard loadout of a pistol and rifle. "You been grabbing the drugs, private?" Emily asks, a grin on her face. "You know, I'm not sure the UNSC will react well if you are nicking all of the morphine for adrenaline pumps and overdoses." Andrew looks back at her with a grin on his face. "Shut up, or I'll give you a prostate exam and then tell the UNSC I did it because you and Cody slept together." Emily and Cody's faces both go red as Andrew laughs.

The door of the armory slides open, and Samuel takes long strides toward them. "Sergeant on deck! Dauntless, form up!" Emily calls, and the trio stand ramrod straight in a line along the table they were organizing their weapons on. Now that they were paying attention to their squad leader, they saw that there was someone in white armour following behind. "At ease," Samuel says, standing opposite of his team, the Spartan standing aside. "This is Spartan Rose. She will be accompanying us, mainly for spook reasons-" Rose gives Samuel a sharp look from beneath her helmet, and he returns the look, though a lot more casually. "Go ahead. If you don't like the way I speak, say it yourself."

Rose turns to the ODSTs again, and clears her throat. "According to our resources, star charts, and cross referencing of data analysis, it has been concluded that this is a new system. For ONI sections one through three, including ONI division delta six, I am required to gather intelligence of this system." She turns her head back to Samuel, who scowls lightly. "Dauntless, grab your gear."

Arrow had been gathering information on the current scenario, and was compressing and piling files in Rose's storage drive on the Trinity. "You know," He says in her helmet speakers, "You didn't need to be so harsh with them. Even though Mr Peterson looks ready to shove you out of an airlock." Rose giggles quietly, and wiggles her eyebrows at Samuel's image on her HUD. "Jeez, you make that sound like I was angry." She says, watching fireteam Dauntless grab their equipment. Once they are done, they move out, Rose following.

[User]
Unknown Sector
Republic Warship Valor

Sari stood on the bridge of Thranta-Class Corvette she had her arms behind her back overlooking the bridge, with a small fleet of five ships. One of the bridge crew looked down at the communications. "Ma'am we are getting a distress call." The communications officer said turning to look over at Jedi Master Nevran, she started to walk over towards him. "Play it." She said, and the officer nodded as he turned it onto the intercom. "This is the UNSC Trinity, we are requesting immediate assistance, our engines are down and we have Covenant on an intercept course. Requesting that a reaction force be sent to our location at best possible speed." The officer looked up at Sari looking for orders, listening to the message once more. A different officer, the navigations officer, looked up as well. "We can be there in ten minutes, maybe eight if we push the engines," she claims.

Sari closed her eyes sensing a disturbance in the force, and nodded. "Set in the course then order the fleet as well." She ordered, the navigations officer nodded as she put in the coordinates the Republic fleet went into hyperspace.

The edge Between the Seat of the Empire and Unknown Sector.
Imperial Warship Crescents Wrath

Nara sat in her seat quietly looking out into the view port of her ship watching as a few fighters flew by the bridge, so far the day had been rather dull. She stares at the Oppessor for a moment until she heard one of the bridge officers voices, Nara sighed as she stood up and approached her. "We are reciving some sort of distress call within the Unknown Sector." She said staring at her for a few seconds before pressing a button letting the message play. "This is the UNSC Trinity, we are requesting immediate assistance, our engines are down and we have Covenant on an intercept course. Requesting that a reaction force be sent to our location at best possible speed."

It took a few moments before Nara said anything she had never even heard of these factions before, and then nodded. "Order the fleet to intercept them, we will drag them back with us if we have to." Nara said before turning back to sit back in her command seat. The navigation and communication officers nod before sending out the order to jump.


[System]
Age - 29

Gender - Male

Bio - Lucas comes from a town a little ways down the road from Cross-Haven, where his parents own a locally famous tavern by the name of "Your Friendly Niirborhood Tavern." Their service is fantastic and incredibly quick, with their only being three people employed: Both of Lucas's parents, and a single cook. Their business was their pride and joy, and ever since childhood, Lucas was captured by the devotion his parents showed towards their business, and aspired to run the store some day.

Lucas helped out around the tavern, and eventually was considered to be a fourth employee by everyone. He learned much from his parents, and eventually became skilled enough to open his own tavern in Cross-Haven by the same name. Business there, although a little slower due to the smaller size of the town, was well, and lived up to the reputation of his parents business in the town over. Lately, however, it had come to Lucas's attention that his father had come down with a terrible sickness. Due to this, his normally cheerful and eager-to-please attitude has waned a little bit.

Who is the Seer? - Lucas has heard of him/her, but doesn't believe in The Seer. Upon mention, he usually will laugh and reply with: "Hell, we can all see, can't we? I don't see the big hoopla over it."

[User]
The tall amber grass swayed as Niana stalked her way through the field. She reached a clearing and slowly pushed a stalk out of the way and peered out onto the road. There was a cart. There was a farmer on that cart, as well as a man (or a woman, Niana couldn't tell). Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that this person was the Seer. The Seer that people had been discussing for weeks in the town square when Niana had been watching. The Seer that would help her find those men that had killed her family. She growled at the mere thought of them, her teeth bared. She watched as the Seer got off the cart and headed in closer to the town of Crosshaven.

The feral girl retreated and sat back down amongst the grass. She closed her eyes and listened. There was the rustling of the grass with the wind. There was the call of distant birds. There was also the steady beat of Niana's own heart. But.... there was something else. Something farther off, like the tapping of shoes on the dirt road. The Seer? She peeked out of the grass again. No it wasn't the Seer. She turned and faced the other way. Sure enough she could make out a man's silhouette. She darted back into the grass and creeped in his direction, away from the town to get a better look at him.

By the time she made it close enough to him, he had sat down. Niana also noticed he was clutching a bag. He seemed to be at ease on the road, so she figured he wasn't from around here. She clutched her bone knife and wondered what to do.

[Assistant]
Argo had spent a considerable portion of his morning in the normal fashion, out amongst the hills and forests of the perimeter of Crosshaven in the pursuit of plants, herbs, roots, and all other manner of psychical remedies. His self-training in the shamanistic arts were progressive considerably. In the path few months he had begun experimenting with the effects of different plants on different sicknesses, be they animal or human, and had taken to keeping a log of his findings. Today the routine had continued to some moderate success. Some days the herbs were low to the ground, hidden amongst the grass and difficult to find. Today a few choice samples poked up from beneath the forest floor and made themselves known to them; they were collected promptly. Bag filled with the necessary items it was not even mid-morning by the time the shaman returned, retiring to his quarters near the outskirts of town.

Argo spent the rest of the morning in religious prayer and observance. He had learned the proper rites and rituals from passing travelers who were more than happy to pass on the information in return for mending a broken arm or healing a sick animal. Small bits of tobacco burned in an incense jar on the far side of the room; it was the only suitable leaf he could find around these parts of the world. Retiring after his hour or so of worship the shaman decided to go into town to check up on the population. As their principal healer and religious icon Argo had become an important if not truly prominent member of the community. It was during his journey into town that he caught word of the Seer's arrival.

For weeks now there had been rumors and speculation and all manner of tall tales which related the supposed powers, abilities, personality, and appearance of the legendary mystic. It was said that those who conversed with the Seer found either great or terrible fortune and so, it was with these portents in mind that Argo moved towards the center of Crosshaven with an intention of seeking the mighty mystic out.

[User]
"And so then... And so then - Hoo!... So then I said to him, 'what do you mean, we're all out of gin? I put the order in last week!'"

The Niirborhood Tavern was alive with loud, hearty guffaws as Lucas Niir hit the four listeners with his punchline from behind the bar. Lucas, laughing with them, wiped away a tear, and continued washing a dirty glass. "Let me tell you something, Lucas, those jokes won't ever get old!" One of the listeners complimented. Lucas just shrugged. "It's my job to keep you folks happy and full. It looks like I've done a good job of both." Besides the four men, there were about two others sitting at two different tables. One cracked a grin at Lucas's joke, but the other stayed stoic, watching the door intently. "Hey, can I get you fine folks in the back anything?" Both looked back and denied the offer.

"You got anymore good jokes, Lucas? You know I come here just for 'em!" Lucas stepped back and placed the glass he was washing on the shelf behind him upside-down, next to a row of other sparkly clean glasses. "Sorry boys, maybe tomorrow," he responded. This was met with a chorus of moans and groans from his audience, and he waved them off like flies. "Oh come on now. I've got work to do. And hey, you guys best be getting some work in, too. These drinks ain't free, not by a long shot."

[Assistant]
As the Seer had walked along the route he had sensed a presence nearby; however it did not seem to be hostile so the Seer ignored the presence and continued toward the 'heart' of the town. The Seer could feel several pricklings down its spine, not hurtful ones, more like gentle proddings. The Seer knew what these signs meant, the fates were once again bringing some rather integral characters to the stage for another grand play. Unlike what the stories said, the Seer could not in fact control the events and information that flowed into his mind from outside his knowledge. The Seer did have visions to be sure but trying to make any sense out of them was sort of like interpreting a dream, even if the image was clear the meaning could easily escape. Thankfully the Seer had quite a bit of experience with this strange gift and therefore was quite good at figuring things out. It appeared there would be a few intersecting stories in this village that the Seer would be a part of.

The large young man unloading the supply wagon, the traveler behind him, the presence that the Seer sensed, already a few of the pieces were starting to become apparent. Course a few pieces to the puzzles were just that, pieces, the Seer would put the picture together eventually, now it was high time to get a drink and some food. The Seer looked for the nearest place to get some refreshment, it appeared 'The Niirborhood Tavern' was the place to go. The Seer idly wondered if the owner had purposefully decided to mis-spell neighborhood to make it specially or if he really thought that was the correct spelling but that was but a small mystery that did not deserve to be found out.

The Seer entered the establishment without hesitation. There was a rowdy bunch in there already it appeared but the Seer was not bothered by some noise. From some of the conversation in the tavern it appeared the Seer's reputation had preceded the mystic. Still as was usual with such rumor one of the most important facts about the Seer was just plain ludicrous, the Seer's appearance. The usual rumors were that the Seer was a wise old man who showed wisdom on his wrinkly face, was in fact a gorgeous and well-endowed woman, or was in fact a powerful warrior that used his mighty magics to lay waste to creatures of darkness. The Seer never made any effort to correct the rumors as it allowed the magician to travel through most towns without too much trouble. Being always on the move the Seer tried not to stay too long in any one spot unless there was a reason to be and it looked like Crosshaven might just be such a place.

The Seer strode across the floor, almost making no sound when walking. The Seer made it to the bar and took a counter-seat with the men nearby. "Barkeep a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We wish to purchase a meal and a glass of honey-wine if available." Honey-wine a step up from most of the low end drinks but did not quite reach the levels of sophistication of the higher class, still it was not a drink a regular working man could afford very often. "As for the meal, we shall take whatever special you recommend to travelers in order to taste Crosshaven's flavor."

Even just sitting there and speaking the Seer gave off a distinct aura or...differentness. It was not exactly odd just different, course the Seer's looks helped tip it over to more of an oddity along with that particular way of talking. The Seer was capable of making people curious, weary, confused, and pleasant all at the same time. It really was quite a feat.

[User]
Arman groaned, slumping down on the seat at the front of the wagon. Rubbing her eyes, trying to clear away the bleary, fuzzy, vision. Silently she mouthed something, probably a rude word, but no sound came out. It really wasn't fair that she had to lose her voice NOW, when they were finally at a village after traveling on the roads for so long. Sighing she flipped open her latest book of legends, that she had bargained for a few villages back. The price had been steep, and she was wary, it was probably just another book full of common fairytales. But her life was these stories and so, even knowing she was probably being conned, she had traded out three rabbits, a pigeon, and a handful of coins. The rabbits she had caught herself, and Ryan had 'lent' her the pigeon so he would be expecting something back. He was her 'father figure', the man who had picked her up all those years ago, and she had taken his name, as was costmary in some regions, Ryanson, or Ryan's son, even though she was neither his son nor a boy. Ryan himself was driving the wagon, whistling cheerfully, to a tune in his head. Frowning Arman droned the sound out, burying her worries about her voice, and started reading from her book.

Have You Heard?
Have You Heard?
The Seer is here!
The Seer is here!
The Seer brings Miracles!
The Seer brings Death!

Arman sighed, this poem again. There wasn't anything wrong with the poem, actually she loved it, more than most of her stories, but as with most things, too much of something leads you to never want to encounter it again. This had been the first proper thing she had read, back when she was learning to read, piecing together the hastily scrawled words on their scrumpled piece of paper. When she had finally managed to read it, to read it all, she would then spend some time every day re-reading it, proving to herself that she could, that it wasn't a dream. Speaking of dreams; Arman jolted awake, wincing at the sore spot where Ryan had dug in his elbow. She mouthed a curse at him, but still found she couldn't talk. Glancing ahead she found they were at the edge of the town. Ryan stopped the horse, and Arman could hear the creak as the two other wagons behind them pulled to a halt as well. "Meet you back here, this evening, yeah?" Ryan bellowed at the other four as he hopped down from the wagon, grinning back up at Arman. "Shall we go conduct business, and see if there's someone who can help with your voice?"

[Assistant]
Lucas looked up from his audience and smiled at the young... Oh boy, I'm in for it now,Lucas thought to himself as he couldn't exactly guess what sex this newcomer was. She -or he- had long, black hair tied up in a neat ponytail, and at first sight the, this would make any sane person believe that this fellow could be a woman. But her face was so rigid and sure, unsmiling and straight that this patron could have been a man. And of course, men without ponytails weren't totally unheard of. Why, just the other day, Lucas had a man cone in who was under an occupation of a foreign name. He said he was a sam-ooh-something... Or maybe a rai-ooh-something? Oh, to Hell with it, Lucas thought.

After a fee seconds of searching for a unisexual pronoun for his customer, and a short second of hesitation, Lucas Niir smiled and nodded. "I don't think I've had anyone ask for honey-wine in quite some time, stranger. I'll see if I have any in stock, though. And just in case you've never come in before, the name is Lucas Niir. At your service, stranger." He greeted the mysterious fellow and turned around to examine his shelves of liquor, looking around for the specified drink. He certainly stocked honey-wine, but only near festival seasons. The folks that walked in to the tavern around these parts usually favored a more "manly" drink."Let's see... Hmmm... Ah, here we are!" Lucas pulled out a bottle of unopened honey-wine, ready to serve. He started to open it immediately with one hand, searching behind him for a bottle with his other. "Well, you're in luck. This is one of my last bottles."

As he poured, he thought about what exactly he could make for his customer. They had a limited menu at the Niirborhood Tavern; usually the chef Lucas has hired made whatever he could make, but because of his great skill in cooking, this was usually not complained about. "Hey, chef!" He called to a door to his right which led to a kitchen. "Think you can cook up a meal for me?" With that, he set the wine glass filled with the golden wine in front of the stranger. "Excuse me, but you're old enough to drink, right?" With a yes, he would let go of the glass for the customer's enjoyment. "So, what's your name, stranger?"


[System]
Dame Charlotte Encore,
The Duchess

---

Basics
Nicknames, titles, etc.:
"The Duchess" - One Hive City gang, The Gentry, is lead by someone referred to only as The Duchess. For the Duchess' protection, only a handful of people, The Counts, know their real identity. Said handful would know The Duchess to be Dame Charlotte Elizabeth Encore.
"Dame..." - As Charlotte's identity as The Duchess is kept secret, she poses as a Dame within The Gentry. This means that she can wield a minor amount of power among them without revealing her true identity. She is, however, expected to earn her keep like any other low-ranking member.
Age:
39
Species:
Human
Gender:
Female
Height:
5'5"
Weight:
136lbs

Appearance
As is custom among The Gentry, almost none of Charlotte's natural appearance is visible while she is. Excessive makeup veils the colour of her skin, an intricate mask covers most of her face, and a dramatic dress hides her figure. The effect is an appearance of wealth and power, as well as a certain kind of artificial beauty. Her appearance is often comparable to a porcelain doll, which is, again, a common feature among The Gentry. It creates a sense of anonymity, to the point where, with the changes in a person's outfit from day to day, it can become impossible to recognise one of the Gentry as one seen before. This adds another level of protection against would-be assassins - even if they were to discover the Duchess' true identity, it would still be very difficult to recognise them.
Behind all the makeup and masquerade is a very different woman, in more than just appearance. Modest, brown hair that falls just past Charlotte's shoulders, a slight build and pale blue eyes. While her public appearance is the ultimate display of wealth and confidence, Charlotte's private self is a more unassuming character. Certainly not someone you'd expect to be leading one of the most dangerous criminal syndicates out there.

Capabilities
Charlotte carries an estoc and a cinquedea (a thin thrusting sword and a long, wide dagger). The shorter cinquedea is used for parrying blows and trapping an opponent's weapon, while the estoc is used in attack, and is adept at piercing metal armour. Both are heavily stylised and look extremely expensive, in keeping with The Gentry's style. Additionaly, though Charlotte is not especially strong, she is an expert in wielding both weapons, and extensive use of two weapons at once has rendered her ambidextrous. Of course, Charlotte is intelligent enough to wear a layer of leather armour underneath her clothes. Even a noblewoman is better off discomforted than dead.

Personality
As leader of The Gentry, Charlotte is the ultimate representation of what a member should be. She is polite and well-mannered, and has an excellent poker face even before her manner of dress is considered. She practically lives her life by the idea that there is a time and a place for everything, but realising this means everything has a correct time as much as everything has an incorrect time. She'll use violence and deception in equal amounts: whenever it is the correct time and place. She'll show off just as much as she'll keep secrets: whenever it is the correct time and place. She is powerful, and wealthy, and she wants to be more powerful, and more wealthy. The method does not matter to her, she just wants to see her organisation succeed.

[User]
Kull seemed momentarily surprised that she had gotten back up after a bronze greave to the skull, but he quickly estimated that it had just been one of those strange, inevitable flukes which show up now and then, like a man born with boobs or a potato shaped like the Emperor's face. He wasted no more time pondering it. He waved his left hand dismissively, scowling. His other hand felt tentatively at his blinded eye, Kull grunting with disgust at his carelessness. He figured himself lucky it hadn't been his life, with how he had underestimated the big one's resolve. This one was determined too, yet... She seemed out of place, not like the brutish monsters that fought tooth and nail here on a regular basis.

"The F*CK you talking about? Get the hell out of here already. I'll have 'em open the bloody gate. Where did they pull you from, a masquerade ball? This is pit fighting, to the death, not some duel where I have to make a name for myself killing a bitch in a dress. What do you- *noisely snorts out a gob of blood* think you get if you win, other than a pat on the back and a ticket to dying another day here!? As if shit like that will make me a man? GO. Get back to your court or whatever, I'll make sure they ship you there like the pretty package you are. The Captain of the Crimson Guard doesn't kill girls unless they have glandular issues that make them look like BUNGWHOPPING MALES. Otherwise I'll look bad! Well, bad in a SHITTY way, not a BADASS way, got it!?"

He jerked a harsh finger towards the gate and began making exaggerated circular motions with it. The men manning the portcullis looked confused for a few seconds before they began hesitatingly winding the gate back up. It was surprising. The savage man seemed to have something akin to a conscience after all.

[Assistant]
"I'll admit, it's a tempting offer, but somehow you've managed to make me dislike you so much I'd risk my life for the chance to end yours."

Kull hadn't attacked. Typical. Still, Charlotte was uninclined to simply stand around waiting. She couldn't have her audience getting bored, after all. So, after taking a few moments for her vision to finish clearing, she moved forwards lightly and made her attack.

Learning from last time, she avoided committing herself too much to it, so she could avoid a counterattack. Instead she moved forwards so that she could slash at Kull's neck with the very tip of the estoc, standing side-on and putting weight onto her back foot so she could dart forwards if he were to dodge back. The swing was small and quick, moving diagonally upwards and to Charlotte's right, stopping almost immediately after the intended point of contact, while her cinquedea remained where it was, ready to defend as necessary.

[User]
Kull had no intention of miming a cigar store indian, waiting to be crapped on by a bird. He'd wanted to make sure she was resolute to see it all through to the end before he went on the offensive. He whipped his gladius out of its sheath and brought it to a half raised position when she finished talking, and clapped his empty left hand to his right clavicle, the silvery glint in his eye all but broadcasting that he was ready to punish should she try to stop him from retrieving his weapon before she regained all her senses. She'd been asking for him to attack, and so he would.

He abruptly took a big left step forwards and tore loose his cloak, whisking it over his right shoulder and hurling it fluttering towards her upper body, a crimson curtain signifying the end of the show. Again he was acting on the most important rule of fighting. You can't fight what you can't see, unless you're Spiderman or something. After throwing it he'd weave to his left in case she tried stabbing straight through the cape on reaction, dipping after her so he could catch her if she tried to backpedal, not that she'd be so quick with a bad leg. His gladius could stab right through her leather, but from whence would it come? Her entire body was a target for his biting edge, each stroke liable to maim or kill. How she handled the cloak obscuring her vision was key to survival.

[Assistant]
Use of the cape in battle. A popular strategy in fencing, but always an annoying one. Typically one would simply move out of the way, as a cloak throw was almost always followed up with an attack. Besides, it's simply stupid to attack through, and leave oneself open to retribution.

Kull was correct in that an injured right leg would slow a backwards retreat from where he was now standing, as putting large amounts of weight on it would be painful. However, Charlotte could bring her right foot, which had been in front during the previous attack, back next to her left, turning her to face Kull's new position in time to duck the cloak before he continued to move in that direction.

The question, then was how to respond. Kull was undoubtedly stronger than Charlotte, so a close melee could not be prolonged in her favour, without an outside advantage. Yet, she could not reliably hit Kull with her estoc, without an outside advantage. Without an outside advantage.

A disgustingly brutal idea came across Charlotte. Not something she'd ever consider doing normally, but Kull had annoyed her, and it might be necessary for her survival. Without an outside advantage. What was her best advantage over Kull? His injury.

Dropping her estoc to the sand, Charlotte leapt up (two feet to two feet, keeping her leg in mind) from her ducking position and jammed her right thumb into Kull's injured eye.

Should her attack work, she would grin, and say to her opponent "You know what might have helped there? A mask."

[User]
It would've been brutal, had Kull not acted on yet another rule of combat. If you can't reach your opponent, then you can at least reach their reach. Quite frankly, it meant that if you were facing an opponent that was risky to attempt body shots on, you should go for their arms. Dame dropping her main weapon only aided Kull in his endeaver. He kept his head turned towards her, focusing his good eye on his opponent to keep from being blindsided. He reacted quickly to her counter, as if it were a jab during his regular barefisted sparring sessions.

The scarring on his face had mostly come from fist fighting, and so he well knew how to handle hands flying at his mug in a jiffy. He tucked his chin down, lowering his face so her thumb instead collided with his forehead, his raised and ready gladius flashing down to slice her arm in twain just below the elbow and send her hand skidding across the sand before she could yank it back. It was a strong, compact swing, his armpit not open and left vulnerable for any stabs, even if she had the presence of mind to try and immediately attack with her dagger after potentially losing much of her arm. If she tried defending with her dagger, the burlier gladius would be liable to pound it out of her grip and still give her a nice cut for the trouble with its greater momentum.

[Assistant]
So Kull wanted to cut off Charlotte's arm? It was a fair plan, but a doomed one.

First of all, Kull's comparison of Charlotte's attack to a jab was logical, except in one manner; while it would take momentum to deal damage with a punch, it would not take momentum to inflict the pain desired by putting force on the wound. Therefore it was a simple matter for Charlotte to simply slide her thumb down into Kull's forehead and into his eye. In fact, she probably could have adjusted course mid attack, but it was too late for that now.

The sword. The sword was still a problem. But, again, there was one mistake in his logic. High school physics: when pushing a lever, the further away from the fulcrum you are pushing, the less force is necessary to move the lever that far. The lever being the gladius, and the fulcrum being Kull's hand, this would mean that his additional force from momentum could be rendered irrelevant if Charlotte could meet his blade at the middle with the handle end of her blade, and, considering that the wide blade of the cinquedea was meant for parrying anyway, she could feasibly stop the gladius in its tracks. So, that was what she did.

[User] The reason Kull liked to take hits on the forehead? The forehead was hard. He'd messed up the knuckles of many fighters by letting them sock his brainplate. Dislocated knuckles, fractured metacarpals... Though it depended on how hard they attacked. She'd tried to jab at his eye, and might've ended up jamming her thumb good on his helm instead. That being said, she'd be able to slide it down into his eye, extracing a roar of pain from the man. It took his breath away, how much it hurt. It was very painful, yes, but not at all lethal and Kull knew it. He had to keep fighting for his life, had to kill the urge to cringe or pause to take a breather, had to own up to the pain and power through it. In a reactive flash, like when you slap a bee that's stung you, his left hand surged up to sieze her right hand in a crushing grip and wrench her off his grimacing face, twisting cruelly to lock her arm out to the side, all the while keeping his head turned enough to maintain sight of her with his good eye. He'd abruptly spit a fat gout of blood at her eyes, accumulated from his damaged sinuses, potentially making her flinch. He wasn't worried about her attacking with her dagger, though he was anticipating it. To do so she'd leave herself open, and Kull had many ways of creaming someone. It was her only remaining defense, and she probably knew she had only one shot with it.

[Assistant]
This might be a problem. Right arm twisted away, painfully - useless. Left arm free, but necessary for defending against that gladius - useless. Legs unable to reach any vulnerable targets, right leg in particular weakening - both useless.

And then Kull spat blood in her face. As he'd planned, she flinched. She didn't want blood on her mask, after all.

Charlotte's opponent was stronger than her, so freeing herself would not be easy. Her right arm's position was limiting her movement - unless she moved with it. She stepped in the direction he was twisting her arm, moving so that it was still trapped, but no longer painful, or in danger of breaking. It did, however, put Charlotte behind Kull, facing away from him. Hardly a suitable position to fight him from.

The best she could come up with from there was a sharp back kick with her left leg into the inside of Kull's right knee, in an attempt to unbalance him and possibly loosen his hold. Regardless, she quickly had to return her left leg to the ground, as she doubted that her right would be able to take her full weight for more than a few moments.


[System]
Lord Uilles Venray

Lord Pharlan Auregin Venray

Lady Leandra Hendreshy Venray

[User]
Meanwhile Tyrhallan was flying up front, sticking to the clouds, to try and stay out of sight, but this did not mean their path was an easy one. Trying to avoid the chaotic winds created by the mages and the lightning called upon and weaponized meant they were literally in the line of fire.
As they reached the frontlines Eilis couldn't stop from looking horrified at the scene below her.
She wasn't sure where the sky began and the ground stopped, the forces collided in so many different ways that it was dizzying to behold. Dragonfighters chased Empire soldiers on strange contraptions, artillery was blasted at one another, literally carving their own path in both vessel and earth. Eilis looked at back at Arn with concern, knowing his friends were probably down there grabbing hold of his arm for a moment.
She wanted to say so many things, to apologize for being the reason he wasn't with those he cared about, those he had fought with to protect his home.
But she didn't get the opportunity as another blast of lightning cut off their path forcing Umbra to fly lower, catching the attention of a couple of Imperial soldiers.
They send their flying machines up after them, thinking them soldiers running from the battlefield.

Tyrhallan's eyes had scanned the battlefield seeing the clear struggle the Hearthguard had and cursed himself for not being able to be of any help.
The lightning was making their path forward even more difficult, but still they had to try, they had to…wait.
Tyrhallan's eyes had been drawn to a familiar form on the battlefield.
"Uncle?" He had uttered aloud, before the humming of engines and shouts of Imperial soldiers came from behind them.
Shit, they had been spotted. Turning Viscera around, he shouted to Arn.
"Fly ahead, I'll deal with them! Take care of her!" As he flew past Umbra and towards the Imperial soldiers.
He deftly made Viscera avoid their weapons, allowing the creature to loop and roll over and past them, this allowed Tyrhallan to draw his weapon and unleash his clasps. Dropping in and making short work of the first two before two more showed up, ramming the contraption to shake Tyrhallan off.
One was taken out by Viscera coming up from behind it and slamming its own weight against it. It also allowed Tyrhallan to jump back onto the Wyrm as it allowed the winds to carry it upwards and away from the other, disappearing in the clouds so the other had to give chase.

[Assistant]
Thobi was surprised at all the clamor regarding one single person when the Elder Venray arrived to the squadron. The man seemed not only old but injured. Yet, the way that people were celebrating, you would think that they had won the war. As cheers and shouts went up, he recognized the name, Venray. If he remembered correctly, the silver haired Knight Captain that had questioned him about Master Arn was also name Venray. If these two were kin, it would make sense.

In the young mage's mind, any sort of morale boost that would rally the troops was a welcome event. So He joined in the cheer hoping that the increase in morale would translate into an increase in fighting power. They needed it.

However, unlike the knights, an honorable death by the sword was not the young mage's final goal. He would fight honorable of course but he would be dammed if he were to just throw his life away so easily. Perhaps this one tenant was one of the reasons why knights and mages did not get along. They viewed honor in a different manner.

For example, he would have never shouldered a shield against a dreadnought class warship. Thobi's mouth hung open as the ship opened fire on a lone man. Bit of an over kill, the young mage thought. His semblance did not change when his eyes alone could not follow the movements of the Elder Venray as he knocked down the bullet. As if watching a sporting event and not a life or death match, The young mage cheered as the black clad man landed on the brow of the ship. A small figure compared to the lumbering machine.

This time the cheers that came from the young mage's mouth were real as the man moved through the upper deck dispatching his opponents. Thobi had always been a fan of knights despite his designation. So seeing one so skilled in action brought back childhood fantasies. His spirits lifted and a small glimmer of hope that the Belisian forces might still have a chance to win entered his heart.

As the second figure appeared on the deck, an obvious challenger and champion, the young man could not help but get even more excited. The duel promised to be a fight no one would soon forget. The seconds were tense as the two fighters stood obviously exchanging words. Thobias almost fell off his mount's seat as he tried to lean closer to listen. Yet, the knights formation did not waver, they awaited the signal from their commander.

******************************************************************************

The sounds of the battle resounded throughout the heavens as Arn and his lovely protégé flew astride a Wyrm. His eyes scanned the battlefield not only to avoid any obvious dangers but also to wistfully locate any of his squad mates. Oh how the battle mage yearned to be there with them. There was a part of him that was made for battle. For the longest time, it had been his sole way of expression and his squad the closest thing to family.

His eyes saw the flashes of lighting and flashes of artillery. Both producing their own boom. He sighed, hoping that the young fool Thobi was using his brain for once and came out of this alive. Though truth be told, the Master Mage did not know if he would ever see him or Belisio again. He cast a glance in front of him to their silver haired benefactor. Tyrhallan was more than likely suffering the same withdrawal.

The closer the trio got to the front lines, the harder it was to avoid pockets of fighting and artillery fire. The surface to air bombardment may not be doing much damage to the big ships of the Viemese but they would be devastating to the riders.

Eilis must have sensed Arn's misgivings for she grabbed his arm. The Master Mage was recalled from his surveying of the battles in hopes of catching a glimpse of his squad mates. He looked at her concerned face and offered her a reassuring and tender smile. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered loud enough to hear.  "I am fine Eilis. My men know what to do and how to survive. You are my mission now. One I am glad to take."

His other hand went across her small waist to pat her on the hand that was on his forearm. A wave of heat extending towards her to stave off any coldness travelling in the stratos might cause and to stave off shock.

Suddenly, the battle came to them. Whether they had been spotted or happened upon by chance. The small group was now a target of the Imperial fighters. Trained and efficient as the mount they rode was, the air was more the Knight Captains territory. A field to which Venray took to gladly.

"Fly ahead, I'll deal with them! Take care of her!"

Arn nodded. He completely agreed with the lord that his priority was Eilis and the mission. He gave the knight a good luck sign and prodded their Wyrm onward. Umbra did as was asked and with a screech and mighty flap of its wings, the creature gathered speed leaving behind the Knight Captain and the Imperial patrol.

They did not get far when out of the clouds another contingent came rushing out. Arn's eye became murderous. Not only where they blocking their path and putting his charge in danger, but he also wanted to avenge the men and women who had already lost their lives in defense of Belisio.

Again he leaned forward and called out to Eilis. "Take the rains, keep the Wyrm straight." Using the strength of his legs he attempted to stand up. His eyes began to glow and a magic user like his protégé was sure to feel the manipulation of the Aether. Digging into the Thread, Arn utilized the already heavily charged skies. Thankfully, the Imperial patrol that came at them had more than enough metal to attract the arc of lighting that streaked from his hands towards the incoming Viemese. The lighting was hot blue and it them with enough charge to immolate them.

Sitting back onto the saddle he took the reigns from Eilis and prodded their mount deeper in the skies past the barricaded of clouds for the open air. He looked back trying to catch a glimpse of Tyrhallan hoping that they would not be seeing the last of him.

[User]
Uilles readied himself as he watched the man in front of him with uncertainty.
The fact that he had downed 'Dursa's Poison' was terrifying, it was a horrible potent drug. Though Uilles didn't know what it exactly consisted of he knew of the effects that it had on people.
Consuming it gave one ridiculous power and a surge of energy that was highly addictive in nature. A couple of drops would give you the strength and ferocity of an adult *Morgrave, it also was said to create a kind of madness and bloodlust. A violent need to kill.
And Ravros had downed a whole vial of it.

He watched the man in front of him softy snicker and the glint in the man's eyes change, one of unspeakable lust and desire, as the veins in the man's neck and face suddenly became visible as if the 'poison' showed itself travelling through the body as its effects started. From thin and wiry purple lines to those with an angrier shade of Mauve as his eyes darkened. They seemed unfocussed for a moment before they honed in on him and all hell broke loose.
Just as Uilles had send ki down to strengthen his legs Ravros suddenly swung his blade recklessly towards him, with such power and speed that he had barely caught it with his own.
Sparks had flown as the blades had clashed, with Uilles needing both his arms to hold his own weapon as the thunderous powerful one armed slams came crashing down upon it. Every time the offensive blade came closer to his face and neck and despite the amount of ki he had send down, he felt his own body be forced backwards with every blow.
"What's the matter Venray? Where is your might now?" Ravros laughed mockingly as he hammered on easily casting aside a rare attack that Uilles could send back. The General was driving the knight backwards, towards the edge of the ship. He would make an example out of him.
The whole of Belisio would see their hero for the weak fool he truly was.
Uilles clenched his jaws and gritted his teeth as he desperately tried to hold his ground but realized that he wouldn't be able to keep this up. Feeling the strain on his lame leg sapping away his ki he felt he needed a way out, a way to swing things back into his favour.
"Damn you!" Uilles growled forcing all his strength in a dive forward taking Ravros head on pivoting his body and grabbing Ravros's swordarm, bypassing the sword and throwing him half up and over him, allowing himself some necessary time to get back towards the center of the deck.
Enraged at this clever move Ravros picked up a second blade from one of the fallen soldiers and charged back at Uilles, who now had twice the danger to watch out for. Though the swings were powerful they were less calculated and Uilles hoped he could use that as his advantage, provided he managed to block the offensive strikes and keep his ground.
Ravros meanwhile was seething at the mouth, his teeth coloured in the same dark liquid he had drank but moments ago.
"I am going to kill you Venray! I am going to hack you into pieces! Limb from limb!"
"You're going to have to hit me first, Ravros!" He goaded replied before having to jump backwards from the swing at his legs, before catching the other aimed at his neck. He glanced the blow off but couldn't hold off the other blade that had moved upwards and dug into his armour at his side.
A sharp pain follow as he watched the blade draw back, its metal painted red by his blood.
Loud euphoric laughter rang from Ravros's mouth as he watched the knight grasp at his side with one hand, the red liquid dripping onto the deck.
"I hope that wasn't a kidney Uilles." He cackled seeing the knight in pain.
"Maybe now you realize your future, your life and that of Belisio are numbered and the clock is quickly counting down. Don't worry though, I'll take the pleasure of slaying you before your little kingdom crumbles. I'll make sure your legacy is erased…no one will believe you ever existed."
Uilles breathed heavily as he watched Ravros like a hawk.
"If I die, I will join my forebears my soul will be in tact unlike yours. I know who I am and unlike you I don't live for vengeance alone."
"I will break your wings raptor." Ravros promised. "I will break your spirit and I will make certain your soul will be broken too!" He vowed as he raised both his blades. He would cut the man to shreds. He would finish this once and for all.

*Morgrave - An oversized Wolverine that will hunt and kill anything that moves. Its hide and fur so thick that simple swords get stuck in it or can't get through it.


[System]
Race: Krogan

Gender/Age: Male; 351

Appearance:

Class/Specialization: Soldier

Weapons: M-8 Avenger, M-5 Phalanx, Omni-Blade

Powers: (Biotics/Tech/etc) Carnage, Cryo Ammo, Frag Grenade, Overload, Marksman

Affiliation/Occupation: Mercenary

Background: Varok had been born to Clan Thax - a smaller, but more intelligent clan during that time. While they were smaller than the clans of Weyloc or Urdnot, they made up for having more level-headed people than most clans. Making sure, to raise the few children they had to use their brain and brawn against their foes. They mostly stayed neutral during the various clan-wars that raged over the Tuchanka landscape.

Varok was the result of the usual policies of Clan Thax. Going as a mercenary into the world, once he was old enough. He has made himself a name, for being a good-enough mercenary in his works. Able in his job, fair in his payment and smart in his dealings.

Personality: Despite his brutish looking nature, Varok is actually quite intelligent. If he is treated with respect, he will return the same. Unless he is treated like a brute then he would reply in kind.

Other: Likes human chocolate.

[User]
Prisoner Holding Deck,
Citadel Docks,
22 Hours After Icarus Bombings

'At least they finally managed to cut off that incessant message' Tarrin thought to himself as he walked past the blank screen of a Galactic News Terminal. His team had been assembled, and as per the Council's instruction, they were sitting in the holding cells designed to detain prisoners who were being shipped off-world. Their gear had been placed inside the SSV Omaha, a newly constructed Alliance-Turian vessel in the same design of the Normandy. The official story would be a loss in power triggered the door opening, and the 7 prisoners made a break for it aboard the stealth ship that was awaiting deployment. Fisher and Hawke were supposed to be passing the message to the others, but to be sure, he was heading in himself.

The door to the C-Sec checkpoint slid open and the two human officers stationed there stood to salute.
"There's no need for that, officially I'm a renegade now, remember? You're both clear on your role in this?"
"Yes sir" the closest one responded.
"Well, cuff me and bring me in. Time is short"

He was escorted into the holding room and took a seat alongside Fisher.
"Status" he whispered to the human, keeping an eye on the cameras above them, waiting for the signal to move.
"All ready to go sir"
"Let's get to it"
The light above the camera flickered and went out, they were free to talk. Tarrin stood and addressed his new crew.
"You're all sitting here cuz you agreed to a job. Whatever reasons you had for signing on are your own. Consider this the moment you clocked in. In one minute, the lights will go out and that door's gonna spring open, when it does, don't hesitate, just run. We're gonna board that frigate and make for the relay. They're gonna shoot at us because they have to, but they will not hit. We'll discuss the mission once we're free of Council space. In the meantime, explore the deck, find a place to call your own. Now run like hell"

As he finished, the doors sprung open, and the crew moved out. The next 15 minutes were a blur of gunfire, blasting cannons, and way too many close calls for Tarrin's liking, but they finally hit the mass effect relay, and with that, their mission began.

[Assistant]
Reezan

As the alarms sounded and door opened Reezan could only feel tension, the door moving much too slowly. When the door was half-way opened he shot off like a bat out of hell towards Sena's cell, he yelled in Khelish, "Sena, stick behind me and keep up!" He quickly caught up to Tarrin, his light armor making up for his body's non-athleticism due to his sedentary position as a sniper. He figured if he stuck close to a beloved Spectre then there would be no way a bullet would come near him, and having Sena behind him gave her a shield in case of such an incident.

The smell of gunpowder was one he knew all too well but it gave him the adrenaline rush required to make this look real. Something bore into his shoulder, "Damn it!", Reezan exclaimed but pressed on. He covered his shoulder with his hand as he kept moving, I thought they weren't supposed to shoot at us! This was probably on purpose, maybe someone getting revenge for someone I killed, just another form of karmic retribution I guess. Blood began to pool under his hand as he rushed faster to get to the ship to avoid contamination.

Once on board Reezan moved quickly to the medbay to start his treatment for his shoulder. Well looks like I do need a patch job, he laughed to himself and seeked out Sena in order to fix his suit. After he was cleared he immediately went to the lower decks to find himself a rifle to call his own, his old rifle being confiscated that is. He chose his loadout and after the feel of a jump he came up to the navigation deck to discuss this 'plan' Tarrin was talking about.

[User]
Sena'Raan vas Alarei

Sena may have made a grave mistake. Up until now, she'd been a hostage of sorts, to the Batarian Pirates, to Octavus and his Turian crew, and yet ... even when she'd been "arrested" by C-Sec, she was viewed as a non-threat. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and they didn't real hold her culpable for her actions. That didn't fit this mission though, so she was arrested but no chargers were filed on her record. Amid the group of smugglers and pirates and thiefs, she was just there. When they began their less-than-heroic escape, she felt further out of place, she felt as alien as she had when she'd been kidnapped by Batarian's except this time she'd put herself in this position. Reezan's familiar suit sent a wave of relief over her, perhaps she didn't have to feel so alien after all. She did as she was bid and stayed close, bullets zipped by and she thought she'd gone mad- no, she was certain she'd gone mad. At some point Reezan got hit and and blood splattered on her visor in a fine mist. Even when they were on board and the airlock sealed shut, she still didn't calm down, adrenalin pumping. Reezan needed medical attention and she immediately began performing first aid and suit repairs for him.

"Oh I don't need help, I can patch myself up" Sena quipped sarcastically, putting on a mock-Reezan voice. "The mission hasn't even started and already I have to stitch you back together" her voice softened a little when she was certain the wound would heal, there was no guarantee Reezan would get away without an infection though ... hopefully it would only be a mild fever.
"I hope you know what you've gotten us into" Sena said, putting away the medical things as Reezan left.

She took her time to explore the ship, examining the engines with great fascination ... this ship was far more high tech than Octavus', far too high-end for her to ever hope to bring back to the Flotilla but she could learn from it in the mean time. The engineers on the engineering deck gave her queer looks and kept a distance until she asked a question about the drive core.
When it came time to find a place for her things, she selected quarters near the lab where she could study and examine weapons and geth and things.

[Assistant]
Varok grumbled at the sentence - when the guards were ordered to miss.

When they arrived at the experimental ship, he was likely hit thirty times somewhere.

Luckily his krogan regeneration, helped in fixing his wounds. While the quarians set themselves up in the media, he was stuck looking around the CIC. "So think there are any food here? Dextro and Levo?"

"It would be a waste of our mission failing because, the crew starved," spoke Varok, taking a look at the star-map. "Also your bad at giving encouragement."


[System]
John Jorgen
Nickname/Alias: The Historian, Professor, John
Race: Julliak
Age: 672
Ethnicity: What's an ethnicity?
Gender: Male
Appearance:

In their natural form, Julliaks appear to be very very tall (about 9 feet) bipedal humanoids with gaunt features, as though their skin were stretched tight against their bones. They have no hair to speak of, no mouths, and natural skin pigment ranges anywhere between deep blood red to albino white. All their eyes are green. Joniminum is a particularly light shade of red (but not pink!). Of course, that's his natural form as a Julliak, but he spends most of his time in the guest-friendly human form he shapeshifts into. In his human form, John looks like a male in his mid-forties with receding black hair styled straight back. No matter the time of day, he always has a five o'clock shadow. This form is six feet tall, well built, and always with a friendly twinkle in his eye even when annoyed.
Clothing: Black suit, dark blue button-up shirt, black tie.

In The Mind

Personality: Studious, wise, friendly, and engaging. John loves people and science. Used to be whole-heartedly devoted to the Galatec cause but only because he kept himself locked away in his labs and remained ignorant to the effect they were having on the people they "helped."
Likes: Computers, science, history, humanity, culture, legends
Dislikes: Wastefulness, malicious intent, tyranny, animal abuse
Fears: That he won't make a difference, his rangers being lost to battle, sharks
Quirks: Likes to shake hands when seeing someone even if they've met before, straightens his tie a lot

Where They've Been

History: Born on home world. Liked science and the idea of progress. Joined Galatec for great benefits and access to lots of research potential. Came to New Earth, studied humanity's history. Became enamored with human culture. Bad stuff went down. Faked his death and stole morpher technology. Setup base with Samara.
Talents: Computers, robotics, galaxy's foremost expert on the Morphin Grid, not bad in a fist fight.
Hindrances: Not good at coping with loss
Powers: Shape-shifting. Julliak shape-shifting is not nearly as fluid or varied as other forms of shape-shifting. A julliak needs to design a form on paper and study the biology, obtaining an understanding of all biological functions of the design, and burning a lot of calories making the change. It takes a lot of time and effort.
Equipment: Classified

Bonus Round

Quotes: "It's up to you." "Time to be a hero." "In the proud tradition of humanity."
Theme Song: Maybe later
Aspiration: To be able to use his studies for the beneficial progression of people everywhere, and to be able to come home again.

[User]
"Understood."

 The small arachnid was under his palm in one second and brushed off into the small bin next to him in the next before he was once again standing next to his charge. Surprisingly, he didn't actually kill the thing, but it was rather small and quickly scurried away as his charge began to settle so he was sure no one bothered to notice. The new arrival gave him a look but as she congratulated him later before leaving he was sure he was in the clear for the time being.

 He had been performing these small acts of rebellion ever since he had let the rebel girl escape again. No matter, there was no harm, and his actions only served to better the situation of the empire as a whole. Spiders killed other insects which meant letting one live would result in the benefit of his superior's later work ethic. Really though, he may have just been slowly coming around to a certain someone's view point after a rather hard shock to his system of beliefs.

 He quickly returned to standing next to his charge with hands behind his back and cold eyes scanning the area, the professional, silent stance of a sentry constantly alert to potential dangers. One of which seemed to be a stirring in his employer's nerves, killing spiders seemed to be his main task, something he noticed with each time she screamed for assistance.

 The current "bug elimination" had been the third time such an act was required by him, apparently there was more life in this hole-in-the-ground than the faces of the workers would have you believe. He was fine with it though, while skittish and afraid of everything around her, his newest charge kept him on his toes. But, as most of his time here had been opening doors and playing exterminator, guarding the Accounting Director was a simple mission, and he supposed that it meant the higher ups were trusting him more if he was being put in charge of the security concerning someone so entwined in their financial system. Yes, things were definitely going well for him. He could only hope that it stayed that way.

 "Was there anything else you needed mam?" He inquired coolly, piercing blue eyes never leaving their post of looking straight forward. It was strange how quiet the day had been, yes he was content with the situation but that didn't stop him from being naturally suspicious as hell about said easiness.

 He had a natural unease about his presence there. Yes, his work was easy but that seemed to be what was unsettling him the most. Perhaps it was him over thinking the situation but he was sure that, as his background included some combat experience, that his being requested specifically meant he was going to be putting down something or someone on a slightly larger scale than the average "creepy crawly". The small office, the lack of anything out of the ordinary, the fact that he was called away after stopping an attack on a Galatec employee, shouldn't they have placed him in the city? Or was it because of his accomplishments that his current boss requested him, was he here just for her peace of mind, she seemed quite skittish so that wasn't an impossibility.

 Still, he couldn't shake the feeling, he never trusted when things were going right.

[Assistant]
Oliver

*Huff, huff* Oliver could barely gather his breathe let alone lift this next red ore block. Three days was as long as he had been at Red Rock, but with the strain of work and not even being able to grieve his parents death made it fell like years. Receiving constant beatings, getting low amounts of sleep, and being chained up-many would crack and fall apart in those kinds of situations, but Ollie wouldn't give up hope. He had to push through. He believed someday something would change. He should be dead now, but fate gave him a second chance. It couldn't be just to work til his death, but he was starting to lose hope.

Working with Tommy was interesting. For some reason being near him slightly revitalized Ollie. He didn't know why, but he hoped that it was a sign things would change. Ollie was having trouble putting some of the ore in the hovercart when a Githkin snapped its whip at him. This caused Ollie to fall over, *Crap.* Ollie quickly got up before the Githkin could pounce. He lifted the ore above the side of the cart and dropped it in, *Come on. You can do this Ollie. Don't let them take your heart from you.* Ollie could hear Tommy singing from the small crevice he had just gone through; and instead of just listening this time, Ollie uttered the first words he had said in the past few days by singing along, "297 piles of rocks in the mine, 297 piles of rocks! Take one down, mine it out, 296 piles of rocks in the mine..." Ollie decided he shouldn't just work for himself, but also for the others around him. For people like Tommy.

[User]
Foreman Jo'ones recoiled once Ruth slapped him across the face. If reptiles could bruise, he'd have a real nasty shiner right now. The look on his face said it all. The shock, the confusion, the fear, he was not used to being treated this way. His misfortune was not yet over, as the imposing android Adelram Drax stepped forward, looming over him, and fulfilled the commands of his mistress. The lizard man looked like he was about to shake in fear, but was able to compose himself.

"Yes, ma'am," he acknowledged to Ruth. "I will ensure that the workers are more productive and efficient immediately. Is that the entirety of your reason for visiting today?"

Jo'ones stood at attention like a proud military man. In fact, he used to be. Prior to becoming the foreman of Red Rock, he was a member of the Galatec Fighter Battalion. If the entire division hadn't been shut down due to the development of cloned githkin soldiers, he would still be a proud soldier within the corporation.

The assistants did their best to ignore what was happening around them, choosing to focus instead on their work. They plugged away at computer consoles, directing various bits of machinery and workers in the most efficient manner they could. Break time had come up five minutes ago, but there was no way they were taking a break while the regional manager was visiting, much less in the same room as them.

Everything appeared to be in order on the viewing screen. The slav-er, that is, employees were hard at work. Most were glad to donate their blood, sweat, and tears without any external motivation. A very very small and select few happened to be in chains and receiving regular whippings by the githkin that watched over them. These employees were not quite as productive, but they did well enough.

"Yes, this really is finally happening," the mentor spoke with an air of relief. He stood from the work bench and placed the red photon morpher within a protective case, then sealed it in. Then he carried the precious weapon to a table which held the other 5 morphers, each in their own protective cases, and set it down next to its brothers.

"They may not be the most ideal heroes we could find," he said, turning to look at Samara and help ease her doubts. "But they are the heroes we need. At least, I hope they are. If any of them choose not to help, then we will send them back with the Refraction Displacement System, no harm done. It's not like they could report where we are if any prove to be hostile! Hahaha."

He made his way past Samara to a computer console. Sitting down, he began to access some of the security camera footage in the Red Rock facility. Flipping about from camera to camera, he stared at the various screens, trying to locate something.

"Necessity first, comfort second," he called back in response to his assistant's complaining about the heat. "Samara, I can't locate them on the cameras. You have those trackers active? If we can't see them, we can activate the Displacement System!"

Michael made his way through some dark, dangerous mine. At first he was surrounded by plenty of company. Other workers toiled away, githkin watched over them. A few githkin tried to give him trouble, but a single look at his orders and they quickly stepped aside. If it weren't for the fact that this was a hellish hole in the ground where people came to work themselves to death, Michael might have mistook this for some kind of VIP treatment.

After several minutes of navigating the tunnels, the population thinned out. No longer were there any workers. No longer were there any githkin watching over his every move. There was only rock, darkness, and Michael. The map became significantly more difficult to read as the lights in the area had burned out long ago. Something felt strange. The tunnels and equipment here were all old. Why would he be told to find new paths and ore veins in an old, unused tunnel?

It all came to a head when Michael came across a mine shaft with a large, rusted, sealed door. There was no doubt about it, the map told him to keep going. Now how was he going to get passed this big sealed door?

Singing together made the work go by faster, that it did. The githkin didn't seem to mind either. Maybe so long as it didn't interfere with production, they didn't care. Maybe they enjoyed the song too. Maybe it didn't even register in their tiny brains. Regardless, the two were free to sing through their shift and lift their spirits.

By the time they had gotten to 117 piles of rocks, Tommy found something very pretty. Very valuable. Absolutely fantastic! He got through the tunnel to a small opening and inside the crevice sat a piece of glowing red ore. It was the size of a basketball! Absolutely huge! Only problem was how heavy it was. There was no way that Tommy was getting that big honkin' piece of oranium out of the opening by himself, and Oliver was too big to get through. Digging through the rock would take forever! They only had one option, and that was to request the use of heavier digging equipment. Maybe some blasting sticks, or an ion drill, or hell maybe one of those slave driving githkin could just punch the rock. They were strong enough.

Meanwhile, Oliver caught sight of something interesting of his own. A single githkin patrolled through the tunnels, carrying with it a young boy no older than Oliver himself. The boy was badly beaten, exhausted, and likely on the verge of death. Still, the githkin carried the boy by his collar, dragging him along the ground when the creature was strong enough to lift the boy comfortably. This githkin was unique among its peers, as it wore a sash over its shoulder, and had a long scar across its face.

If spiders could talk, then this one would thank Jonah for his kindness. After all, it was only trying to make a living by eating pests. Really, it was one of the hardest workers in this whole damn mine. If anyone deserved a promotion, it was Mr. Legs, right? Well clearly Shplorn didn't feel that way, but she fell for Jonah's slight of hand all the same.

"Huff... Puff... Thank you, Mr. Fallen. You've saved my life yet again. I will see to it that you get a promotion, yes I will!" She attempted to catch her breath, recovered from hyperventilating, and recomposed herself before addressing Clementine. "Yes yes, I see you have an eye for detail. Miss Mayweather, I can tell that you will do a fantastic job. You have free reign to conduct your audits with my full authority."

Indeed Clementine did catch quite a few details that the layman would have missed. Most of it seemed to be missing wiring and computer supplies, but the list also included unaccounted for blasting supplies, food and water rations, and power packs. Yet the biggest discrepancy did appear to be a drill that had gone missing for about two weeks before mysteriously showing up again in the vehicle dock. Most peculiar.

"Mr. Fallen, I fear I may have tired myself. I shall go take a rest in my personal quarters. While I do so, I would like you to extend your protection to Miss Mayweather while she conducts her business here." Shplorn gave the smallest hint of a smile to the two as she spoke, then stood up and squeezed her way to the door, then vanished around the corner.