[System]
Age: 630, turned at around age 18

Nicknames/aliases: Trixy, Wolfsbane, Madame Vengeance
Gender: Female
Species: Vampire
Sexual Preference: Hetero

Likes:

* Her dual glock 22s
* flirting
* hard liquor (chartreuse, especially)
* mind games
* meaningless hookups
* blood

Dislikes:

* WEREWOLVES
* the English
* prudes
* love
* people who take themselves too seriously

Bio: The end of the 14th century in Europe was a time of revolution and crisis… There was the Hundred Years' War between the English and the French for Western France, the Black Death decimating the continent, and famine afflicting the poor. Béatrix de Le Croix was born to a noble French family in the winter of 1367. She lived a life of luxury for a time, as her family was one of wealth and power.

In the year of 1385, Béatrix had reached an age where her marriage was the talk of the entire town, let alone the family. Back in those days, women had little choice in the matters of marriage, especially nobles who married for power, not their soul mates. Béatrix' parents had suitors lined up at the door for her, but everyone knew it for the ruse it was, her future husband was already chosen for her. The groom-to-be was the ideal political match, and the complete opposite of a love connection. The man was portly, red-faced and smelled of soured milk… on a good day.

Fortunately for Béatrix (although others at the time may have disagreed with that sentiment) the Black Death had fallen upon her like a war hammer. It was on one of the nights when Béatrix' sickly coughing had her up late into evening, that a soft rapping came at her window. Recognizing the face of one of the suitors that she had taken quite a fondness for, Béatrix let Francis into her home. Before all else, Francis planted a hungry kiss on her lips. If she hadn't been so sick, blood would have rushed to her cheeks in waves. His was the name marked on her wrist, and hers on his.

That night, Francis studied her sickly condition and made her an offer: he would cure her of this disease and save her life, if she promised to run away with him and leave this life of nobility and fame behind. Her new life would have to be a secret… and they would have to get the vampiric council's approval as well. Being young and in love, Béatrix made the decision any flowered girl would make, she chose a life of freedom with this overwhelmingly handsome man – her soul mate. Young love with the promise of beauty and an eternity together was enough to keep any secret. Francis turned her into a vampire that very night and prepared her for a new life to come. First though, they had to stage her death which, of course, is an easy thing to do when you no longer have a pulse and the Black Death is already upon you. Believing that their only heir had passed away in her youth, Béatrix' parents never came looking for her.

Béatrix and Francis were happy together for quite a while, they traveled the world, new and old, and made love in all of the most beautiful places. Béatrix enjoyed her new found strength and powers, and she felt untouchable. Unfortunately for Francis, Béatrix thought wrong… One fateful night, Béatrix awoke alone in their bed with an unbearable pain searing her wrist. Francis frequently went out of town for meetings that Béatrix asked little questions about, it wasn't really a woman's place to pry – even in the vampiric community. But the night before, Francis hadn't mentioned any meetings. Béatrix did know one thing about her lover's dealings, and that was that they were very dangerous.

Béatrix scrambled out of bed in fear and ran out into the living area. A scream burst from her chest as she took in the scene of her lover splayed out across the floor. Savage claw marks were raked into Francis' chest and his heart was absent. Béatrix crumpled to her knees at the realization of what had happened. Francis' job came with dangers, it came with enemies, enemies like werewolves who would come into your house in the middle of the day, wake you from your slumber, and murder you.

From that fateful day and forward, Béatrix picked up where Francis had left off. She would avenge Francis' death and slay every crooked supernatural being that she came across, especially the wolves. Béatrix knew enough about werewolves to know that she couldn't beat them in strength, but she could outwit them, deceive them, and catch them by surprise. Over the years, Béatrix honed her skills in vampire mental manipulation, deception, and investigation. As technologies and weapons changed, so did she, trying to stay one step ahead of the enemy. Rumors and tales spread in the supernatural community of this fearsome self-claimed hitwoman, but few knew the name and face to match the stories… almost none who recognized her for who and what she was survived to tell the tale.

Trixy found her way to the New World seeking adventure and new enemies to hunt. She is currently in NYC on a mission to put down rogue supernaturals wreaking havoc in the city.

Occupation: Hit woman/bounty hunter (nicknamed Wolfsbane, and Madame Vengeance) – it used to be a self-decided operation, but she now works with the military and law enforcement to take out criminals only.

Country of Origin: France

Feelings about meeting soul mate: Trixy's is a tale of heartbreak. When she lost Francis, she lost everything – her sire, her best friend, and her lover. She doesn't believe in second chances, and refuses to love again. No one will replace what Francis was to her, she won't let them. The day she saw Francis' name blackened and crossed off on her wrist, she bound her arm in silk to cover up what would come next. She didn't want another, her heart was too cold to feel anything but pain. In time, she did see the new ink, but the date was centuries away, and she hoped maybe she'd die first. Although she keeps the tattoo still wrapped, the name haunts her subconscious, especially knowing that the date is so close now…

Soul mate: Batholomew 'Tholo' Whitlock

[User]
Jose said what he wanted to say and waited. The person who opened the door was the same he saw Manu talk with yesterday. He knew it then, thought he didnt admit it to either himself or Manu. That was his friends soulmate. In a different setting and probably in a situation when he was less worried he would have been more welcome and friendly.

He gave a glare of his own towards the other weres glare. Jose looked at the name displayed towards him, as if the guy was telling him off. All sorts of mixed feelings raised up inside him. Anger, sadness, annoyance, even greater worry. The guy didnt get it that he was glaring at the wrong person, Jose thought for himself.

"I will assume that glare means yes you have seen him." His voice was giving of a annoyed vibe, because of that were he was getting more problems to deal with. He cannot wait to leave back home, at least then the routine will be there to relay on.

"He is my responsibility and my best friend, I suggest you drop the glare, simply to the fact you will need me. And I sure hope you didnt let him sleep in his animal form. "

He sniffed the air, crossing his hands over his chest still holding the bag in one hand. Awaiting to see if he was dealing with a responsible were, or another of the usual bunch of stubborn.
---
Meanwhile Manu was finishing his breakfast. He could smell another smell he know. He all proudly roar barked, showing off he learn it. Trotting slowly into the hallway and looking down to where Abel stood on the door. Ears perked up and on a alert.

[Assistant]
Abel tilts his head. "The glare is more because you a wolf are standing in my territory. I figure the wolf pack didn't tell you about me...most likely because we don't bother each other much, so i am attempting to ignore it." He then leans forward a bit. "Give me a good reason as to why I would need you...wolf" He hears the roar bark and looks back at Manu. To him he gives a friendly smile and a shrug before turning back to Jose...his glare not returning...but curiosity showing up. Truly if he isn't given a good enough reason he will probably shut the door in Jose's face and go to Manu. With the way this guy is phrasing everything he has a feeling Manu is a newer were, which means he will have to help Manu change to human. Something he has never done, but feels he can do.

The words his responsibility did irk Abel a tad, those words make Manu sound like a little kid...or a dog. Which was something that he certainly did not feel Manu is. His stare remain piercing and curious even while several different thoughts shoot through his mind. His feline side still irritated that this uninvited wolf is standing in its territory...even more irritated that the wolf was doing it so easily. It wanted him to just slam the door and go back to his mate...ignoring the other wolf completely, but he seems to be ignoring that side for now.

[User]
Early morning sunlight glinted off of the phone's reflective screen. Béatrix stared down at the piece of technology as it it had offended her. Sending that message was foolish, she shouldn't have done it; Yet there she sat, apprehensively waiting on his response like a schoolgirl that just admitted to liking her crush. The phone buzzed after a few moments passed, somehow managing to surprise the vampire.

The number on the screen was the same one that she had just sent the message to. Her still heart seemed to jump up into her throat. Maybe it wasn't him, maybe she'd sent the message to some confused stranger because she didn't remember the number correctly. Deep inside she knew that wasn't the case, her memory was about as sharp and precise as it could get - which was both a blessing and a curse.

Trixy opened the message to see a lovely photo of the moon. Her nature led her to prefer the night, that was something the two unlikely soulmates did have in common. "You are my moon, Trixy. No matter the distance, we are always together." Her eyes widened after reading the caption, the romantic overtones and raw honesty were jarring. Trixy felt the familiar urge to bolt in the other direction, even if he was an ocean away. She looked away from the phone and let out a deep exhale, trying to remember her grandsire's advice, and the comfort she found with the Delacroix last night. This was supposed to be a new beginning... no more running.

Smirking, Béatrix clicked the reply button. The cold woman wasn't quite warmed up to the idea of gushy romance, but she could handle witty flirtatious banter. "Your moon? That best not be a pale joke." she replied with a silly face emoji. Yes, the 630 year old vampiress is hip enough to use and enjoy emojis. After sending the response, Trixy set the phone down and stood up to face the peaceful morning.

In that moment, she felt so free. It made her want to feel alive again. Despite only wearing her flimsy nightie, the vampire climbed up onto the railing of her balcony. Her pedicured toes gripped the metal as she held out her arms crucifix-style and stared down the plummet to the forest below. The chilly morning wind tossed her hair about and swept the silk nightgown taught against her skin, revealing every bump and curve beneath it.

Her breath caught in her throat. She was almost there, almost alive. The winds grew stronger, yet her supernatural balance kept her anchored to the rails. But what if it didn't? What if she let the wind take her? The idea was so irresistible that she did just that. When the next gust came, Trixy didn't fight it, she simply let herself fall.

Exhilarating.

Euphoric.

There weren't accurate enough words to describe the feeling. Falling made her feel human again, it awoke those primal urges to preserve her life. She wasn't alive, of course, and she would land unscathed when this was all over, but in that moment she let the intoxicating feeling overtake her.

It was over all too soon. Béatrix landed on bent legs and her left hand with grace that would make cats themselves green with envy. Adrenaline was coursing her veins, awakening the predator within. Her blue eyes peered into the woods searching for the nearest heat signature. Upon seeing what looked like a large-sized deer a half a mile out, her muscles coiled underneath her porcelain skin and sprung her into action. Feeling very much alive and free, Trixy tore through the woods in search of her prey.

Anyone who knew her wouldn't recognize the vampire wearing her skin. This wasn't Madame Vengeance, nor Wolfsbane, this was a new Trixy. She all but giggled as she frolicked through the private wooded area in nothing but her silky sleepwear. So caught up in the chase, the normally vigilant vampire had her guard down. She didn't sense the figure trailing her. She didn't smell him. She didn't register his thoughts, and she didn't hear the sharp whistle of a projectile heading her way until it was too late.

Thppt!

The sound was punctuated by a sharp pain at the nape of her neck. Heat blossomed around the tip of needle as she stumbled gracelessly. Trixy clawed at what felt like fire on the back of her neck, managing to retrieve the dart that injected her. Confused, she stared down at it. Whatever was in the vial was now coursing in her bloodstream. Vervain? Holy water? Liquid silver? It didn't really matter now… The edges of her vision started to get blurry. Her limbs grew cold and heavy, pulling her farther down. It felt like the earth was trying to swallow her in a mouth made of molasses. She was drowning, she couldn't swim out this. Her eyelids fluttered until everything went black...

and then, there was nothing at all.


[System]
Age: 23
The son of Oberjarl Efraim Volsung, the current elected leader of all five of Noxus's five jarldoms. Direct heir, and the only son of Efraim, Aulfr is a common and important face around Askitorp, or the "Ash Town." During the training of the next generation of the Noxus chilluns, starting at age 8, Aulfr quickly excelled, both because he was part of the Volsung family, known for appearing 'weaker,' than the other jarls and warriors, because they're generally look more foreign than the usual hulking Noxun warrior, but they're almost as strong, and twice as fast and cunning. Aulfr has a reputation- people he's been in a fight with generally don't get up in the same day, or within the same three days. People tread lightly around Aulfr.

[User]
Aulfr watched her leave, not entirely sure what to say or do. He didn't let that show, of course, but it was still a conundrum that he didn't like. At least Aleksandra knew what she did wrong. And, frankly, he disagreed with part of her statement, but he'll remedy that later.

Either way, he was left rather abruptly alone in the room. He rocked back and forth on his heels, not having anything to do for the time being. The assassins-in-training were dismissed, his soldiers were dismissed, he didn't want to retreat to his room like usual, in case Aleksandra had taken refuge there.

Well, shite.

SOME TIME LAAAATER!

Aulfr stalked down the hallways, searching for... Ah! Yes!

Retrieving one of the black keys from his belt, he inserted it into the thick ironwood door's lock. Loud thunks signalled its lock state, and he pushed the heavy open door open with shoulder and arm.

Having entered the room, he glanced around, his mood sombering up. It was somber to begin with, but this...

This was all his mother's old stuff.

He sat on his mother's favorite armchair, and stared at the wall opposite.

It was a dark wall.

Barely any light spilled into the room.

But it was enough.

So he sat, and thought. He thought about his course so far, his planned course in the future. He thought about his former family- his father isn't really his father anymore, after all. His mother is gone.

What would his mother have done?

The sad part was, he didn't remember enough of his mother to know the answer to that.

[Assistant]
A little over two weeks passed. Aleksandra slowly distanced herself from Aulfr, fearful that growing any closer to him would weaken her resolve. She needed to be as strong as possible when the time came to face her brothers. Not only that, but she couldn't let herself be distracted by Aulfr any more than she already was. Such a preoccupied mind could get her killed out in the city if she let her guard down.

She didn't pull away from him completely. But she rarely adopted her playful attitude, or teased him. She kissed him only briefly, and only every so often. In the mornings, she would untangle herself from him long before he woke and train with the men in the courtyard and run drills with her maid assassins.

Aulfr seemed to grow distant from her as well, almost distracted. A tension was building in the air, something that promised to burst soon, and it felt like it wouldn't be a very quiet ordeal. He was planning something big. She just ignored it, knowing he'd tell her what it was soon enough. So she kept to her training. A few hunts in the city came and went, as did the death of another rival jarl who had openly admitted to having sent an assassin to Aulfr. And the assassination attempts were growing in number. One every other day at least. It seemed to her that the Oberjarl was growing desperate.

[User]
Aulfr sat in his thinking chair, as he now called it, and stared out the broken glass of his beloved overlooking window. Unfortunately, one of the damned assassins decided to make a flashy entrance and break through the glass, roll into the room, and try throwing daggers at him and Aleksandra. Fortunately, Aleksandra is badass and killed him before he finished his roll.

But the asshole didn't replace his goddamn window. He loved the hell out of the window.

Yeah, the jarl that sent him is dead. Very dead.

He also needed to speak with his assassin, his distant friend. He rather missed her, even if he had been quite preoccupied lately. It was here he sat, when he heard the door open and close behind him, Aleksandra entering the room. Presumably, she had just gotten back from her morning training; it was not too terribly hard to smell her, even if he didn't mind the somewhat foul smell of sweat. Sweat means hard work and effort, after all.

Standing up, he stared at the broken glass for a moment before turning around to face Aleksandra.

"Ah, good, you're back. The next feast is the day after tomorrow. And we're making our move. My guardsmen are all assigned to the proper positions; I'm going to be challenging my father for Oberjarl, that day. I'll be fighting this, and you're going to be keeping anyone from interfering. My men are going to be doing the same thing, but I need you to really keep an eye on everyone. Make sure none of the jarls rallies anyone, or tries to make a move. I'd rather not have to replace any more; as it is, we're actually too low on jarls. Any more, and we'll start having too few people controlling too much."

He gave her a sort-of smile. He was nervous; tense. This was what the past few years have been coming down to.

"Your maids, assassins in training, they'll be the maids of the event. They'll not be killing anyone, I just need them there so that they keep an eye on everyone both before and during my challenge."

[Assistant]
Aleksandra, still soaked in sweat from her most recent training session- with Thorik, the cheeky fighter who'd won a kiss from her during their first spar- didn't even realize that Aulfr was in their room as she started plodding past, headed for the bath chamber. She almost jumped in fright when she heard his voice behind her, and already had a dagger out, even if it was somewhat halfhearted. She was exhausted and she recognized his voice immediately. She sighed and sheathed her weapon, turning fully to listen to him.

She blinked in surprise as he delivered the news. So it was finally happening. After two months of murdering and scraping and suffering through the ridiculous 'feasts', Aulfr was making a move for the throne. Well, good. She was tired of dodging assassins left and right. Now she knew how annoying her kind could be.

Her girls weren't anywhere near ready for fighting, but their acting was coming along nicely. If anyone tried to do something dodgy, the girls would find some way to cause a scene and make some distractions. And Aleksandra could now fend off four of Aulfr's specially trained fighters for nearly ten minutes at this point, so anyone trying to get past her would have quite a bad day. And so would the servant made to clean up her mess afterwards.

"I don't mean to pass judgment on your skills. I know you're an expert warrior, but what happens if the fight starts to turn? Your father won't hesitate to kill you, and I..." She paused, cast her gaze to the floor, and swallowed her pride. "I don't think I could bear to lose you should this end badly." She crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze, her expression set in stone. "What should I do if the battle shifts too far in the Oberjarl's favor?"

[User]
Aulfr took the several steps over to his assassin, gently laying both hands on her shoulders. She had a valid point; he might not do as well as he expected. He didn't even expect the challenge to be the most difficult thing about all this- but the Oberjarl knew he was making his move soon. Of course he'd be as ready as he possibly could- and an Oberjarl would try very hard indeed to keep his position.

"A valid point, my friend. I might've underestimated my father had it not been for this. I will not lose, though. Either I win and everything goes to plan, or I lose and it's all over. You'd be released from your contract, to do whatever you wish. I... I don't know how to guarantee my safety, and the success of the plan. I will not eat or drink anything in the feast- something might be poisoned. And I will fight him as soon as possible. But you will not intervene. If I kill the Oberjarl with help, I would not be Oberjarl. I would be, in name, but not in respect."

He shook his head, and sighed heavily. So this is what it felt like to have a loved one worrying over you, and oneself worrying over their worry. It was all very confusing, wasn't it? He almost wished he had never met her. Almost.

"Stay strong, Aleksandra. We'll be fine, you'll see."

He removed his hands from her shoulder, and replied to her last question.

"If the battle shifts to the Oberjarl's, then wait and see. If I die, am ended, then you're free to go. You are one of my closest allies, and a direct threat- if I am no longer in any sort of power, then you will be one of the first he wants to end."

[Assistant]
Aleksandra listened, her heart growing heavier in her chest. She had tried not to worry about him, but it was an impossible feeling to rid herself of. And she knew it would only grow worse over the next two days. This was going to distract her. But for the next two days, she reasoned, if she let herself feel it she could put it away during the feast. It wasn't good to keep things in for too long.

So as his hands slid from her shoulders, she caught them and slowly, not meeting his gaze, twined her fingers through his. She could worry over him and give him her strength for these few days. She could be all his support if he needed it.

"I'll be your castle walls, Aulfr. No one will get past me, should they even dare to try." There was a new look in her eye, a tone to her voice that she'd never used with him before. A sort of crazed determination that she usually reserved only for hunts, when she was out for blood. "And by all your gods and the Saints above, I'll see you sitting at the head of the table at the next 'feast', even if the heads of your enemies are lying at your feet when the time comes."

She raised his hands to her lips and pressed a firm kiss to his fingers, then let go. And then she went to take a bath.

[User]
Aulfr stared after Aleksandra, unsure of what she was doing. It wasn't everyday that she said something so serious, so… personal? They often talked about other things, usually relating to death in one way or another, but their affection was generally physical.

It lit both warmth and unease in his belly, and the very fact of it set him at even more unease.

Watching her recede into the bathroom, he turned to something more immediate, more material, and much simpler. Striding over to his wardrobe, he threw it open and stared at his assorted weapons collection. Reaching in, he withdrew the one thing that really drew Aleksandra's interest- the khopesh.

Holding it in his hand, he studied it. A sword whose purpose was primarily offense- it would suit him, since he did not usually go on the defensive. His opponents never had time to force him to the defensive, not when he would press them as much as possible. A good swordsman could bide their time and wait for him to tire out, and many have attempted to do just that- but they usually found their throat held at the tip of his sword before they saw a proper, exploitable opening.

Fitting the khopesh to his hand and swinging it a little, he decided he'd use it. And, of course, Aleksandra is going to help him. The khopesh is not his usual specialty, and will be plenty enough to throw his father off guard.

So, khopesh in hand, he strolled over to his bed and flopped down, waiting for his partner to finish with her self-cleaning.

[Assistant]
Ever since her performance at the ball, the way the servants reacted to her commands had changed. So when she asked for a hot bath, they responded immediately, as if forgetting that she were lower in the hierarchy than even themselves. Ten minutes later, she was filling the stone bowl in the floor with warm water and shucking off her clothes. She went through her daily routine, scrubbing off the dead skin and sweat, cleaning her hair with the soaps she'd bought and then combing it out, before she drained and refilled the tub so she could soak away the aches and pains of the day.

Her mind was calm. She worried for Aulfr, but ultimately she realized he would succeed and take his rightful place upon the throne. Even if she had to make it happen. She could not live as a slave much longer. Even if Aulfr didn't often point out his hold on her, she felt it. Every time she had to return to their chambers, sleep in his bed, have no personal space of her own. Every time he ordered her to kill this jarl, intimidate that one. It wore on her, and she wanted that invisible leash gone.

She spent a long time in the bath, until the water grew too chilly and her hair had mostly dried. She finally dragged herself out and pulled on the outfit she'd prepared, a pair of trousers and one of Aulfr's tunics. She braided back her damp hair and padded out of the bathroom, tired enough that she didn't notice the khopesh in Aulfr's hands until she'd flopped down on the bed. She raised an eyebrow.

"Your father uses a sword or an axe, does he not? Perhaps you should practice with someone capable of doing the same. Otherwise you won't be prepared for that fight. Or would you like to fight me using your normal weapons while I use the khopesh? That way, you can get a feel for how your father might defend himself against you."

[User]
Aulfr shook his head, already denying her offers and suggestions. His father was older now. He was slower and weaker, and his experience doesn't give him an overwhelming superiority anymore.

"Nay, my dear. I want you to teach me how to use it- I already have many advantages, but using a weapon no one has heard of- not around here, at least- will give me an even bigger one. I can adapt and react quickly, so once I know the differences and similarities between this and a normal axe or sword will allow me enough to use it as both."

He paused for a moment, before slowly setting his khopesh aside.

Standing, he slowly walked up to Aleksandra. Smiling almost as slowly as his gait- an uncommon soft, gentle, invitingly warm smile, he continued.

"However, I've just realized my poor timing. Hardly fair to make you work after relaxing from your own training."

He reached up to gently stroke her somewhat damp hair.

"I suppose we could relax for a good bit. There really isn't any hurry, at this point."


[System]
Height: 6'4"

Weight: 211lbs

Hair Color: Dull Brown

Eye Color:
Left Eye: Green
Right Eye: Hidden beneath Eyepatch, assumed missing
Age: 37

Personality: Taskmage Atreides might be described as sarcastic, disrespectful to anyone who attempts to assert superiority over him, bitter and jaded to the world as a whole. They would not be wrong, but they would not know the whole picture of the Taskmage either. Wandering the lands of the Imperium, doing work for whomever needed his services hardens a man to the suffering and pain the world has. The first to reply to an insult or taunt with a sardonic and often times venomous reply, one would be surprised to note that when the Taskmage takes someone under his protection and tutelage, nothing short of complete obliteration stays his hand when it comes to bettering said person. Such unshakeable loyalty made him a popular hired hand, since once he took the money, he didn't betray his employer until the job, as listed per contract, was complete and someone paid him more to form a new contract. So despite his sardonic comments, his often times unlikeable statements and displeasing aura he seems to have, Atreides is not one to abandon the few that earn his loyalty rather then buy it, regardless the cost to himself.

Weapons:
+Luna (Detailed in main image): A blade forged with equal parts magic and forge work, this weapon is his primary means of fighting in hand to hand, and his only means of armed combat outside his magic. Due to its unique forging process, it acts as a natural focus and can channel both his ritual magics and actual combat spells when in a bind.

+Khopesh Blade: An enigma of a weapon, Atreides refuses to explain the weapon or why he carries it when it serves no purpose that Luna, his main sword, could not possibly do better. It is completely immune to any spells he has ever attempted to cast on it, some far more powerful effect deflecting any overriding enchantments from his rituals, but it never seems to leave his person. Even when lost, its back in his pack within a few hours when no one is looking.

Abilities (Magic):
Taskmage: Rather then specialize in any one specific arcane art, Taskmages are expected to be able to act as the jack of all trades, when referenced against the arcane practitioners of the realm. This comes as a twin edged blade, some seeing an advantage, others, a grave disadvantage. Taskmages will rarely best enemy wizards in the field the hostile mage has dedicated him or herself to, however, Taskmages can command a far greater, and wider, variety of spells without any more training than most normal mages, and generally have a knack for quickly copying spells for their own use, albeit taking time to bring them up to a well trained enough level to be dangerous. Generally, only one to three spells from any one school of magic might be known at any one time, although legends of the predecessors to modern Taskmages make stories of men and women capable of utilizing advanced magic from many different schools, after many years of application and training.

Current Schools Utilized: Electromancy, Geomancy, Pyromancy

Ritualistic Magic: As many times as a Taskmage might be hired to join a Mercenary band to provide a versatile hidden weapon, they are as often hired to prepare and enact various rituals that more dedicated archmages are too busy, or ask too high a price, to do. Protective wards, weapon enchanting, tracking spells, Ritual Magic is generally not seen as a in combat viability for the most part, instead used to prepare for combat before hand, runes and phrases prepared to trigger the effects stored by the rituals. Usually, even with prior preparation, a lengthy phrase must be recited to trigger a rituals effect.

Current Known Rituals:
Weapon Empowerment: (Atreides can currently only activate these on his own specially prepared blade)
+Ignis (Engulfs the Weapon in flames, Atreides most preferred and his go to enchantment)
+Umbra (Cloaks the weapon in shadow, creating an afterimage which reduces enemies ability to defend against following attacks)
+Sol (Encases the weapon in holy Light, highly effective against unholy and daemonic beings. Can also act as an impromptu torch)

Raise Barrier: Arcane (Made of pure energy, vice terraforming or utilizing surrounding natural elements)

Track Object: Living (Supplied with a piece of the target's body, such as hair or fingers, he can glean a general direction in which the target fled. The fresher the sample, the more effective and accurate the tracking is. Only works on targets alive at the time of casting.)

Other: Taskmage Atreides appears to be blind in his right eye, even without the eyepatch covering it, and refuses to discuss the circumstances leading to this happening to anyone besides one specific person.

[User]
"How interesting. Are you taking a break from the story?"

The voice came directly in front of Mal, which seemed pretty impossible given the circumstances. Indeed, one moment nothing was there, while the next a man had suddenly appeared before him.

A gray mask covered his face which held deep, crimson eyes. A dark clock lay dormant on his frame while a necklace of locks and chains decorated his collar area. Finally, hair the color of snow covered his head and the man titled it curiously.

He was looking straight at Mal with…apathy? Or something else? His face was as unreadable as his mask.

"Tell me Mal Tervsa. Are you getting tired of this story?"

Not too far away, the sound of a bellowing roar continued to shake the forest. Pain brought it rage, and so the woodland dragon took to the sky in an attempt to escape the spirit-like knight. As it did, it spotted the man with the blindfold, its primal mind considering if he was a threat.

Sensing the power of the green Relic in his position, the forest dragon howled before turning its gaze in another direction. With another ear splitting roar, it launched a green-colored fireball straight toward Ugnis before twirling in the air and charging straight for a certain group of three down below.

"…it's heading for us instead of the Relic," Sable noted blandly. "It must be able to sense its power…"

As the scaled lizard made impact, aiming to ram them with its horns, Sable leaped out of the way, landing on the dragon's back and running the end of it until she jumped onto the ground again. Swerving, the angry dragon breathed a stream of green fire at her, eager to end all life that threatened its territory.

"RE-Arch."

Summoning her twin blades, Sable absorbed the attack before leaping away and landing near Muzai.

"I'm afraid this thing is a little…big to keep as a pet," she said nonchalantly. "Can you substitute a salamander for it instead?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back in Rexicorg, Yem took pause in his step, the cursing having froze him in his tracks. Again, it seemed to be coming from the cave emitting the purple light, though he dared not venture there before recovering his wounds yet.

Even so, the voice chilled him with how much ferocity and anger was present. He hesitated just for a moment, wondering if maybe he should listen to the supposed Relic after all….

[Assistant]
"Are you getting tired of this story?"

Mal's fluttering eyes snapped wide open. His whole body jolted with magic as the spirt started to spiral inside him. He cursed as blood dripped from thin marks on his chest. They weren't deep enough to do lasting damage, but it was clear that something was wrong. Mal lifted himself up with one hand against the tree, still panting as he yearned for some way to regain his energy.
 "Where did you come from?" Mal grinned, "And what story are you talking about? I must admit, most of my reading has been… academic up to this point."

His hands curled into his chains. It irked Mal how this man stood before him. There was no emotion, no intention to him at all. It was like staring directly at a wall.

 And given Mal's very two-sided philosophy, it made it really difficult for him to decide what was coming next.

 "If you're talking about the story of life… then you might have to fill me in on the exposition. It's kinda foggy back there, if you know what I mean. As things are, as long as those Relic things don't end up in the hands of the dicks of this world, then I'll be fine."

 Blood dropped on the ground beneath him as he drew his free hand across his chest. He had little magic left, only what the spirit could provide, and it was ready to rip him apart to protect itself. He was surprised that it hadn't decided to go for the dark wave spell it had used several times in the past.

Not that Mal was complaining. It usually hurt like a bitch.

 Mal chuckled lightly, still with a few words curling on his tongue as he stared the man in the eyes. His face was incredibly passive, save for the shark-teethed grin and his vibrant red eyes.

 "Why? What do you have planned for the next chapter?"

[User] "Salamanders too small! I wanna ride a big dragon like that!" She cried, her hair fluttered as she did. "Green Dragon-san! Where are you goiiinnngg??? You're not going anywhere else until you've received my good lovin'!" She followed the green dragon in hopes that it will see her.

[Assistant]
The cursed man saw them... heard their shouting voices. The dragon had landed in the midst of what appeared to be some sort of group. He could not count for he was unsure he had seen them all, but at least two were visible. One was draped in the color of blood, and was quick and appeared lithe, the other he saw wore cloth of darker hues, blue and purple, both were small to him, and both felt of magic... Though the red only slightly so. Their spirits though, they were something else, each a powerful soul, with purpose well known... they were no mere wanderers... Though the blades in the red ones hands told him as much. But it mattered little... as soon as the beast was slain they would run... or more likely fight the ghostly form of the knight... and again he would be forced to slay or retreat... bug another power was felt. One he knew... but knew not how he knew of it... or what part of him knew of it, though it was there... and it was very powerful.

That was to be dealt with later, for now the dragon bared it's teeth and fire flew from its maw. The swordsman charged, his form pierced with arrows to ancient to ponder and broken blades rusting and rotting, trundled up to the beast in a slow, heavy run. As he closed the spectre hefted his great sword with his one arm, bringing it down across the dragons leg as its attention was pulled elsewhere. The beast roared as again it's soul felt cut, and it batted the offending party away with its clawed foot. The spectre flew a short distance, to heavier than his size could portray... the wait of his sins dragging him back to the ground. He stood as a gout of flame washed over him... but as it cleared it had served only to bring him to his knee, as his spirit weathered the blaze his physical form could not...

[User]
Atreides rolled his eye as the fangirl babbled on about the dragon and started chasing it, the roaring beast making its way straight for them all in the same instant. Atreides didn't say much now, instead dragging his foot and blade around himself, muttering as the dragon acted to attack that ghost of a soldier, which he would look at FAR closer after the threat was gone, and Sable went and absorbed the dragon fire with her blades. Awful useful little trick of hers, wasn't it? Circle around him complete, he smirked in a rather nasty manner, the afterimage growing greater in intensity as he flourished the blade, casting arcing lighting along the dragon's exposed side, which did little more than piss it off. Which was just as planned, as it turned and belched another wall of fire, and it englufed the Taskmage, obscuring him from sight.

The smoke concealed the next barrage of lightning long enough to catch the Dragon in the snout, arcing upwards and rupturing one of its eyes, and left more glaringly obvious sears in its hide. It roared in pain and rage, and the Taskmage stood in his circle, the defensive barrier it generated fading still from the furious barrage of fire. The Taskmage stood proud in his arcane arts and barked out orders in a brief, simple manner, already bursting into a sprint to evade the things charge, which shattered the shield he left behind.

"MEAT, GET BEHIND IT AND SEE IF YOU CANT SNEAK ON. ROOK, GET YOUR DAMN HEAD DOWN OR DO SOMETHING USEFUL TO KEEP IT OFF MEAT!"

Atreides ended up near the spirit soldier, who looked like he had seen every war in existence. Atreides wasn't sure he wanted to see the truth behind that, but he would have to later. Unlike the beings expectations, most likely, he spoke calmly as he addressed the being. He knew soldiers when he saw them.

"Right, cursed one, that thing is still pissed at me. It charges, you go right, I go left, and whoever it doesn't go after rips it a new asshole, or Crimson Streak does while we distract it. Agreed?"

Atreides wasn't one to waste time with his usual demeanor in the field of battle, there was time for insults and berating others later. Right now he had to utilize everything at hand to the best of its apparent ability, and from what he knew about beings that were cursed, they tended to do some rather nasty work to things that opposed them, for whatever damned reason that was. Gods knew he had seen his fair share of curses happen, and some very well might haunt him still, but that was neither here, nor there, or anything close to what his gut, experience, and arcane prowess told him this soldier experienced. But the moment it charged, he would be moving and, hopefully, so would the cursed soldier.


[System]
Class: Discipline Priest

Age: 27

Sex: Female

Race: Human

Gear:
weapon:

History: Witty, brash and carrying a world-weary sophistication about her, Alina is something of an anomaly in the eyes of the followers of the light. However, she has slowly risen to become a renowned Priest in the eyes of Stormwind...

Her early adolescent days were spent living in alley ways, stealing what she needed to survive from day to day in Stormwind. It was this lifestyle that led her to crossing paths with a Priest, only due to how she attempted to pickpocket him. It did not take the Priest long to sense Alina's affinity for the light, and offered to take her to the Church of the Holy Light so that she could gain a better understanding with the powers that were dormant inside her. However, her studies did not only consist of light, nor darkness, but rather, a mix. Her instructor understood that light cast shadows, and that darkness is defined by light. True discipline came from one's ability to balance these forces. And with this balanced teaching, Alina was able to grasp that the light is something that can be used effectively if she is doing what she believes is right, and so she doesn't act graceful despite being a priest.

However, Alina has an undeniable appreciation of the Church of the Holy Light, and though she may often question the teachings of them, her optimism combined with never-ending desire to prevent mass destruction makes her a valuable ally.

Why are you joining up with the Wardens: She wants to take action in the fight against the legion, and this was the perfect excuse to do so. She wants to use the teachings that she has learned and applied on several occasions for a greater good. Whether that is by afflicting minds or healing wounds, she has a vast arsenal of spells that she isn't afraid to use.

[User]
"Be wary! A demon of similar power killed Tirion Fordring!"

Eantu narrowed his eyes and let a growl escape his throat as the Fel-guard's weapon that had been thrown at the demon was sent flying away by the shock-wave. So, this was a demon that was close in power to the one that had killed Fordring? He might not be able to kill the same one that had taken the life of Tirion, but he figured the death of the doom guard would balance out the universe a little bit, if not the battlefield they fought on now. Still, one less demon was always a good thing in his eyes.

"I'm out of explosive arrows, someone take the tower down by any means nessescary!" Eantu smiled a grim smile as he continued to channel the power of the light through his own cracked sword. The sword was glowing brightly now as Eantu took careful aim at the tower with the brightly glowing sword.

"Ready when you are." He called to Nesalla.

[Assistant]
Rina threw more ice chains around the Doom Lord' feet, in the hope that it would prevent him - from smashing them into the ground again. There was a certain naturality, to having big giants tripping on their own weight.

"I will keep the Doom Lord busy! Get to it, Paladin!" spoke Rina to Eantu, she then started freezing the feet of the Doom Lord - pouring much runic power into her ice powers.

She was trying to prevent the demon from smashing them apart again - it would give some satisfaction for herself, as they could take down this certain type of demon. Payback indeed, Fordring wasn't spoken much - yet he was respected, for his help in freeing the Death Knights from the Lich King' control. So it was action well spent on this.

[User]
Alina immediately regretted her positioning when the shockwave was sent, feeling as if she had gotten to close, or perhaps it was how she was rather frail physically that had her getting sent a reasonable distance away. It took her a second to realize that what she saw in front of her was not the ground, but rather the sky, felbats swooping in various directions and causing the Priestess to hastily push herself to a kneel in hopes of recuperating. As she kneel there, regaining her composure, she stared at the battlefield ahead attempting to find a solution to the problem. She knew her own light spells were having little if no effect, and it frustrated her... Just like how the forsaken was frustrating her when Alina realized she had made her way to the fray with little to no plan except cause havoc. Sure, she was slaying demons left and right, but perhaps her own prejudices were clouding her judgement.

Though, thoughts of the monk were interrupted when she heard some sort of whistle, looking over in the direction and following the pointing to the tower. For a brief moment Alina was confused as she stared at it until she began to notice their rather rough shape and location. It was then that she heard someone shout to take it down by any means necessary, and immediately realized the plan. Taking another look at the battlefield, some were going after the demon, however this time it would most likely be a distraction. Turning to her Alliance Paladin, she noticed that he was channeling the light into his sword, and she rushed to his side.

Upon arriving next to him, she allowed her own light to manifest itself into a barrier in their small area, protecting them from outer attacks so that they could better charge their light.
"That should help us focus on getting this done right." She told him, this time channeling the light into herself, her hands glowing brightly as she awaited for the word for when to lower her barrier.

[Assistant]
Thalion Runescar

The Demon Lord raised one giant hoof just as Thalion turned to gaze upon it. Like the priestess, he was too close to avoid being hit by it. So instead he went with it completely. As the demons limb struck the ground, Thalion jumped backwards with the blastwave and flew a great distance before unexpectedly colliding with something large and solid. Very solid. Had it not been for the padding on his leather armor, or the metal in the helmet, the rogue might very well have cracked something important. Still, disoriented and dizzy, he could only stare at the others pointing in his direction as the world began to focus a little bit more every time he blinked.

"I'm out of explosive arrows, someone take the tower down by any means nessescary!"

Thalion glanced behind him at what he'd struck. Realization hit him almost as hard as the tower had..

"I gotta start looking before I leap..." He mumbled below his breathe.

Reaching into his pouch of holding on his hip, Thalion pulled out 3 small circular objects with a long fuse attached to each one. The Uncrowned in Dalaran had called them sticky bombs, as they stuck rather well to any surface before making a very loud BANG, usually to the dismay of whatever he attached them to. Shaking away the dizziness he rose to his feet and slapped all 3 of the small but powerful explosives the side of the tower before waving frantically at the group. If even one of them could strike the cluster even slightly, they would all go off and the tower would fall.
One sword in hand, the other laying close by on the ground, the rogue took a short job away from the bombs he had planted and over to his fallen blade. A peculiar sight caught his eye as he bent down to pick it up though. Her laughter was infectious, if ill timed, but the image of the forsaken monk riding a wounded Felhound brought the ghost of a smile to Thalions normally unexpressive face. Despite the grimness of the battlefield and likely a good chance of untimely death, he again reached into his pouch and threw what he grabbed.
His aim was spot on as the thin glass vial shattered in the snapping maw of the Felhound who greedily swallowed and chewed even as the shards cut its tongue and throat. The healing drought he made was replenishing its vitality faster than the glass could cause harm.
The result would be a very angry Felhound and a much, MUCH, angrier ride.

[User]
As Eantu continued to channel the light into his sword, the odd sight of the Forsaken Monk riding a wounded Felhound through the battlefield commanded his gaze for a moment before he shook his head and continued on his task. No. Not saying anything. Just let it go. He thought to himself as the priest created a barrier around Eantu and herself.

"I will keep the Doom Lord busy! Get to it, Paladin!"

"That should help us focus on getting this done right."

Eantu's sword was seemingly blazing with the power of the light. The sword was pulsing with barely controlled power as he stared at the doomguard. "Ready!" He called. The sword was almost too bright to lay eyes on at the moment. The light had empowered it beyond what he had expected.

Eantu took a deep breath and smiled at the priest who had created the barrier earlier. "I'm going to need a new sword after this." he said simply as he grabbed the hilt of the sword with both hands and using all his strength, he threw the empowered blade at the base of the tower. The more building to fall on the Doomguard, the better.

[Assistant]
The question on how to bring the large stone tower down upon the Doom Lord still lingered in the air while Solares regained her senses. The world around her spun momentarily before her vision returned to normal, allowing her to clearly see what was about to happen. "Explosives at the Temple?" the thought came through just in time her to fall back down onto the ground behind a large pile of boulders, protecting her from the blast that now echoed through Val'Sharah. Eantu's glowing weapon had accumulated enough energy around it to ignite the explosives, kicking up a large amount of debris and dust that still hung in the air. Once the sound of falling debris had faded, both Solares and Nesalla changed to a kneeling position to see if their plan had succeeded. The explosives had not toppled the tower but instead blown large razor sharp stones in every direction with most of the tower falling in on itself. The Doom Lord had been skewered alive with the razor sharp debris, leaving it barely recognizable to what it once was.

"Clear! That sure as fel killed it." said Solares who stood up as the dust finally settled around them. "Do we have any injuries or casualties besides the Doom Lord" asked Nesalla from the other side of the temple courtyard. Both of the Wardens had been trained in advanced first aid and could help tend wounds alongside the priest if there were any. Nesalla quickly found the rogue that had placed the explosives and removed her helmet to look him over for any hard to find injuries that he may have sustained. "Great work, you are not injured are you? I do not see any visible trauma but your armor may be hiding something." It was better to be safe than sorry.

[User]
The explosion was loud. Very loud. Not nearly enough distance had been put between himself and the exploding tower as Eantus holy infused sword struck his grenades.
It had been frantic in the fiery climax of the towers final moments, only sheer luck had stopped any serious damage from befalling him, having thrown his blades in front of him. A large stone had ripped through his shoulder painfully, another had struck his helmet hard and evidently knocked him out cold.

The memories came back to him in a rush as the Warden glanced him over for serious injuries.
With a groan, Thalion leaned up and coughed the dust out of his mouth and throat before mumbling to the warden.

"Bad.. pun.."

Thalion took his hip flask off and took a long draw from it, the crimson vial concoction. It burned horribly as it went down, but the burning sensation in his shoulder confirmed that it had indeed been struck.

Letting out a hissing sigh as he replaced the bottle on his belt, he glanced around the area.

"Don't tell me I'm the only one injured.."

[Assistant]
Alina was lucky that she had focused a majority of her light into the barrier around her and Eantu, having closed her eyes when he had thrown his sword. When she could feel the dust settling, she opened them to reveal a large amount of debris surrounding their area, all of which could have been deadly, she assumed. The dome of light faded and dispersed, and she could only thank the Light that they had somehow survived this ordeal. When she looked at the Demon Lord, she could hardly believe her eyes at the damage done to him. The tower hadn't collapsed as she expected, but rather the explosion had caused various sections of the buildings to skewer it until it was barely recognizable. But, she supposed a win was a win.

Turning her attention to her comrades, she was glad to see that a majority of them had made it out of the situation unscathed... all but the rogue. She had seen them use that elixir before, the vial of what she considered red goop, disgusting and yet oddly effective for healing purposes. But no elixir could match the healing of the light. Though, she decided against sending a plea to the light for a heal, believing that he would not appreciate the small effort it would be. Instead, she simply walked up to them, pulling her hood down so that her face could more easily be seen. It revealed an almost bob-like haircut, short and a nice shade of red. She smirked at Thalion, patting his back for a second before speaking.

"It would appear so, Elf, though you should be lucky. Not everyone has an elixir that begins to heal on their own terms."


[System]
Age: "13" - (Though in reality, is a much greater age than this.)
Gender: Male
Race: Human.. ish ;)
Appearance: He's a small boy with a stature of 5'5 weighing at 113 pounds. Being a child prodigy, he excels mentally and needn't rely on his physical strength. He has lavender eyes which are curtained by lengthy locks of silver hair which is typically tucked under a quite large, black wizardly hat ornamented by a gold buckle, enormous goggles, and large rubies. He is constantly garbed in a ratty, dark blue robe that opens up to a plain, white tunic tucked neatly into brown trousers accompanied by ordinary black boots.
Backstory: A once ecstatic child prodigy & accomplished student at a scholar training school of Penrith. He then learned the truth, and the corrupt society hidden under the scrolls and books that he was decoding day by day, and so set off to pursue a dream of treasure hunting instead, thus becoming a vagabond - He found a golden stave which had a sapphire jewel set in its body in the corpse of a unusually large creature. The staff took his mana and in return allowed him to control water to a certain extent. Since then, he been a practioneer of magic and grew in strength over the time spent as a mercenary.
Personality: Eccentric, impulsive, with a degree of timidity, yet a keen sense of justice!

Weapon skill/choice: A golden staff with a blue sapphire on top of it. Nothing more & nothing less....
[However, this weapon has the skill to consume mana and cast spells using motion-commands.]

Weapon picture: N/A :(

Notable ability: He is a novice mage who has mastered the art & science of water manipulation, and only recently began to practice very minor fire magic. Physically he lacks the power to melee. However, he can detect auras and thus dodge incoming attacks by reading said auras, but he's not so quick on his feet... FURTHERMORE, he has the power to sprout wings of mana that can be used offensively & defensively.

Other Info: He suffers from narcolepsy, has trouble controlling his ridiculously large mana pool, & uses a very weird accent.

[User]
Place: Hall of Remembrance, Hunter's Guild.

 The air shifted sharply as the door let in cool breeze from the outside world, as it continued to open letting new faces be seen. Drovia had not seen a jump in population since the end of the great war, but word that the hunters guild had began recruiting openly again made new way for new comers to the great human capital. All races of Terecoth, now gathered in the hall in which it all started. A hash was issued over the large crowd. They were made up of all ages, some looking as though they had just finished grade school now to enlist in the Hunter militia. Rather large foot sets upset the silence as the hall door opened. The large metal and engraved door dragged on the ground and opened slowly. As the light from, the large windows broke the shadow of the man walking in, everyone peered to look at the new body in the room. Head-Master Ash stood tall and spoke in a deep dark voice that voided all other sounds. "Welcome New-Bloods" Ash gave a slight chuckle giving a little room for comfort. "My son Varioyn is going to be signing you. I will only say this once, come one by one up to the table and tell him your name and reason for being here today" He gave a quick glance around the room at all the faces, some strong, some frail, some looked as though he was a monster that needed to be hunted. "Many of you may not know who we are. Many of you do. We are the Hunters, Drovia's first army, Terecoth's finest men and women the titans have to offer. What we are NOT, is assassins, brutes, farmers. We are not here to murder or disrupt, we are here to help those in need." He gave another quick glance, to see if there was any change in facial expressions of the mass. "This is a life or death profession. Many here...." He looked back towards Varioyn and the veteran hunters "....Have lost friends, Family, ..Themselves." He pulled himself back. "There will be a test for both physical and mental capabilities, we need to know you are fit to be a hunter. These will begin tomorrow after the signing and introduction. Please feel free to say and look at the Hall of Remembrance after you have spoke to Varioyn" Ash nodded at the crowd and walked back into the room, closing the great metal door behind him.

 Varioyn looked down at his pen and paper. "Alright, everyone line up. You heard the Head-Master" The line looked so long that it could stretch forever. Varioyn laid his cloak down. Might be a long night..

[Assistant]
Amalay had steadily been working her way as close to the table as possible because of her impatience. She hated waiting in line, and whenever there were formalities, there was always a line. Upon everyone beginning to collect, a dodge here, a few steps there, and she was only about a dozen back from those fortunate enough to randomly choose to stand right at the origin of the line. The bows and announcements were largely human youths since we were, after all in the great city of humans, and none were more eager for their time to shine than the young.

Upon her turn, she showed all respect that was due, a flowing curtsy with crossed feet that was almost fluid. Memories of her mother teaching her her manners ran through her mind. "As though you are blown upon the wind, as though you are water trickling over the stones. Hands spiral in, and clasp at your heart. Not so fast, not so slow. Now bend at the knee and hip as though you are to fall asleep. And now remain, but not too long should the person feel themselves not important enough to deserve it."

Strangely enough, should she show such formality to a merchant troop, not only would she be viewed as strange, they would all be horribly self conscious. She had been a very long time in coming to any sort of nobility.

"I am Amalay Du Lya, Somnant Knight of One Kill, the Dreamer of the Lya. I have come to join the hunters in order to destroy the world... and to elevate a greater one in its stead. A place where the shadow is driven farther than the most distant reaches of the abyss, and the talons of evil is scalded away by the goodness that flows from the people."

What is in a name? Well, if one was versed in this olden time address, this was more than simply a noise that your family decided to use to clarify what they were talking about. This was a resume. Amalay Du Lya meant that she was from the village of Lya, a small and humble residence somewhere around Lothadid, like it's greater dwelling, it too was hidden and thus meant very little to those unfamiliar with the forest and the ways of the elves.

Somnant Knight of One Kill, well, that meant she was a warrior that had seen real combat numerous times and was now considered a veteran... however, unlike a warrior in human terms, notching their weapons to keep track of the enemies they have slain, it was the opposite. Each kill was a blemish, since it meant that the conflict could not be resolved without bloodshed or killing. This was a way of the past now, Somnance was the magic of nature to transfigure opponents into harmless forms of life. While it gave a certain edge, and let the Elves sleep at night, it was not the most efficient way of battle since it required quite a bit of training, about twice as long to master as a bow. During the great war, there was no time for lengthy training of troops, and thus more carnal solutions were used. Now, most Elves had taken the habit of notching on human terms, especially since it singled out the skilled rather than sharing company with newcomers, and it was no longer a display of how approachable and humble they were.

Dreamer of Lya meant that she was given a title in her hometown as a dreamer. While someone might not know who Amalay was, they would undoubtedly hear stories of "the Dreamer of Lya." Depending on the size of the community, such stories could really mean something, but since Lya was pretty small and un-influential, it was probably a hand-full of wild antics that the locals knew about.

With her introduction out of the way, she signed the parchment before her. A calligrapher, she was not, and her chicken scratch was full of asymmetric letters and lumpy blobby loops that would have earned her the tisk of her teacher had she been nobility herself, or had she been studying swordsmanship.

[User]
(Waddling into the lecture, Meshiro pushed to the front ... alongside the others. Even with his stature, he could barely squeeze through the breaks of the crowd for it was as a tight and clustered as tuna in a tin. Occasionally, Tsuekami found himself brushing past individuals who smelled entirely of corpus and must. With each advance, Meshiro took scheming stares, and harsh eyeballing from a few slender elves who had been plotting behind their thick black mantle of steel knives and other deadly trinkets, or even a downward glance from brutish, hulking Etlocks who loomed over the boy like an ant to a human.)

"Boy, am I gonna be an anvil's face, or a hunter? These big body, lousy ruffians here... They out here expectin' they're gonna be swift killers on a field, heh! To be soaked like a towel just by trying to move... and not even by mine sweat, musty beast ya are. Maybe, one of those filthy thieves from before will cut me with his ears alone. Dice my little body up like-- eh, signori, ya're in the way...?"

(The quiet rant had come to an end. Interrupted by a mountainous Etlock whose arm lazily swung towards Meshiro with a hand the size of a frying pan with fingers built like juicy bratwursts. Cerise fuzz decorated the giant's palm like green on endless hills. Meshiro accosted the great hand with the warmth of his own, but in reality could only bring the Etlock's pinky to a twitch and not even a shake. The Etlock grinned and scooped Meshiro from behind with his veins bulging like thick viola strings. The Etlock catapulted Meshiro through the crowd with a 'gentle' shove.)

"Uffgh, signori... Ya needa be careful shoving me around like some doll.... Oh."

(Meshiro glanced up, lying at the feet of yet another Etlock. This Etlock was not as kind the former, and didn't offer his hand. Furthermore, this Etlock was even bigger, with golden locks of hair, and wielded a heavy spiked iron baton in one hand, with a red bulwark in the other. The Etlock nudged Meshiro off the ground and faced back the other way. Meshiro looked around himself, and still, it seemed he hadn't moved even a meter from the entrance.)

"When will it be my turn already..."


[System]
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Race: Argonian

Physical Description:
Primarily dark grey scales over the entirety of his body, his chest, stomache and face having a lighter grey set of scales. A noticeable scar located at the lower right side of his abdomen surrounded by slightly misshapened scales. Two prominent horns that point directly backwards on the crown of his head, along with six more horns, three on either side of his head where the jaw meets the skull.
Skillset:Expert Skills
* Heavy Armour
* Blocking

Adept Skills
* One Handed

Novice Skills
* Alchemy

History:
Reesh was born in the wilderness of the Black Marsh near the Cyrodiil border. He was born into a family of bandits, and as a result, learnt to be vicious and harsh. After an attack from another bandit group, Reesh was orphaned at the age of 12 and sold into slavery over the border. During this time, he was sold to a few necromancers to carry their potions and ingredients. One of the necromancers took a liking to Reesh and treated him like a son, though she was a cruel mother. Through her, Reesh learned a tiny bit about alchemy and various ways one can make healing potions or poisons.

He was finally liberated by a group of mercenaries who were hired to deal with the necromancers as they made themselves home in a cave in Cyrodiil. The mercenaries, calling themselves the 'Dragon Shields', took Reesh in after the fight, mostly an attempt to replenish their casualties. They trained Reesh, now at the age of 16, to be a combatant and taught him they're form of honour and mercenary ethics. They paid him a fair sum of their missions and treated him like one of their own.

At the age of 25, Reesh was heavily wounded in his lower-right abdomen by the blade of a bandit. This caused him to lose a few scales in the spot of the wound. While he was recovering, one of his mercenary buddies offered him some skooma to help take his mind off of the pain. Reesh accepted and has been addicted ever since. A year later, Reesh would leave his mercenary guild and start off solo, primarily due to wanting to start off on his own.

Many years later, after many successful jobs, either working solo or with others, he would receive the job of his life, a mission for The Collector. He immediately accepted the job and grabbed provisions to head for Skyrim. While he questioned the possible danger of this task, as it was an oddly high price for a bottle of mead, he knew the price made it worthwhile anyway.
Equipment:
* Steel Plate Armour (helmet is custom made. It's an opened-face helm, with two holes in the back for his horns. It also lacks the goofy wings on the sides.)
* Steel Shield
* Steel Mace
* A black cowl
* Various furs worn over his armour to deal with the cold.
* A small bag containing his skooma gear.
* A bag that he carries both his potions and skooma bottles in.
* A large pouch for ingredients
* 13 skooma bottles (all full)

Known Spells:
* None

Party Control:  Yes

[User]
This was just too much. Two of their number had already perished, and now the rest of them would undoubtly meet the same fate. There were ten more bandits approaching them. Ten. Eleven if you added the hulking chief, but he did not count. He was more beast than bandit. Arielle had thought they were in a tight spot before. She would have to reassess that statement.

But she would not go down without a fight. The question was what she could do to help their situation. Levitating would be a bad idea. She would become a floating pincushion before she got ten feet. Calming one or some of the bandits could help, but it was not probable that it would do much good. It had to be a direct assault then. Try to deal some damage. Too bad she had never been interested in the collage of destruction.

Then again, an indirect assault could work just as well.

Waiting for the melee fighters to detach themselves from their archers she prepared the spell which would summon a flame atronach. When the fighters had covered enough distance she released the built up magicka and focused on a spot close to the unsuspecting bowmen. Her plan had the anticipated effect; the first archer had no time to react as the fiery being appeared out of thin air and set him on fire with a supeheated ball of flame. With no one of their comrades left to defend them in close quarters the remaining archers scrambled for cover as the daedra gave chase.

That left the six charging bulls, but that was not Arielles forte. Her companions would have to deal with them. She retreated behind one of the thick gate doors and awaited what came next.

[Assistant]
'Sixty thousand for Mead... that can't be right, there's some other catch to this... you can't go three paces through this bloody snow-land without finding a bottle of Mead somewhere...'

The above thoughts raced over and over in the head of the Orc courier and veteran Gherken Grumar, as she slowly walked along the path to her destination, taking long strides so she wouldn't get too far ahead of the Imperial lady next to her, what with her height and all. Didn't know much about her, and didn't care to. She looked like a shady sort.

As was custom in these kinds of trips, the Orc had a bottle of Beer in one hand as she strode along, of which she took momentary swigs. But she stopped in her tracks and took an even longer swig when she got closer to the front gates, already open, and witnessed her destination, the, um... thriving Imperial fort town of Helgen.

Formerly. Now it seemed to be the smouldering, Bandit-infested ruin of Helgen. The people ahead of her didn't look like Bandits, though. They were too diverse and well-equipped to be local degenerates; she'd been to Skyrim before, so she knew what Bandits tended to look like. There were some people on the ground that looked like they could have been bandits, though, except for the prissy-looking guy in a robe with an arrow jutting out his jugular.

"Agh, crap." She lamented to herself, before taking another swig and approaching the band of people gathered at the gates. Figuring that they may be on the same job as she (after all, she was told there'd be several), she chose to take out her Collector-approved scroll in advance.

Sure enough, the lot of them darted around, on alert, when she and her shady companion approached. This was good. All signs pointed to these men and women being able to handle themselves.

"I ain't late to... whatever in Oblivion happened here, am I?" She asked, half-jokingly. Good fights were a reliable form of entertainment on long journeys with no company, after all. Good fights. Not bad fights, like wars where non-fighters get caught up in the bloodshed.

However, it seemed that the universe didn't have a sense of humour, as mere moments after she said this and before any of her new best friends could react, more Bandits appeared from the ruins. Eleven of them, including a great hulk of a man that made her eyes widen a little for a moment. He was even taller than her, which was weird for a Nord. Must have been born with some kind of birth defect.

"Bloody typical!" She yelled in response to this new situation, hurling her now-empty bottle of Beer onto the ground. As six of the Bandits started charging at them, she dropped her cumbersome Courier bag on the ground nearby and unsheathed her enormous Battle-axe... though it was more like a long-handled Cleaver, but still, it chopped things and that's all that matters.

Unfortunately, one of the Bandits seemed to get the jump on her and fired an arrow right at her, grazing her on the shoulder. She grunted and flinched slightly, but didn't falter. It was the Alcohol, probably.

Focusing her stance, she began to duck and weave to avoid any other arrows that came her way, hoping that one of her companions would be able to take them out from this distance. The six charging Bandits were typical; unsophisticated, untrained and unfocused rage attacks. Two of them were coming at her specifically, obviously thinking of her as a priority due to her size. Wise. Or stupid. Depends.

Sidestepping to her left as the two Bandits got especially close, she ducked down and swung her Axe in a wide arc, striking the two in the legs as they ran. One of them... she could have sworn she saw his leg come off as he flew, screaming, towards one of the other fighters; the Argonian, to be precise. The other one did a sort of backflip and landed right next to her. Wasting no time, she spun back around to face him, raised her Axe over the general area of his head, and chopped the top of his skull off.

It wasn't exactly a clean cut... the top of his head seemed to fragment, and his brains spilled out. But he was dead, that was for sure. And more importantly, the damage that had been done to her enemies had channeled their health through her weapon, and she felt a sharp yet soothing sensation in her shoulder as that arrow-graze healed itself.

Turning her attention to the Chief, she thought about going to deal with him after the archers got chased away by what looked like some kind of fiery Daedra, but decided against it until after they'd actually died. Hopefully the others would think this as well, as she turned her attention to the other charging Bandits. Common military tactic: people always go for the big ones, so send them in with swarms of little ones. Gherken knew that one well.

[User]
Reesh relaxed from his combat stance when the bandits who were before him lay dead on the nordic ground. He gave a quick nod to the Khajiit while revealing his scroll with The Collector's seal on it. The cat man did likewise as the other two of their group came from their hiding places. The breton seemed a bit uneasy, Reesh guessed it was to the combat itself, the woman didn't seem like the fighting type. Reesh was surprised when he realized that Deejaza had changed positions. The puzzled look on his face faded quickly when he turned his attention back to the situation at hand. Introductions would have to wait, there was a bottle of mead begging for recovery.

After they had checked the bodies, they made their way towards the gate, all silent as they knew that danger still possibly lurked around. Silent enough to hear the footsteps behind them. Reesh spun around, lowering himself and raising his shield, only to be met by an intimidating orc and a shadowy imperial. Their scrolls with The Collector's seal put him at ease, he didn't like the thought of fighting the orc. Not only was she tall, but she was heavily scarred, armoured and burly. Not only that but he noticed she had a very strict military style stance. As for the imperial woman... He couldn't make heads or tails on what to think, other than she strode forward with an air confidence.

Before he even had a chance to think on the orc's question, he heard the distinctive sound of arrows hitting the ground behind him. He turned in time to both hear the charging group of bandits as well as see a large and obese man yell at the top of his lungs. Reesh half-thought the man was a giant who had a growth defect that put all his mass horizontally and not vertically. He quickly put that thought aside as the six bandits got uncomfortably closer.

As they closed in, one of the bandits had an arrow pierce his throat, an arrow that most likely was fired from Reesh's argonian compatriot. The bandit's charge quickly became a hobble as he dropped his weapon to clutch his throat, then quickly falling to the ground dead. Two of the bandits made their way towards the orc, while two more faced Reesh. One wielded an iron axe while wearing leather armour with an iron helmet; the other was fully equipt with iron armour, along with a shield, and an iron sword.

Reesh was distracted by a flying, screaming bandit. He looked to see the man land next to him, his left leg missing as he clutched it. Reesh looked to see the orc quickly dispatch her other opponent. He didn't get a chance to think anymore when the bandit with the axe went in for the strike. Reesh quickly blocked the strike with his shield, only to notice the other bandit went for a thrust at him. He put himself into a spin, pushing the blade to the side with his shield and prepared a strike on the axe-wielder. The bandit ducked under his swing and tried another attack attempt, this time, however, he hit Reesh in the leg. Fortunately, Reesh's armour remained unbroken. Reesh kicked away the lightly armoured bandit as the one with the sword took another jab. The argonian jumped back, dodging the thrust, and threw an overhead strike at the man, who then blocked it with his shield. The bandit then tried a left-to-right slash at Reesh. The lizard-man ducked under the wing before throwing his weapon upwards toward the bandit. His weapon hit home when it struck the iron chest piece, stunning the nord for the moment. Reesh took this opportunity to take a second swing at the man's head, hitting him in the head and knocking him down.

Reesh didn't get time to relax as his axe-wielding opponent charged again. As he attempted to move out of the way of the strike, he felt something grasp his right leg. He looked down to see the one-legged bandit clutching his heavily armoured leg with both arms. Reesh changed his focus and raised his shield, barely blocking the axe that aimed for his head. He then tried to bash the nordic-leech from his leg. The nord would not budge, and Reesh's attention was once again called to the other bandit as he flanked the encumbered argonian.

Reesh noticed the orc approach said bandit from behind, performing a devastating overhead swing into the bandit's right shoulder. When the man fell to his knees, she placed a boot on his other shoulder and pulled her battle-axe free, leaving his corpse to fall to the ground. Reesh nodded his thanks as he turned his attention to the wounded and desperate man clinging to his leg. The wounded bandit seemed to have lost too much blood, as his grip on the argonian's leg became loose. Reesh pulled his leg free and kicked the nord over, to see him both tired and dazed. The argonian left him there and turned his attention to the battle at hand, with thoughts of interrogation if the bandit remained alive.


[System]
Age: 19
Gender: Male
DNA: Harpy Eagle, Feline (Egyptian Mau)

Personality: Laconic and somber, Flick is a stoic man of few words. Despite not saying a lot, however, he makes it very clear how he feels about his fellow avians: they are his family. He puts them first and foremost over just about anything. Flick has a mostly serious nature, and can be a bit of a buzzkill. He wasn't always this way; before he was sent off for his first tour, Flick was much more open and warm. When he returned, he was closed off and seemed to hold everyone at an arm's length. He's gotten a little better, but he's still not quite the same.

Appearance: Flick is tall and lean muscled. His skin is a midtone olive, and he has dark brown eyes. His hair, once messy curls, has been kept shaved down in recent months. When Flick returned from his tour, he had quite a few new scars. He once had a long, flexible cat tail with silver fur and black spots, the end of which would constantly flick (hence the name). When he returned, said tail was mysteriously missing. He had yet to divulge what how exactly he lost it.

His other remaining feline traits are impeccable night vision, balance, reflexes, agility, and speed. All of these are much greater than that of a normal human. He also has a short, fuzzy black mane that runs down his spine to where his tail once was, now just a nub. His nails, if not kept filed down, will grow into claws, and his teeth are just a little sharper than normal.

Flick's wings are those of a harpy eagle. They are dark grey on the topsides, and white with grey dapples on the underside. They are very large and very strong, his wingspan reaching 14 feet. He was designed with lift power in mind, and he can fly while carrying up to 160 pounds.

Other: N/A for now

History: Flick, like his fellow bird kids, was created at Chimera. He grew up there in a similar fashion: caged most of his life, let out for schooling and training, but under careful guarding. When Flick turned 18, it was decided that he was ready for an experimental trial run. He was taken from the facility and shipped overseas, into the desert battlefields of the current war. His tour lasted four months before he was brought back. After that, Flick has never really been the same.

Realizing that the same fate awaited his peers, Flick was the driving factor in urging an escape. Having had the most time in the real world (if one could it that), he's been crucial to the flock's survival.

[User]
---

---

Crash followed along with the others, apparently, they needed special clothes to be in the city and he was compliant with that plan. They had all been wearing the same torn and dirty clothes for three days and the entire group was getting pretty ripe. Forests, as it turns out, don't have showers or soap, and he was more than happy to change into something that didn't smell like three days' worth of sweat, fear, and panic. In the city clothes were left in boxes on the streets, if they were just left out for people to have he didn't really understand why they put a lock on it but luckily, they had Rook who easily figured out how to open it. Once Rook opened the box, several black bags poured out. He, like the others, began rifling through the bags to find something new to wear.

The clothes in the box were like nothing he'd ever had before; he was always given either scrubs or a uniform at the facility and all the guards there wore uniforms as well. There were pants of various different colors and lengths, but since it was colder outside than he was used to he grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans and best of all clean underwear. Next, he looked for a shirt, several were much too small and had ridiculous colorful characters on them but eventually he found an old faded black shirt and a red flannel shirt to wear. Finding socks was easily, the ones he grabbed wear gray and warm but finding a pair of shoes that fit was a challenge. Many of the shoes were already failing apart, most were too small, but eventually he ended up with a mismatched pair of sneakers; one was mostly red while the other black and blue. Finally, he grabbed a black beanie hat to wear as his ears in particular were very cold.

Mal, who looked a little sick which Crash figured was from a combination of being cold and hungry for three days, asked how she looked.  "Coming from somebody who knows nothing about the city, I'd say you like you'd fit right in." He said with a nod of approval.  "Hey how do I look? Like a normal, non-experiment human?" He asked proud to have picked out his own clothes for the first time in his life. He wondered what was inside all the buildings, there were so many of them and some of them seemed impossibly tall, and he wondered if they ever fell over.

[Assistant]
Flick drug a hand down his face when Mal and Crash decided to strip down right there to change. He'd forgotten that these kids weren't taught any form of modesty. He himself hadn't learned it until the past year. But, luckily, he did. Because this was sure to gain attention. A single car drove by, but didn't stop or slow down. Flick could feel the driver's eyes on them.

"You can't just strip down out in the open," He said with a hint of frustration. "It'll draw attention to us, and I'm pretty sure they have laws against it." Flick bent down and grabbed three of the trash bags, hoping that they would find suitable clothes inside. He glanced around and spotted an alley right across the street, mostly obscured by some dumpsters.
"There," He pointed and began to usher the others across the street towards it.

[User]
---

---

Managing to get an eyeful of ass cheeks, Dizzy rolled his eyes and fought a blush. He wasn't shy about skin, and neither were the others, it wasn't their way to be so, but he did happen to be a hormonal teenager with an overactive imagination. The last thing he needed was fuel for his wandering thoughts.

That said, he was feeling particularly vengeful, and after hearing Flick's warning about nudity drawing attention he saw the perfect opportunity for some harmless fun, a petty but satisfying bit of pay back for swiping their hunting idea out from under them. He gave Flick a long, mischievous look, letting the older boy know that Dizzy had been plenty focused enough to hear his words, making his next move all the more insulting. After a quick glance to ensure the street was deserted once again, and the lights of the vehicles were distanced enough to allow a brief illusion of privacy, he - very slowly - began to get changed. Spending handfuls of precious seconds stark to the world as he hesitated and internally debated this or that piece of clothing. He spent a full thirty seconds deciding between boxers or briefs - which, the boxers had an awkward green plaid color, so he chose the black briefs that said 'BOOTY' in bright pink. They were his new favourite thing ever and no one was ever taking them from him. He finally huffed after choosing a pair of worn jeans and rushed quickly through picking a shirt so as not to set Flick off too much, picking a tank top and a loose zipper jacket which he easily and hastily modified with his sharp nails to tear massive holes on either side so they would sit on his unfurled wings without breaking them or the clothes themselves being torn beyond repair.

He smirked, outfit completed by the white top, dark jeans, and simple blue jacket. He spent a few seconds further digging around for a hat like Crash's, forgetting to even think of shoes for his feet. He gave up the search when he found a pack of something that smelled delicious, soon recognized as chewing gum. "Nice!" He celebrated, and quickly escaped with a delighted smirk to the indicated alleyway, a safe distance away from the rest of the group, to enjoy his prize without them in grabbing range.

"First one to score something meaty to eat get's the next piece!" He called back to them, stuffing the first piece into his mouth with a hum of pleasure.

---

[Assistant]
Managing to turn away, Rook grabbed a few bags and headed to the alley that Flick pointed out. He had remembered hearing from the voice that it was considered improper to get dressed in front of others. Looking through the bags, he decided on a light grey t-shirt and sweatpants, as well as a dark grey pair of sneakers. Taking one of the empty bags, he filled it with a few extra sets of clothes, as well as extra socks and a pair of extra shoes. After all, if one outfit got too dirty or damaged, it wasn't like they could get it cleaned or fixed.

Throwing the black garbage bag of clothes over his shoulder, he walked out, freshly dressed. "There's clothing taken care of." He looked over the group, satisfied to see that everyone seemed to have gotten themselves new clothes. With that problem taken care of, they could focus on their other issues- most notably, food and shelter. From the looks of things, Dizzy found...something to eat, but it wouldn't be enough. And after they ate, they would need to find a place where they could stay and sleep, preferably away from prying eyes. "Once we're all finished changing, we need to address our other issues." It wouldn't be easy, but they'd made it this far. And he wasn't about ready to give up just yet.

[User]
Flick let out a throaty growl as Dizzy deliberately disobeyed him. It was all fun and games until the police showed up. When the boy was done, Flick gave him a firm smack on the head. Not too hard, but hopefully hard enough to knock some sense into him. He then took the rest of the bags into the alley, where they could search through them in peace.

Flick tore open a particularly bulky one and found an old backpack sitting on top. He immediately began to rifle through the pockets for anything left behind. A couple quarters, an empty notebook, and a odd little flat foil wrapper with the word "Trojan" written on it several times. Useless garbage.

The older boy dug through the clothes for something suitable to wear, tossing some spare clothes into the pack as well. Just in case. He found himself a pair of worn blue jeans with a couple tears in the front. Not the warmest things, but they would do. He set them aside with a drab green long sleeve shirt and a black jacket. Socks, a pair of boxers, and even a pair of shoes from another bag made up a halfway normal looking ensemble.

Flick shouldered the bag and tucked the clothes under one arm. "Stay here," He said to the group, then walked off a brief way down one of the side alleys to change out of sight. Ever since he'd returned from over seas, Flick had been very careful to hide his new scars from the others. He wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to; maybe he just didn't want to scare the shit out of them. The possibility that the same could happen to them. But now, even after escaping that fate, he just wasn't comfortable opening up about it.

He peel off his dingy scrub top and let it drop the ground. Flick spread his wings out briefly, letting them breath for a moment before tucking them back in tight. His back was marred with two large scars that looked suspiciously like burns. Accompanying them were dozens of other, smaller ones from cuts, burns, and possibly even bullets. Being that he healed faster than a typical human, who knew what all he had endured.

Flick used his slightly grown out claws to tear two small holes into the back of his new shirt, then worked them down until they were big enough to let his wings through. He then tugged the shirt on and pulled the jacket on over top. Next, he discarded his old scrub pants. His legs were just as scarred up as the rest of him, and his tail, once long and graceful, was little more than a gruesome nub. He didn't even bother making a hole for it anymore. Flick dressed himself the rest of the way, tied his shoes, and put the back pack over one shoulder. He planned on keeping it to tow stuff around in, if they ever found anything useful.

As he made his way back to the others, his mind now less occupied with staying hidden, a whiff of food crossed his nose. The humid air from the rain carried it, and his heightened senses picked it up. He stomach gave an angry growl. Despite having been much less vocal about it than the others, Flick was starving. In the last few days alone, he was pretty sure he'd dropped a few pounds. The smell of fatty breakfast foods cooking was entrancing.

"Follow me," He said to the others as he came back to face them. He doubted anything they found would be as good as the hot, fresh food he smelled, but it was a good place to look. Flick headed out of the alley and began to follow his nose towards the smell.