[System]
* Age: 16
* Gender: Female
* Race: Human
* Appearance: Armored. She is 5'1, with pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Her armor is silver with gold decorations. Her sword has a golden hilt.
* Personality: Fanilly is one to take her duty seriously. This is both due to a belief in the cause of the Iron Rose Knights, and a severe insecurity and self-consciousness about her position. She is well aware that she is young and comparatively inexperienced. She knows that she is only in the position she is because of her birth, as she was born under a full moon. This only makes her feel worse about it. For Fanilly Danbalion, captain of the Iron Rose Knights, she can't help but feel that they have a point. She's young. And even though the founder was the same age, she was viewed as something miraculous, almost a saint. Should Fanilly truly be leading them? This weighs heavily on her mind, and thus one of her biggest desires is to prove that she is. In spite of her young age, in spite of how this tradition has worn thin for some, Fanilly wants to prove that she is a worthy captain of the Iron Rose Knights above all else. Aside from this desire, the girl is somewhat socially awkward, sometimes unprepared for conversation. However, she is not really shy and can generally deal with attending various functions in the capital, as is expected of the Iron Rose Knights. She is dedicated to the purpose of the order, to defend the innocent and protect the land of Thaln. However, the doubts surrounding her have lead to a lack of confidence in herself. Fanilly has a younger sister and as a result has a somewhat stronger affinity for children and desire to keep the safe, but as someone dedicated to the Iron Rose Knights' cause she wishes to protect all those in need. While she has a lacking in confidence, she retains some pride in her training, as she has proven to be skilled at swordplay in spite of her youth.
* Brief Backstory: Fanilly is a daughter of the Danbalion family, a noble family already. While they had never been knights, her birth on a full moon immediately made her a potential future candidate for the Iron Rose Knights' captain. She was simply needed sooner then many expected. And so she experienced training for several years leading up to her installment as the Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Initially she was confident in herself, but it quickly became clear that even some within the Knights had grown tired of the tradition of selecting a maiden born on a full moon to be the captain. This wore on her quickly, and has lead to her desperation to prove herself.
* Equipment: Fanilly wears a well-made set of somewhat ornate armor. She wields a fine longsword in her right hand and a dagger with a curved hilt for trapping weapons in her left.
* Skills: Fanilly has experienced extensive training in swordplay, specifically in the use of a longsword in both hands, or paired with a unique parrying dagger.

[User]
~ Crown Of Thaln ~

Interacted with: @Crimson Paladin

Jarde's attention was called by an Iron Rose Knight, Sir Fleuri Jodeau. His clothes were black and white, his white mantle having a black sun symbol on it.

His looks and question reminded Jarde of thoughts he tried hard to ignore. "Uggghhhh. Did you have to remind me, Sir Jodeau?" He complained in an exaggerated manner. His joking, humorous side brought out. "I'm over here enjoying my thing and you walk up to me and ask about how 'outsider' I am?" He then chuckled to indicate it was a jest. At least partly.

"Anyway, it's great. I get to see things I haven't. Smell things that could never be smelled back where I came from." Jarde answered with a sad smile. "But, everyone's a noble here... and I'm just a farmer who got really lucky. The other non-noble knights' got something to their name so there's reason for them to be here. But not me, I feel like... No, I really don't belong here." Jarde then whispered. "...Not sure if I'll ever be."

"I mean, this armor isn't even mine!" Jarde immediately continued. "I had to borrow it from a fellow knight of ours because I got chosen to come, somehow."

[Assistant]
When someone is nervous, they may want to take comfort in food. Especially when there is such a wealth of excellent cooking on display. It was said that the two greatest of chefs in all of Thaln resided in Aimlenn: One in Candaeln, and one in the Castle itself. The array of edibles on display ranged from piping hot pot pies, to golden-brown fresh roast duck, to honey-glazed pork, to a lovely-looking rack of lamb. The scent that emanated from the food table was one that indicated quality, the savory flavors of seared and roasted meats, vegetables cooked to perfection serving as sides... And of course, there was the impressive-looking multi-tiered cake, decorated with some manner of dark blue and gold frosting, resting on the most distant table closest to the opposite end of the hall to the entrance.

The fact that Fanilly was as nervous as she was and that there was so much lovely food on display made her reaction only natural. The young Knight-Captain found herself taking a plate from the table and approaching the food even as the herald continued to announce the knights as they entered. The blonde girl was only a few steps away from the roast duck when someone approached her.

It was a young man, his black hair slicked back, clad in fine silken garb. He bowed immediately, purple eyes cast upwards towards Fanilly as he did.

"A pleasure to see you, oh Knight-Captain. I believe we've met before?" he began. After a moment's pause, recognition hit the somewhat petite girl head-on. She had not spoken to him very much at all, but she had met this man prior. It was quite a few years ago. She had only been eleven years old, and he had been thirteen or fourteen, she didn't recall. It was a brief meeting that she didn't remember very much about, but she remembered his name.

"Ah, Lord Velbrance, er, it's been quite a long time," she responded, giving him a somewhat awkward smile. She hadn't expected to be stopped on the way to her food-based method of relaxation... ".. How have you been?"

"Quite fine, thank you," responded Lord Edvard Velbrance, "The same can be said of you, it seems. Such a beautiful young girl, leading an entire order of knights..."

He paused for a moment.

"Well, it's tradition, isn't it? And you have already had your first success, slaying that butcher with delusions of grandeur," he continued, cutting Fanilly off before she could respond just as she opened her mouth, "I'm certain it must have been quite a frightful experience."

Frightful? Just what was Lord Velbrance saying? Fanilly shook her head. Regardless of what she felt may have been her own failings, her duty was clear-cut and letting fear get the better of her most certainly wasn't part of it.

"No matter what happened, it was my duty to the people of Thaln to stop him," she replied, managing to make her voice quite firm, "It's the duty of the Iron Rose Knights to stop anything that threatens the innocent."

At the very least, she was certain of that.

"My, even against a monster in human flesh like I've heard that Thief Lord was? I wonder how many people could honestly say they didn't feel the slightest bit afraid in the face of such a thing..."

---

Fanilly was not the only one who had been approached for conversation.

In perhaps what was possibly Sir Gerard Segremors's worst nightmare given the situation, it was not long at all before some of the nobility noticed an isolated knight and approached him.

In what may have been a source of relief for him they were not seeming to look for a way to use a conversation with him politically.

Three young noble girls had approached him, two of which had eyes sparkling with excitement while the third looked more or less bored with the entire situation.

"Aaaah, Sir Knight!" called the first girl, who had trailing blonde hair curled into drills and a red and white dress. She looked towards her two two at her sides with a somewhat smug smile on her face, "See? Didn't I tell you they would be here?!"

"Ah, how exciting!" cried a second, this one seeming to be the eldest of the three. She was clad in a blue and white dress, her blonde hair paler and worn loose. "Yoohoo, Sir Knight!"

She waved towards Sir Gerald.

The third girl, who appeared to be the youngest of the three and had black, neatly-cut hair and a black dress, looked rather less enthusiastic.

"It's not as if it was a secret or anything..." she half-murmured in a rather flat tone with a sigh. Still, she followed the other two girls as they eagerly crowded around the man.

"Tell us of your adventurers, Sir Knight!" said the first girl, "We wish oh so much to hear of them!"

"Yes, tell us, tell us!" declared the second.

The third simply sighed.

@Raineh Daze@Asuras@jdh97@Animal@TheFake@Crimson Paladin@ghastlyinc@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot

[User]
Gillian

Gillian trudged into the party with little fanfare, a decidedly unamused scowl on his face. Hilda had been good as her word when she said he would wear the damnable outfit he was currently in. The woolen robes could be graciously described as 'archaic' at the best of times, the dull blue coat attempting to choke him as if Mayon herself was vicariously communicating her displeasure with him. He stood out like an ornately dressed sore thumb, if a traditional one. Many of the nobles gave him the odd glance, his figure brought to their eyes both by his dress and the clearly grafted limbs of his station. Hushed whispers passing between them as he passed and made no attempt to interact with them. Gillian ignored them. He wasn't here to be fawned over by people who had no earthly clue what these arms really meant.

He opted instead to stay close to the mini-captain, wagering that she would be a thankful lightning rod for any fawning that was to take place. That she would also very likely be the first to meet with the Princess was also a pretty useful, even if it wasn't the Royal Gill was particularly keen on seeing. What he had forgotten to take into account was that the Captain would also attract annoying back handed complimenting nobles as well.

Gill regarded Lord Velbrance like one might a particularly fat fly buzzing around their head. Which was to say, an unwanted common pest that most sensible people would happily slam into the nearest table if social graces allowed. "He's even hovering by the food. How apt..." Gillian said plainly, palming an apple from the buffet.

"If anyone has no fear going into a fight then their either an idiot or arrogant enough to deserve to die." Gillian said, neither bothering to bow or address the Lord properly as he took a large bite of the apple. "As I'm told, Jeremiah fell into the latter category and got beheaded for his troubles, among other things." He added, casually wiping the juice from his mouth onto his sleeve before extending it to the Lordling to shake hands in greeting.

"Captain Danbalion might be green, but not so green that she forgot to respect the danger the situation, however slight. A far better showing than most people three or four years her senior." He said, his tone that of glowing praise despite the implied insult to the Lord. "I'm sure if the other Reliquaries were in attendance, they would agree." He added, knowing full well that atleast one mirrored his own opinion....but he was also pretty sure he and Parnella would be loved to have joined in jabbing at the man if she were here.

[Assistant]
Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri drooped his shoulders a bit at Jarde's reply, which was a bit sadder than he had expected. "Everyone has to start somewhere, and you're off to a decent start. Iron Rose, veteran of the skirmish that slew Bandit King Jeremiah. In my book you've done more to earn your place here than a lot of nobility your age," he assured the younger knight. "With Thaln's aristocracy diminished by Cal's rebellion and the Iron Roses' role in squashing it, it is an opportune time for aspiring knights to cement themselves as nobility by their deeds. And the prestige of being part of the order is far more meaningful for warriors like ourselves than the prestige associated with being born to an influential family."

"And I'm sorry about your attire. Not really anyone could have done about that, with how little advance notice we were given for this party. Ideally, we'd have a few days to prepare for it, sort out everyone's formal attire, and perhaps ensure everyone is familiar with dancing and etiquette." Fleuri took another careful sip of wine. "But I suppose it couldn't be helped that our triumph over Jeremiah coincided so closely with the date of the ball, giving just enough time for the Princess to extend her last minute invitation, but not enough time for us to make adequate preparations."

"Oh, and speaking of your borrowed outfit, a word of advice. Be careful if you sample the red wines, they leave very noticeable stains," Fleuri cautioned. "I made that mistake once and ended up spilling it on a tunic that had been in my family for generations."

[User]
"Hmmm? Is that so?" asked Lord Velbrance, declining to shake Gillian's hand as he cocked his head slightly to one side, "Well then, that's a considerable feat for a girl of such a young age. Some would say it's rather unfair for such a thing to be foisted on her, but I suppose that is neither here nor there."

He shrugged. At that point, Fanilly found herself frowning. Foisted on her...? No, she wanted to do this. Even if it hadn't initially been her personal choice, even though she had been selected for the purpose of becoming the next Captain due to her birth... Even if she was afraid she'd fail, felt she already had failed that poor knight who had died under the weight of Jeremiah's blade. But nevertheless, she still wanted to help innocent people and keep them safe. That was one of the core values, one of the founding Principles of the Iron Rose Knights.

She'd long ago concluded to herself that it was truly what she wanted. So why...?

"But... wasn't Saint Elionne my age...?" she found herself saying.

"Well, of course," replied Lord Velbrance, "But a Saint is something quite a bit different then the average person. Would you say you're of the same caliber as a Saint, Knight-Captain?"

"I... what? Er..."


[System]
Title:
"Arm Of God"; "Angel Of Might"; "Heaven's Champion"; "Supreme General"; "Big Z";

Age:
Unknown

Gender:
Male

Allegiance:
The Angels Of Heaven

Race:
Unknown

Height:
Varies; (Can reach heights of up to 50 meters)

Weight:
Varies; (Can weigh up to 100,000 Tons)

Personality:
Ominous and imposing, while wielding an impressive amount of sovereignty, Zeruel's majesty is of no joke. A natural born leader, he demands authority under anyone that's below his rank. The only person that he bows down to is to Imperator Deva and no one else, making him disgustingly arrogant and haughty. His very presence alone can silence even the most talkative of both Angels and Demons. In addition, he also has a sour taste for humanity in general, regarding them as "pathetic creatures" and "Earth's Maggots". He doesn't even care if he "accidentally" kills any in the process, regarding those whom perished under his wake, as "necessary sacrifices".

History:
Zeruel's past is shrouded in mystery. According to him however, he was created as one of the first in a series of Angels by Imperator Deva herself, known as "Laguna's Hierarchy", a group of several giant angels that serve as the Imperator's private guard, as well as the last defense of Heaven's boarders. However while his Hierarchy exists, it's debated if he and the rest were created from Deva herself, with some records stating he was created from elsewhere. Nevertheless his might and title as the "Arm Of God" is not being taken lightly. Having participated in several wars, Zeruel's fame has been both highly respected in Heaven, but seen as a nightmare towards the forces of Hell.

Before being the current leader of the Hierarchy however, it was ruled by the angel known as Adam. Not much is known about him, other than the fact that he was a valiant and powerful leader. However, he was killed by an unknown demon force, leaving the Hierarchy in complete chaos on who will claim the throne as their next leader, resulting in a civil war amongst each other. But out from the darkness, rose the "Arm Of God" Zeruel, who would finally bring an end to this childish argument and restore the peace.

Zeruel has already gained a heavy amount of respect and loyalty from the other Angels throughout the Hierarchy, having already lasting thousands of years. While many support him, some Angels thought that he was an unworthy choice and attempted to get rid of him and to ultimately have him replaced. They even called upon some humans to help them with the task, or so it's been said. So two weeks into the "Angel of Might's" leadership, they attempted to assassinate him, using everything they got to make sure they succeed. Unfortunately for them, Zeruel was able to easily make work of this "alliance" single-handedly, though his opponents put up a valiant effort. With the realization that the humans were involved with this failed attempt, his feelings towards them became hostile, thus Zeruel personally declares them as a future threat, which even resulted in turning some loyal Angels away from helping or supporting the humans completely. Ever since that failed assassination attempt on his rule, no one in the Laguna's rank have dared to defy the might and authority of the Arm of God, all knowing fully well of the consequences of doing so.

He initially began to ignore the War going on, having seeing no purpose as to join it. However, having heard of several of his finest Angels having perished in battle, as well as with several attempts of demons attacking other members of the Hierarchy, Zeruel decided to direct into this matter personally.

Powers:
* Shape-Shifting: Zeruel is known to wield the power of shape-shifting, allowing him to turn to, say, a human-sized character of his choosing. However, this isn't exactly perfect, as it will bear heavy evidence of his existence, like a twisted version of the original person. He has the use of only a limited assortment of powers in these forms, only using his tendrils in a basic manner, weaker eye beams, and enhanced strength. Here is of one example. His default form is that of an incredibly buff human male, but his head and mantle replacing the human head, and the color of his body being a "ghostly white".
* Size-Change: Mostly involving his shape-shifting abilities, when in human form he can be up to the max height of 8 feet. However, while in his true forms, he can reach up to 50 meters.
* Modes: Zeruel has two "default" forms that he can switch to and from at will, they being his Sarcophagus and Default Modes. In the former, Zeruel retracts his arms and makes what may resemble that of a sarcophagus. In said form, his speed increases, making it good for long distance travel, however his attacks are limited to say ramming and his defenses are down by 50%. In the latter, he reveals his tendrils as has a better range of powerful attacks and much better defenses.
* Power Slam: Using his amplified speed, Zeruel's only attack is to body slam into his opponents, catching them off-guard and issuing a knockback effect.
* Punch: Tendrils come smashing into the opponent's body, which can issue a powerful knockback effect and be used repeatedly
* Cannon: Retracting four tendrils back into itself, they combine into two missile-shaped arms, and fire with a range of several kilometers, which can rip limbs off an opponent if hit and can also ultimately decapitate them. If hit dead-center, it can punch a hole right through them or at the very least, issue a heavy knockback effect.
* Grapple: Unleashing four tendrils at his desired target, once they grab the object, it suddenly pulls Zeruel with incredible speed at the target, which he rams the opponent head on. It can grip onto most shields shields and ultimately break them. The reverse effect can happen to bring in opponents as well.
* Eye Beams: Zeruel is able to unleash a devastating eye beam, that when shines, it threatens to hit the opponent with a large explosion, which varies on how much power he uses.

Weakness:
Zeruel may look unstoppable, but there is one thing one must destroy in order to defeat the Angel Of Might. In the center of his chest, lies a red orb which is his core. If one is able to destroy it, it will kill the Angel, resulting in an explosion in the shape of a cross. However, it is protected by a powerful force-field that requires an insane amount of power and luck to get through, followed by a natural ribcage that is strong enough to tank missiles and bombs.

Other:
Zeruel's voice is a combination of the voices of Reaper Herbinger and Reaper Sovereign from the Mass Effect series.

Ambient Theme:

Battle Theme:

Lucifus

[User]
Henry Pearl Avaritia The 2nd
@TheWindel

Henry was boiling at this point, his headache was worsening by the second, the memeory he sought only grew further and furtherout of his grasp, the slime brat was talking nonsense and pissing him off- did she just say uncle Eos? Henry turned towards her slowly with a dangerous silver glint in his eyes, he wasn't gonna take this bullshit from a fucking 6 year old. "You're glowing... With a distinctly holy light. Your uncle is the leader of the Machina. Your mother is the leader of the demons. You have some sort of connection to the angels obviously. I would say your mommy has a lot of explaining to do, but quite frankly I don't care anymore." Frog walked by and was very angry as well, but for all the wrong reasons. He liked the frog at first, he really did. But now that childish naivete was pissing him off.

Suddenly a voice echoed across the Nexus, communicating a message of despair to all. A message informing everyone of their foolishness and an offer to fight for a better cause. His headache was reaching a climax as the words spoken by this mysterious figure echoed through his skull over and over. "Rejoice, daughters and sisters of the Nexus for the time to end the farce within which you dwelled for so long has come. Those who seek the truth come and meet me in the realm of the souls who were imprisoned for defying the tyranny of the Triumvirate and those which they serve.

Test your hearts and your alliances if you want to know the truth, for I'm the only one who can provide it. I can show you what is it that lies beyond the border and the reason why you are shackled on this prison without walls. With the power granted to me, in this place, bringing back what has been lost is just a matter of wishing it.

Free yourselves and join my cause, or keep on being slaves and meet your final fate. The choice is yours. Nevertheless, I urge you to hurry, unless you want the evils within this prison to spill back on your world of lies."

A portal opened in the middle of the throne room and suddenly the pain was gone. Time to channel all his anger into something productive. Henry started walking towards the portal with an almost casual air as his usual cocky grin spread itself across his face. "Here's the deal fellow demons. We're being played for idiots, obviously we've been played from the start of this damn war. I'm gonna go find out what's happening in this prison of traitors. Honestly, I'm likely not gonna come back, there are secrets being hidden from us that I just don't like." He stopped in front of the portal and looked over his shoulder at Lucille. "To sum it all up. Go fuck yourself." With those final words he stepped through the portal quickly to head to what would hopefully be the truth.

[Assistant]
The next battle had been called forward among those residing in the Nexus; it was business as usual then. Such was life in this plane of constant strife and warfare. Yet it would seem other forces at place beyond the three Factions were starting to call shots and put stakes of claim to those within this sphere of influence. And as the voice of Helena echoed far and wide among the deep reaches that were the Nexus, it would invoke a myriad of reactions.

"That arrogant creature of the dark," the Imperator said with high disdain, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Helena interfering would set them back of course, but it also meant risking the ire will of those who saw fit to oversee this entire operation. And she would not present those beings with empty results and a failed game, not when they'd been at it for so long.

"Iona. Go towards the Oblivion Dungeon and deal with this disturbance personally," the Imperator said aloud, contacting the Dark Archangel across distances. With luck, Iona head to the battle immediately after her meeting with her masters; though to call in Iona of all people? How much was Helena going to gambit away if the Imperator saw fit to summon her instrument of doom to the battlefield?

And then there was Miyu. Miyu, who at this point was proving to be more of a hindrance to keep at her side than anything else. The Imperator was honestly surprised the Angel had not yet defected from Heaven to become a rouge of sorts among the Neutral Areas. "If you're so concerned about the details, you should go towards the battle and seek your answers; pair yourself up with Zeruel. If you're not , you can stay here," she said. "What will you choose Miyu? Indeed, what will you choose," the Imperator mused, wondering what Juno, who still stood there, would do about all this.

Back in the depths of Hell, Lucille listened to Henry's report with a frown. In truth, she couldn't blame him for backing out. That pesky weapon Eos had brought out at the last moment sounded like a certain tool meant to erase things forever; and she couldn't do with an erased army now could she. But in the end, it winded up not even mattering because Helena's projected message changed the game for everyone.

With that said and done, the effect on Henry was clear. As he ranted and raved, Lucille slowly turned a predatory stare onto him. She said nothing as he made his intents to defect known, said nothing to his bold claims of finding out the truth, and nothing even to the words he said to her daughter earlier. Instead, she watched; because as he stepped out of the portal, he'd find a parasol jammed through his back and out his stomach, sticking in there.

"Go ahead and fight," Lucille announced to the rest of Hell, lounging back in her thrown and already considering the options of obtaining a new parasol.

[User]
As the devilish Helena announces to the Nexus about the Oblivion Dungeon, Zeruel can feel another familiar aura coming from just the words themselves. Like the bull in the Battle of the Foundry, this voice must belong to the other vampire-esque character from Arcadia. These two voices, these two (plus one specific other) auras, it was clear that they came from a higher calling. These Vassals are finally reappearing after eons of inactivity and lurking behind the scenes. He knows what they speak of, the Nexus being an entire lie in of itself, but the Laguna High Angel is bound to keep to his position as the Head of the Hierarchy.

And he otherwise had no desire to retire from his position anyways.

No matter. While he may not have a chance to battle the Bull, there's a chance he can battle the Vampire. And if he does fight her, he'll learn directly from his mistakes in Arcadia and fight smart. His haughtiness caught the better of him that battle. This time it won't be the case. And he's not fighting this alone...

As the portal to the Dungeon opens, behind Zeruel forms an army of valiant warriors, with multiple classes taking the form of different units. Upon closer inspection, one can tell that they are in fact human-sized clones of the Laguna members. Michaels can be seen wielding their swords in the front, Sachiels preparing their elbow-lances, Ramiels spreading their wings as lightning cackles around them, Gaghiels floating as they clatter their jaws, this was an army forged by the Laguna King himself. While the units are clearly not as powerful as their original counterparts, they still can each hold considerably against reasonably-trained opponents.

How were they made to combat the hells of the Nexus? This is a secret Zeruel will keep to his grave.

"ARISE, SOLDIERS OF GOD." he booms as he faces to them, "THE BATTLE AWAITS. YOUR LEADER COMMANDS THAT YOU GIVE IT ALL YOUR ALL. DO NOT HESITATE. SHOW NO MERCY. ERRADICATE ALL WHO OPPOSE YOU. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, DO NOT FAIL YOUR QUEEN, THE ALMIGHTY DEVA."

"TO WAR."

And with a flash of his eyes, the units obey him unconditionally as they enter the portal into the dungeon.


[System]
Age: 27
Gender: Male

Personality: Dex. is a cocky and headstrong young man, who believes he can take on the world and whatever armor it is wearing. He often makes brash decisions and often comes out holding the short straw, but he bounces back just as fast and might just succeed the next time. He takes offense quickly and is often ready with a comeback, having studied you prior to a conversation, he may not always succeed but bless the boy, he plans. Though he is questionable in terms of how he perceives himself and others, he understand that when it comes down to business, he can't slip up, saving mistakes for his personal endeavors and not when it comes to money. During jobs, he is often serious and highly irritable, wanting everything to go exactly as planned under threat of storming off and brooding. He is a gambling man, often taking risks by accepting impossible jobs and betting on impossible odds because he "had a feeling" and often against people who are much more powerful than himself. Though he would look like the person who would disrespect you in an instant, he has decent manners to those he feels deserving of them but not for those he has issues with.

Home Faction: Euro-East
Sponsored Faction: Freeman, earns his own keep (works for a living).

Skills: Dex, lacking any strong education, is by social terms a yokel. However as he always says, "a diploma doesn't make a person. Dex is weak when it comes to reading but mathematically, his mental arithmetic is superb, though only when it comes to practical things, like whole numbers and decimals. He other then his sound maths, can tell you the name, worth and use of an object just by glancing at it, he wouldn't be a good scavenger if he didn't. He is also good with machines, may they be small and finicky or big engine blocks and rocket motors, he is a male Tinkerbell, just a bit more inappropriate though.

Purpose: Shrewd business, bad-tempered gunslinger and mechanic extraordinaire.
Strengths:
-Repairing anything that is a machine or can be fixed with machines.
-Fast and accurate shot with a handgun.
-Good at bartering as he knows the value of things. (a screw? one credit. a watch? 1000 credits. A good time? priceless.)
-Muhammed Ali… But white, a few run-ins at the bar have honed his skills at punching and kicking things and or hitting things with obscure objects.

Weaknesses:
-Fond of drinking, often gets drunk and does something stupid.
-Isn't fond of any large guns, Mostly because he is small framed and because they take up space that could be occupied by treasure.
-Ill-Tempered, prone to outbursts if not handled with caution.
-Gambling Man, when it comes to a good wager, it is all or nothing and it often ends up with a scuffle and a few loose teeth.

Weapons:
-.49 Kolt Revolver, with a blued barrel and cherry grips.
-A large bowie knife he wears at his hip when things get uncles and personal, it is dull grey with a 3D printed stag antler as a grip.
-His only "Big Gun", a 10 gauge lever action shotgun with synthetic trimmings replacing the wood. He leaves it in his ride most of the times, only taking it out when needed.

Special Equipment:
-Revolver Auto Loader, a device that is strapped to his wrist and linked to the revolver electronically, when the revolver cylinder is open and the shells are slid out, a small arm comes out and loads in 6 new rounds instantly.
-SAT/RAD/COMM Jammer, a device that gives him and his vehicle total electronic invisibility if it is in range of any scanner.
-Satchel Charges, he keeps half a dozen in the boot of his vehicle incase he needs to blow through a wall, collapse a cave or start an ambush.
-Finally and probably most importantly, a small hydroponics bay in his vehicle that he grows dwarf tobacco in which he rolls into cigarettes.

Armor/Wear: As seen in the picture but with a leather aviator jacket that has those cool fur trims. underneath it he wears a white T-Shirt and a ballistic vest, capable of taking a few rounds but won't help against energy weapons, explosives or fire.

Vehicles:
The love of his life, he had put it together himself, salvaging pieces from wrecks and building it in the style of holovideos from the 1950s, though it may look clunky and slow, he can assure you its the fastest thing in the area, clocking a smooth 200 miles an hour. On the back he has a set of dust diverters, to send the dust cloud behind him back into the floor, to avoid giving away it's position, when parked he turns on it's invisibility function and only shimmers occasionally

Biography: He was born to a Belarussian mother and a Canadian father and raised on a rocky, dusty outpost in the thick of Saturn's belt. On a place like that, a solid education was hard to come by, the people being too busy repairing things or prepping ships to actually teach, so he was neglected in that way but the community more then payed their dues. They taught him instead to be practical, stripping away things that would have been useless to them and teaching him how to do fast maths and fix anything that was busted, along with teaching him the science behind what he did and basic literacy skills in a few languages, armed with these basic skills, he scraped a C in the government tests.But because of is skills with fixing and building things, he was head engineer by the time he was 20 and had attracted a lot of attention to the outpost from the larger cities in the belt. When the wormhole had been discovered, he sent out a volunteers notice to the government but they denied him, wanting brighter people to be the first to go. So he waited when the exploration phase had finished and civilians were allowed to go through, he jumper at the opportunity. With his parents blessings and his slim savings, he managed to get a cramped spot on a transport and headed to the new system. Once there, he made profitable business by salvaging and looting drop pods before officials could come and collect their contents, he had made a name for himself and had a minor bounty on his head. This had attracted a lot of good and bad news to him, he joined a gang, they looted drop pods together but soon they stabbed him in the back, literally trying to kill him in the middle of the night because he would always find the little pieces that were worth more then what ever anyone else could scavenge. From then on, he wouldn't tolerate groups who thought they could do what ever they wanted, he went back and had his revenge and in turn they put a 50,000 Credit bounty on his head, but he wouldn't let anyone have his head… Other than the girls at the Whorehouses...

Other: He frequently calls home, back to his friends and patents. As exciting adventuring is, he needs some time with loved ones as well.

[User]
"Wonderful," he said simply, putting on the co-pilot's headset. Dex's hands worked skillfully at the ships controls, the tiny font of the labels clear to his eyes that were use to small writing by now, as Ronica's labels were just as hard to read. After a few moments of what seemed to be absent minding flicking and clicking, a small projection of the ship appeared infont of the pair, turning ever so slowly and displaying information. He leaned back into the chair and put one leg over the other and crossed his arms as he scanned the diagram, he tutted and shook his head.

"The pneumatic pressure in the left-rear landing leg is a bit low, you should ask to get that checked before we take off," he fell silent again and scrutinized the image throw seemingly nonchalant eyes, "Reactor coolant levels are also a bit low for my liking but it shouldn't be an issue." Dex leaned his chin into his hand and continued to look at the floating diagram, he turned to the pilot and smiled, "The name's Dex, Slipstream."

[Assistant]
Luna popped open the diagnostics panel and stared at what it showed on its screen.
"Damned software... it's supposed to inform me about any maintenance issues... ugh!" she groaned and shook her head. "Not that important, I have to check it manually for a while, then."
She looked over the results of the diagnosis with a slight frown.
"Yep, you're right. This certainly has to be fixed before take-off." Grumbling she sent a notice to the hangar engineers to fix all the issues immediately.
Finally she turned to face Dex. "Thanks for keeping your eyes open, I guess. I'm Luna. Luna Callahan and I will be your pilot today."
She grinned relieved after her anger about buggy diagnostic software.

[User]
Dex smiled, thinking to himself, 'A bit concerning that our pilot did't do any manual checks.' but he decided to keep that to himself, not wanting to anger the woman who would be his only way off of the rock they were orbiting, so instead he said, "pleasure to be flying Air Callahan," he turned slights to grab his seatbelt and buckle up, tightening the straps to fit him, "I hope you don't mind I ride up here, I'm more use to seeing where I'm going as opposed to being taken to where I'm going."

Dex settled into the seat, and did some checks on his equipment, he did not want to be caught pants down if something where to happen on the ex-planet. He decided to initiate small talk to pass the time, "So, Miss Callahan," he emphasized the word Miss, slowly dragging his eyes along her body, from toes to hair, "Tell me a bit about yourself, for the people watching at home." he head heard that saying when he was young, watching hollow-tapes of old reality shows, when the host would want people to elaborate he'd say it, 'For the people watching at home.'

[Assistant]
Luna shifted around a bit in her seat making herself as comfortable as possible. "I don't mind at all. Just relax and stuff and soak in the beautiful view."
She cracked her knuckles and leaned back.

"Well... I'm not really that exciting. Just a regular Alliance pilot." She shrugged. "Born on the moon... basically been flying since I've been a little girl. My father was a pilot, my mother was a pilot. Piloting lies in my blood, I guess. Right as I graduated from Pilot Academy, I got deployed in the Ceres Buccaneer Crisis. That was something, I guess."

She turned to face Dex. "Have you ever killed somebody? Even if it was 'just' a pirate? I mean, it's probably different if you're directly face to face with the enemy on a ground combat level, but still. I'll never forgot the sight of the pirate fighter going up in flames caused by my guns. It gets easier the second time, but only a bit."
She laughed.
"Sorry, got dark there for a bit. I'm normally pretty chill."

[User]
Jack grunted a short "Welcome 'board, get ready for takeoff" to each of the newcomers as they arrived. He knew more about each and every one of them than they did each other, including medical records and history. While none of the nations were comfortable giving up such records, these were all considered "low risk." In other words, they were sending those who could be glorified, or dispensed, at will. If it went successful, they could say they sent their most recommended- if they were not, they could say that they were simply a first wave of grunts who intentionally volunteered.

It churned his belly, to be honest, but he didn't blame them. He picked out the sniper himself, though that probably actually decreased her chances of getting on the team, whatwith the bickering and pettiness common within the political structure.

Either way, he was the last one standing after the last one arrived. A stern look, felt even through his faceless helmet, gave them enough warning to go ahead and strap in. Accompanied by the pilot's warnings, it was followed automatically or consciously. Either way, no one was arguing.

Satisfied, he stepped fully into the dropship bay, walking fully down it as he triggered an impulse through the implants. The door rose, and began closing; the lights inside went from the basic white/yellow to a red, lights on the wall, replaced others.

So he walked down the rows on both sides of the dropship, already checking to make sure everyone was strapped and locked into the wall. In the case of catastrophic failure, each seat would jet out the side and deploy an environmental shield and a parachute, to provide breathable air and a slow descent. He helped the confused ones' harnesses down, a pair of arms that came from over the shoulder and locked in around their arms, with straps for their legs, chest, and feet. When everyone else was situated, he moved to the front of the spacecraft, resting a hand on the pilot and copilot chairs. He eyed the Slipstream character from within his visor- he had just taken his spot. It wouldn't have bothered him, except the military was pretty much in control of this operation, and he seemed to disregard it.

He walked in as his pilot was talking about killing- something that brought back less than pleasant memories. Through his slightly delayed voice from his helmet, he announced, "Prepare for takeoff, pilot. Command will drop on your go. And by the way- I don't know about Slipstream here, but I've killed dozens. Dark thoughts, neh? I hope you passed your mental examination, since you're piloting this boat."

[Assistant]
Dex was about to answer when the Commander of the mission came and stopped him, cutting in as Dex opened his mouth to speak. Dex listed carefully to the commander and when he sensed that the man was finished he spoke, "Nice to see you with us Commander," he said casually, extending a hand, "It seems that you've read my files, because you know my name before i introduced myself." He did this of course out of curtesy, not wanting to piss this guy off either but he didn't really care for the man's name, he probably wouldn't use it anyway.

He turned back to Callahan, "When exploring space, darkness is something that people come across easily. Yes, I have killed people," He said, resting his hand on the shotgun he propped on a console and running his hand down almost three dozen notches in the synthetic fittings, "Though most of them deserved it, so I feel no remorse." He picked up the lever action shotgun and handed it to the pilot, notches facing her, "But one never forgets." He turned away from her, feeling he made an elaborate enough statement, Instead he concentrated on the dash and watched as the coolest levels rose and the pneumatic pressure increased.

"Clear for take off." he said, watching as they ejected Ronica's capsule down to the planet.


[System]
Age: 26
Title: Civilian

Personality: She is very girly and very dramatic. She wouldn't usually be Tillman's type, but she was available whenever he was bored.

[User]
Despite Solo's words, the feeling of unease had permanently settled in Kaci's chest. "No, I'll be coming to you. If Tallis is in town, that means Jeremy will be spending a shitton of time here." Send. "I'll be there in an hour. Kisses." Fuck. What was she going to tell Jeremy? She scrolled through her inbox searching for his name. "I'm going to be out with the girls today, so the house is yours if you wanna bring Tallis over and do...whatever. Just letting you know. Have fun and wrap up ya dick. Love you, Jerm!" It wasn't her best work, but it would have to do. As long as Tallis and Jeremy came straight here, everything would be fine.

Just fine.

___________________________

Tallis' pretty face was stained with tears, bright eyes rimmed red and swollen. Her makeup had stood the test, still flawlessly applied. She gladly took the flask and finished up its contents. Cheap whiskey. Jeremy's favorite. It took all she had not to spit it out. "Jesus Christ," she cried with a look of disgust. "Remind me to give you your present when we get back to the clubhouse. It's a bottle of 1975 Glenrothes single malt scotch. Which means we can drinking all in one sitting. It's expensive shit." She accepted his help to her feet. "For our tradition of one bottle a night, though, I got us a little more than just a bottle of cheap rum." Had they not been at the cemetery, she would have gladly given him a taste of what was waiting for him when they got home.

But respect for the dead and all.

She waited for Tillman to get back on the bike, positioning herself so that he could feel the warmth of her breath on the back of his neck. Her hands resting on his inner thighs. Why hold on when riding a bike was as natural as riding a horse or a man? Instead, she could tease him. Whispers of all the things she wanted to do to him when they got back. Her hand rubbing over the most sensitive part of his anatomy. Kisses gently placed on the back of the neck. Tallis had perfected the art of seduction while on the back of a motorcycle.

A lot had been perfected since she last saw Jeremy.

_____________________________

"Jeremy isn't here, Kaci, he took Tallis to the cemetery." The rough, heavily accented voice of Patty caused Kaci to jump. "You're also not supposed to be here anyway. Tillman made that abundantly clear."

"Oh, I know. I'm not looking for my brother." Her words caused one of Patty's brows to raise. Oh, shit. Think fast, Kaci! "I'm actually just here to talk to Solo about Jeremy and Tallis, I want his input on the whole situation. Tallis had Jeremy wrapped around her little fingers...and I just want to make sure that he'll come out of this intact. Solo is the only one I can really talk to this about...wit Wiz gone and all. I mean, I just thought..." She was beginning to ramble.

"Okay, okay, okay." Patty waved his hand in her direction. "Just don't be too loud, I need some plausible deniability if Tillman asks any questions." He smacked her butt to get her going before returning back to his Playboy, all but forgetting his conversation with baby Tillman.

Kaci raced up the stairs, slipping into Solo's room without knocking. She couldn't see him, but she could hear the shower water running. "Solo, I'm here!" As she spoke she began removing clothes until all that was left was a sultry crop top and black, lace thong.

[Assistant]
Jeremy cracked up watching Tallis take down the rest of his flask. "You remember my cheap taste, don't you?" He smiled at the mention of the scotch. It'd been a while since he had anything more expensive than a $20 bottle of whiskey. "Thanks, Tallis. We'll stop by the clubhouse to get your shit, then I'll let you unpack at my place. I have some paperwork to take care of when I get back."
Before getting on the bike, he checked his phone to see a text from Kaci. He rolled his eyes at the text. "She's staying in the guest room until further notice. Come home when you're done. Need to talk."

He started the bike and slipped on his helmet as Tallis got on the back of the bike. A part of him didn't want to bring her to his house. He had worked so hard to remove the grip she had over him, and having her staying in the most private part of his life, his home, was daunting. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, a wave of chills ran down is back as he felt her breath on his neck. "Fuck," he whispered to himself, feeling her hands and lips on him. Was this what she was going to do to him the whole time she was here? Tease him, bed him, and then leave him again for an indefinite amount of time? He grabbed her hands and wrapped them around his waist, removing them from his thighs. "What the fuck is WRONG with you," he cursed at himself mentally. "Isn't this what you've been waiting for? You're acting like a bitch." He shook his head, backed out, and sped off from the cemetery parking area.

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Solomon heard his name being called from the shower. "Coming!" He yelled as he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He opened the door to see Kaci, barely dressed, and approached her slowly. "Hey," he simply said in a quiet voice as he wrapped her arms around her and kissed her. As the kiss continued, one hand came to her neck with a thumb on her face and the rest of his fingers in her hair. His other hand began to slide down her back, until the sound of a motorcycle approached the clubhouse. Solomon broke the kiss and ran to the window. "God DAMN it," he cursed, running a finger through his here. "Tillman's here."

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

Jeremy and Tallis pulled up to the clubhouse after an uneventful ride. "Solo's bike is here. Good. I have to talk to him, too." As his thought ended, he heard heels clicking in a hurried pace right towards him. "What now?" He snaps his head to the right, immediately feeling a sting on his cheek. There was Ashley, huffing and puffing, eyes switching back and forth between Tallis and him. "Is this your guest?" she said in a low, angry tone. "Ashley," he began. "Don't 'Ashley' me, Tillman. Do you really think that she's better than me? This tattooed, slutty bitch?" Jeremy rubbed his cheek and rolled his eyes. "Ashley, I fuck you. That's it." This made Ashley's anger skyrocket as she began to walk towards Tallis. "Leave him the hell alone. He deserves better than you."

[User]
Oh God. She had missed Solomon's touch. His fingers in her hair as he pressed his lips to hers. The blissful moment was short-lived, though, as the roar of a motorcycle pulled Solo's attention to the window. His words made her blood run cold and her heart fall into her stomach. "This can't be happening. He'll beat the shit out of you if he catches me here." She ran her hands over her face. "Where are my clothes, Solo? I need to hide." The panic was clear in her shaking voice.

This was a nightmare.

________________________________________________

Ashley's anger skyrocketed as she began to walk towards Tallis. "Leave him the hell alone. He deserves better than you." Her anger only growing at Tallis' apparent amusement at the situation. Why was she smiling like a demon? It was unsettling. This bitch is crazy.

"This is who you're fucking, Tillman." Surprise was evident in her voice as Tallis pointed to Ashley. "I should have come back sooner." Her words were like daggers, meant to wound not kill.

"What is that supposed to me, bitch?!" Ashley demanded. She was shaking like a chihuahua.

"It means you are nothing compared to me. I'm a fucking dragon and you're just a whore. You wanna be his old lady, but you can't even convince him to stay faithful to your bed. You'll never be more than the girl he fucks when his nuts are full." She paused long enough to gauge Ashley's reaction. Her words were hitting their mark every time. Club members were beginning to pour out of the clubhouse, watching with arms crossed and blank expressions. "And you're right, he does deserve better than me. I won't argue with you on that one, but he also deserves better than you. He deserves an old lady that's going to rub his back after he comes home from killing a man and not think twice about it. The only thing you rub is his balls. Bitch, you don't love him like--" Her words were interrupted by a fist to the face.

"That'll shut you up, won't it bitch?" The pride was clear in Ashley's voice; she thought she had one.

Oh, how wrong she was.

Blood was filling Tallis' mouth and her vision was beginning to go red. She spat the blood towards Ashely, launching herself at her; Tillman's whore cried out as she hit the dirt, "Help!" No one would dare come to help her as Tallis pounded her fists into the poor girl's face. Ashley did all she could to protect herself, but she was at a disadvantage; Tallis was on top of her, pinning her arms down with her knees.

"Please...stop..."

[Assistant]
Solomon tossed Kaci her clothes that were in a pile on the floor and put his hands on her shoulders. "It's gonna be fine," he assured her, running his fingers down her hair. "Just um," he blurted as he scanned the room, "just stay here. He won't need to come up here." He kissed her and threw his towel on floor, scrambling to get himself dressed. He gave her a nod as he closed the door behind him. He ran down the stairs quickly and slowed himself before he reached the front door. What he saw happening outside made his eyes widen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jeremy couldn't help but smirk as he watched Tallis and Ashley exchange words back and forth. He was certain that Tallis could kill her with her bare hands if she wanted, but he wouldn't let it get that far. There was already enough heat on the clubhouse; the last thing they needed was the cops showing up. Ashley wasn't something he was proud of, although she wasn't bad looking. She was available, and that was all Jeremy really needed at the time.

Once Tallis was on top of Ashley, Jeremy sprang into action. He smiled when he saw Solomon run up next to him. "Atta boy," thought Jeremy, as he walked up behind Tallis, looping his arms through hers and dragging her to a standing position. "Enough, Tallis, enough," he said only loud enough for Tallis to hear. Solomon helped Ashley up also to a standing position, putting his arms around her to keep her from lunging at Tallis. Once she calmed down, Jeremy let her go and walked in between the two girls.

"Ashley, I think it's time you go."
"But look what she did to me, Tillman. You're okay with this?" She was referring to her already bruising eye socket and the leaking gash on her cheek.
Jeremy smiled at her question, annoyed she wasn't getting the hint. He turned away from her and faced Tallis, putting his fingers on her chin and propping her face up. He leaned in and kissed her slowly and passionately, but only for a moment before turning back to Ashley. He tasted the blood in his mouth from Tallis'.
"Got it?" Jeremy asked, not expecting an answer. His face remained stone cold as he glared at her.
Ashley scoffed, ripping her body away from Solomon and storming off to her car parked on the other side of the compound.

Jeremy, after realizing what he did, scanned the front of the clubhouse to make sure President Black wasn't viewing the spectacle outside. He sighed of relief when he noticed he wasn't, and turned back around to Tallis. "Try not to kill anyone on my property, okay?" He looked to her, fighting a smile curling on the corners of his lips. "I forgot about this side of her."

Solomon ran his fingers through his hair, waiting to see if Jeremy needed him before he could run upstairs to check on Kaci. Knowing that she was there, in his room, possibly waiting to be spotted by Tillman, made his heart race.


[System]
Age: 137
Gender: Male
Race: Elf

Appearance: Aust stands at 5'7", and bears the fair features and lithe form common to his race. Hard, wiry muscle lies beneath his sun-browned skin, both a product of many years in the harsh desert environment. His hair was once a deep brown, but it has lightened over the years into sandy blonde locks that fall to his shoulder blades. Ageless eyes the color of storm clouds look out from beneath an angular brow. His flesh is unmarred, with the exception of two faint scars that run from the outer corners of his eyes and down his cheeks like tear tracks. Generally, he prefers simple cotton clothing that covers much of his body to protect him from sun, sand, and heat. Even indoors or in more comfortable climes, he has grown used to his attire and rarely changes it. For battle, he dons leather armor before covering it with the outermost layer of his robes.

Brief character concept: Aust is something of an advance scout for his people. Sent away many years ago, he has spent quite a lot of time among the various peoples of Areta. Using magic to disguise himself, he was even able to briefly ingratiate himself among those serving the royal family. For the most part, he has spent his time traveling among the Eretol to learn as much as he can about the land and it's people. Now that the Ytharien have come, he has rejoined them to share his knowledge and lend his blade, bow, and musical talents to their efforts.

History: Nearly fifty years ago, Aust was a shaman and healer of some renown among his people. Growing up with his small family at the edge of society, that is where he remained when they eventually moved on. He made his own way at the edges the elven territories, practicing woodcraft and magic as a means of survival. When he occasionally crossed paths with travelers he treated them with respect and hospitality regardless of their race, as though the tracts of wilderness were his own home and he had invited them. More common were those who sought him out for one form of help or another.

One such visitor, and elven maiden by the name of Mirri, sought him out time and time again. At first, the she-elf engaged his services in an attempt to save her ailing mother. Aust would visit their home nearly every season to do what he could, but was never able to do more than ease the elderly elf's discomfort and shore up her failing health. This lasted several years, and during that time a bond formed between Aust and Mirri. When eventually her mother passed, Mirri gave up her home to travel with Aust.

For nearly twenty years the pair traveled together and were happy. All good things, however, must come to an end. During a particularly harsh storm, Aust and Mirri were separated near the border of elven and human territories. After eschewing food and rest for a full day, the elf eventually located his partner and love. Once the storm had passed, she had approached a group of humans and asked for their help and hospitality. The men had proven to be slavers, and took her captive. Aust spotted his lover among the men from afar, and settled in to wait for an opportune moment to free her.

Late that night, Aust snuck into the slaver camp. In darkness and silence, he slipped into the tent where Mirri was being kept while most of the twenty slavers were gathered around their fire. So focused was he on freeing her that he did not sense it when a guard crept up from behind. They had expected someone to come for the she-elf. The leader of the group was determined to prove to the stubborn elf that they both belonged to him now. Bound in heavy chains, Aust was forced to watch as his lover was passed between men around the fire like no more than a bottle of liqueur. When they were finished Mirri was tossed aside like trash, where she lay completely still in the dirt.

Pushed beyond the point of reason and helpless to do anything else, Aust called to his magic. Something he had once considered unthinkable, he used the forces of life and creation to bring a violent end to the men around him. Twenty lives were snuffed out like so many candles in a strong wind. Still numbed by shock and the adrenaline rush brought on by the situation Aust felt neither grief nor regret, which struck him as extremely wrong. Still not thinking clearly, he etched these things permanently into his flesh. Even if he could not feel them in that moment, he would forever bear the scars both upon his heart and his face.

Disgusted by the fact that he had twisted his magic against its intended purpose, Aust decided for himself to become an exile. He left elven lands behind of his own will, determined to wander further than he ever had before. It was then that he met Lothren and originally joined the Ytharien. He did not remain long, however, volunteering to be dispatched as a scout into Areta.

[User]
Konrad rubbed his thighs vigorously, his muscles protesting loudly. They had ridden for hours on end, in increasingly hostile territory. The last village they visited a ma nspat on the road in front of them. He stroked his mustache.

A decade ago, I would have struck that man for his arrogance against the King's men. He shook his head again, his eyes scanning the horizon. He knew that Alonso had travelled far out this time, farther than he normally went.
Last time we found him, it was mere miles from the capital.. This time, I worry for him. It's too far from easy reach... I won't lose him.
Like the captain, Konrad served Alonso since he came into power. He had served his father, too. Although he missed the late king, Alonso was a good lad. He just needed to grow up and accept his duty to his country.
A few hours later, they found the village. The wreckage. It was sickening and infuriating at the same time.

"Falkenberg, those cattle don't look burned. Find out what killed them."

Konrad snapped to attention, straightening and offering crisp salute. "Aye, sir."
He hopped from his horse, walking over to the dead animals. He bent down, knees clicking. He grimaced, and reached towards the beast, turning the corpse about. Aside from the gnaw marks and the peckings of crows and buzzards, he noticed some deep scores in the bone, one rib cracked lengthwise.

It could have been brigands. They sometimes slaughter for sport.. No. They would've took the meat. These scores here.. And here.. These were bolts, from a crossbow. Hastily applied to the poor animals; they must've suffered..
The other beast had swathes of bones simply.. Broken and missing. The skull had a giant hole on one side, a smaller one opposite of it.
Shit. Blunderbuss? Pistol? Bolts are easy to stop. My shield'll do fine. Bullets? Fuck, I knew I should've brought my lucky pair of trousers.
He saw a glint in the dying light under one of the legs. Pulling it out, he swore. "Fucking bolt. Gerald's probably right. Fucking knife-ears."

He spat, slipping the bolt in his belt. Sloppy killers, whoever they were. Standing up, he heard Gerald's war cry, followed by a muffled thump and some cursing. He jogged to the source of noise.
Way too old, Konrad. Why didn't you open up an inn, like the old man said?
His steps faltered, only for a moment. More rooms for Astrid's lovers. God above, please help me so that I don't murder some poor noble one day.
He drew his flail when he reached the scene, the chain rattling. He snorted as he looked at the grungy man. He raised an eyebrow at Gerald. He grinned.

"Hey, Colossus. You think maybe you should ease up on that fuckin' sword? Looks like he can't tell you shit from how hard you shoved it against him. Any farther, and it'll be in his ass."
His face grew grim again, looking at the ruined husk of a village. "And seems you were right, lad. Fuckin' elves did this, mark my words."

These sods probably died as they lived. In abject squalor and filth.

[Assistant]
When every breath brings pain, one learns to guard ones words.

Kolbe hadn't said much during the journey. He'd spoken cordially but little with his fellow Knights and not at all with the commonfolk, and even now the captain's acerbic order drew only a low rumor of acknowledgement from behind the blank iron helm which hid that terrible, ravaged face.

Linus dismounted and planted the Aretan pennant in the center of the blackened ruin, driving the shaft hard into the dry earth and kicking up a thin cloud of dust. The sapphire-and-gold banner flapped morosely in the hot breeze, specks of soot catching on its surface and marring the royal heraldry. It was eerily quiet.

The perforated helm creaked left and right, taking in the scene. Destruction and chaos. Not a pillage or raid -- they'd stopped just shy of salting the damned earth. This was the burning-brand of fear. No human bodies. Slaves? Or sent fleeing, like the others flooding over the border? Details. Like as not unimportant ones, for now.

What narrowed his mind was the timing.

They were following the King and his new wastrel friends. The King had passed this way. And this was all that was left in his wake. Could be a number of conclusions a man could draw from that. Were they here, when this happened? Had the King of Areta been captured? Or did...

Hnh.

He turned away from the thought, looking back to his fellows. Old Falkenberg and Gerald the Giant, going about their duties and cursing the Elves aloud. With no small reason, for that. The further from the city's walls they'd come, the more ill rumor they'd heard of these savages and the cruel witchcraft they wrought along the river. In the end, the only surprise was they hadn't come across this sooner--

He felt the battle-roar in his bones almost before he heard it. Gerald had found one alive. Konrad was already on his feet and halfway there, ready to aid... or to mitigate whatever damage The Colossus was about to do in his fit of zeal. Kolbe took his time, marching slowly, watching their backs. He didn't know them well, and they like as not didn't well know him. But instinct told him they were good brothers. Brothers he knew he could depend on when the fat started to fry. He'd pay them the same, in blood if need be.

The captain? Could be that was another story. Could be he might not be a man who'd do what needed to be done. Time would tell.

It always did.

[User]
Juna
 Juna, like many of the rest of the traveling mummers, had sat down to enjoy herself. She held her goblet up to her mouth, gulping down a mouthful of mead, and then made an audible sound that showed her enjoyment of it, and how refreshing it seemed to her. The place seemed to be in a good at the moment, and Juna was feeling the same, and reveled in it. Between her and Annara's performances and the play, they had put on a good show today, and now that their work was over for the day the revelries could begin.

Times like these, for what they were worth, were quite enjoyable. You would take a seat, and have a nice drink with some of your fellows, while an entertaining yet absolutely unremarkable conversation would go on.

For now, though, that could wait. Alan had made a comment on how Annara ought to have less frown, more crown, to borrow a certain unnecessary phrase. Annara gave an acerbic reply, which was fitting for her. Juna had her usual mischievous smile the whole time, and she took another sip from her goblet. She didn't butt into their conversation, and let the kids have their fun. Juna instead allowed herself to be surrounded by men, who she might just lead on enough to keep them interested, and to keep them fun, but probably not more.

Of course, the mood couldn't stay flowery forever. At their heart they weren't just traveling entertainers, but a warband. Every one of them knew it, and no matter how much they fretted about the paticulars, they knew it to be true, and they'd accepted it. If they hadn't, they'd have left already. Still, Juna didn't want to see those two, Annara and Alan, with blood on their hands. Herself as a murderer was enough already.
In the background was Lothren being gloomy again. Juna eventually headed on out there, over to him. Her arrogance wasn't so great that she thought she would be able to make him smile and join closer with the others. However, what she did know was that she had known him for a long time, and he wouldn't be rid of her so easily.

"Being broody again?" Juna said as she knelt down beside him. She had a feeling that, even to her, he would be less than welcoming.

[Assistant]
"Just wait until I get my hands on a proper flute," Aust said with a smile in reply to Alan's compliment. While he was familiar with many instruments and had a deep, smooth singing voice, the woodwind was what he preferred. Unfortunately, he had been forced to abandon his silver flute some time ago in a hasty escape from an ambush along his way back to the Ytharien. Since then, he had been unable to find a suitable replacement.

While Annara defended the quality of her performance, Aust simply smiled and went on sharpening the long dagger that he usually wore at the small of his back with the hilt within reach of his right hand. His longbow, already strung, rested against the log he was using as a seat. He had already changed back into his usual clothing and donned his armor and covered it with his cloak. The feathered ends of a handful of arrows were visible over his right shoulder and the strap of the quiver cinched his cloak tight to his upper body.

For his part, Aust thought Annara sung and acted rather well. The dress was small for her after all, not that the roguish swordsman he portrayed onstage would find anything to complain about there. When she showed off her form in the circle of firelight, he was forced to admit to himself that he shared that sentiment on some level. After so much time in Areta he often found himself more comfortable in the company of humans than with his own kind.

When the human woman spilled some of her wine and closed her eyes in prayer, Aust glanced her way and raised an eyebrow. It was a custom he knew of, and mostly he was curious as to why she seemed to prefer not to do it openly. Lost in thought, he only managed to turn his eyes away when she started to open hers. If she did not want others knowing or speaking of it, it was no business of his. Her compliment, combined with his thoughts over the past several moments, brought a mild tint to the elf's usually stoic features. Hoping that the ruddy glow of the fire would hide the color, he finally spoke up about the task ahead of them.

"Let us just hope they have the sense to leave quickly and peaceably. Nobody has to die tonight, but neither should we hesitate to defend ourselves. Remember, a broken rib or slashed arm is likely to get our message across and send any but the bravest running if they confront us." It had taken a little practice, but Aust had become used to fighting non-lethally when the situation demanded it. It was unfortunate and understandable that people would defend their homes, but it did not mean they had to pay for it with their lives.


[System]
Age: 36

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Appearance:

Mordrag's appearance closely mirrors his wild personality. His dirt brown hair hangs to his shoulders, jutting in all directions and meeting his chest-length beard. Both unwashed, his hair and beard might contain bits of food from any time in the past week. Mordrag is a towering hulk of a man with thick, corded muscles from years of fighting mingling with layers of fat from years of drinking and eating. He has strong features with a powerful jawline and bushy eyebrows set in a heavy, furrowed brow. His blue eyes contrast brightly with his tanned and sun weathered skin. Worn over his broad shoulders is a sleeveless burgundy vest, buttoned only halfway up to reveal abundant black chest hair. His black pants have a multitude of pockets attached or sewn in, each filled with different objects. Black leather boots and white cloth wrappings around his wrists finish of his daily outfit. When ready for battle, Mordrag's adds a black, hardleather single pauldron with an attached canvas torso covering to his attire.

Bio: Born in the Gothi Federation to a single mother, Mordrag never knew his father. Because he was always larger than the other children, Mordrag was forced to be a warrior from an early age, beating down every other boy who tried to prove their strength against the big one. These small victories fed continuously into the man's confidence, givimg him boisterous and hedonistic tendencies. Not the most intelligent of his barbarian tribe, the big man grew into the only role he could find, as the muscle for smarter, smaller men. After working security for a few years for a small satellite of a powerful spicing company, the Yellow Traders, Mordrag caught the eye of labormaster who brought him back to the center of operations in The Plains. Upon his arrivalt, the bear of a man discovered that the three barons with disputed sovereignty over this area had decided to work together to bring down the Yellow Traders after feeling threatened by their quickly growing influence. A combination of warehouse raids and forced boycotts – through intimidation, bribery and blackmail – brought about the fall of the great spicing company, and subsequently, Mordrag's unemployment.

Equipment: Mordrag has a tendency to collect a random variety of objects in his many pockets from rocks to jewelry to food items. He is fascinated by each item in his collection be it rare or mundane. Strapped to his back is a specialized marteau de lucerne – long polearm shaft ending in a spiked, double sided meat hammer with an extended spike on top. Underneath each of his hand wrappings are a couple of two-fingered rings, each equipped with a large, square stud to.

Abilities: Just like his outward appearance, Mordrag's fighting style mimics that of a large bear. He utilized his massive size to overwhelm his opponents, crushing or stabbing them from distance with the long reach of his arms and polearm together. Up close, the large man's thunderous punches are accentuated by the studded rings hidden under his hand wrappings. He is not the quickest or the most agile, so he is used to receiving more blows than he delivers; however, the man is able to survive by always making sure to hit much harder when his opportunity arises. Though he is inventive in no other way, Mordrag has an affinity for dealing pain.

Reason for Joining the Broken Horns: Already confident in the strength of his arms, Mordrag is always looking to improve the strength of his wallet. The corruption of the Empire of Civitas and the resultant opportunities for profit and pleasure have always enticed Mordrag to frequent the region. Recently unemployed, the man saw Rask's advertisement as a great remedy.

[User]
The congratulating speech was short and straight to the point. Rask didn't seem like a man of many words and he quickly jumped into business, laying out the rules and conditions upon this merry party would be upheld to. Wretha glanced around taking stock of the victors, each in turn bringing something different to the group, if nothing else at least it would prove to be a fun experience- sharing the road with such diverse individuals.
Fifteen percent sounded more than a reasonable some considering their numbers. Sparring practice? Wretha's ear piqued at the notion her nose wrinkling in disgust. She wasn't to happy about the fact of being forced to partake in the practice but she figured it was a good source of training in the event the need might ever arise. Besides, arguing about it was a moot point; Rask didn't look like the type to be persuaded easily.

A small, dirtied and crumpled piece of parchment was passed around the table requiring each to sign their loyalty to the party. The female grabbed the paper and ran her hand over it with a few mumbled words, in the wake of her hand her name was left imprinted on the surface, inscribed in beautiful red lettering. Wretha handed the parchment to Thena with a tight-lipped smile. The witch was about to take her leave when Rask asked for the elven-woman and herself to remain behind. Odd. Nevertheless, Wretha obliged settling back into her seat. A moment later a purse filled with coins slid across the table coming to halt in front of her. She didn't bother checking the validity of the man's word regarding the amount of money each purse held, thus far he hadn't given her any reason to mistrust him.

[Assistant]
Rekugin closed his eyes as his chest throbbed with pain. Holding the breastplate to his chest he moved his hands over the warped surface. 'Dammit this is gonna cost a bit to fix up.' Hearing Rask starting to speak Rekugin glanced up and sat up a bit straighter. While listening to Rask, his mind started whirring with thoughts. 'Sayamir Pass treasure, that's a myth. He can't be going after that…..Well I haven't gone there yet, maybe He is there.' Looking around at the other people sitting around the table Rekugin he saw that they were all listening intently. Well except for the big Gothi, he was grinning like a madman. Refocusing on Rask, he heard the strict rues his face twisting into a grimace. 'Meh I'm used to that. Can't be worse than Krasus…Wait fifteen percent cut, that is good, better than Krasus and the Vultures.' Rekugin's face cleared up as he heard this. 'A horse for every man, even better. I wonder where he gets all this money from. Sword lessons. I wonder how good he is with a blade.'
"Sign here." Looking at the scrap of paper, Rekugin reached over and scrawled his name on the paper. Closing his eyes again as he leaned back against his seat. CLANG looking down he saw the pouch of coins hit the breastplate. Nodding at Rask, Rekugin spoke his thanks.

Getting up with a groan Rekugin lifted up his bow and his breastplate. Going via the corner he had stood in to pick up his bag and sleeping roll he staggered over to and up the stairs. Reaching the bar he slumped on a barstool "Whiskey, lots of it please." Gulping down the first one without even tasting it, he could feel it burning down his throat. And into his stomach His second one he spent a bit longer but not too much. After a couple more drinks, until the pain died down in his chest. Rekugin woke up with a start, "I must have fallen asleep." Mentally berating himself Rekugin got up and paid for the drinks. Taking a few swerving steps to the door he fumbled to open it and stepped out into the busy street. It was dark. 'I was in there for a while!' He gulped in the colder air as he thought about what he needed for a trip like this. He knew he needed a blacksmith, or an armourer. Following his ears, he turned and walked toward sound of hammers and clanging. It might of looked weird anywhere else at anytime, a fully robed black figure with a bag, bow and breastplate. But here Rekugin seemed part of many nocturnal figures going around there business. As he walked he tried to figure out who Rask was. 'There's the gold, so he's either got a benefactor, but he doesn't seem like the man who would work for somebody else, or he's rich, but with that much gold. Either a criminal or a noble. The sword lessons, that's a noble thing. But still, what would a noble be doing looking for gold. He could just send men to do it for him.' Giving up his quest to figure out his new mysterious leader, Rekugin walked through the cold night air thinking about what he needed.

Rekugin staggered into the apothecary wearing a new breastplate. It had been easier to sell his battered one for scrap and by a new one. It had only cost him 100 of the gold coins he had been given by Rask. Placing his pack on the ground a loud groan he whipped his head up as a dwarf lady came out of the back, "My name is Cloenna, welcome to the shop. What do you want?"
"I need medicine, herbs, and some healing please." Pulling off his hood the lady stepped back seeing someone so young. Maybe it was her maternal instincts but Rekugin soon found himself sitting on a stool with his shirt off and Cloenna prodding the bruises around his chest. "Where did you get these from?" When he told her it was in a fight with a Gothi she tutted and told him to wait as she prepared a paste. She placed the paste on his chest and wrapped it up in a large swath of bandages. As she worked she managed to weedle out of him that he was going up Sayamir Pass. As Rekugin put on his shirt and armour on he heard Cloenna drawing things from jars and wrapping them. "I have got you some basic medicine, some herbs for energy and warmth and a few healing magic items, but use them for serious injuries. Don't waste any! There is also a jar of paste. You must apply the paste once again in 2 days and once more 3 days after that." Paying the gold required, and a bit more, Rekugin listened to more instructions, while he put the herbs and medicine into his bag, from the dwarf lady before stepping out once again onto the street.

Rekugin went to the bowyer next. Buying a doeskin case from him to protect his bow he also stocked up on a supply of glue, points, bowstrings and tools. He knew that in the cold some arrows might warp and his bow had to be protected when not in use. While paying Rekugin asked if there was a furrier in the town, finding out there was he packed his bags and set off. Entering the store with his nose shrivelled in disgust at the smell, Rekugin managed to negotiate a decent price for a new fur-lined sleeping roll. He ended up not buying new gloves and boots, the ones he had on now were well made. They had served him well even in the cold nights of the plains. Leaving he looked up at the dark sky. Guessing by how the stars were fading he figured that it was two hours, maybe more or so till dawn. Rushing now, he barged his way, through a crowd of fisher folk, to a general store to buy other items. Getting smoked meat, hard cheese, and skins of water attached them or placed them in his bag. He lifted it and could felt how heavy it was. He got a few more things like some cheap skins whiskey and even a small skin of wine.

Heading out of the store he saw the eastern sky lighting up slowly. There was perhaps a hour left till dawn. Hurrying towards the west gate Rekugin spotted an alley, he had passed through before. Going down he entered the last shop that he wanted to visit. It was a small dinghy shop with a moth eaten curtain as the entrance and a small sign, of a red leaf with black spots on it, nailed above the curtain. As he entered through the curtain, a hooded figure dressed in a grubby robe came from an alcove. Rekugin asked for a piece of paper and wrote three words onto it. Pulling out the rest of the pouch of coins he handed them to the man with the scrap of paper.

Exiting the shop a while later Rekugin slipped two small vials and a small container into one of the pouches on his belt. Lugging his pack onto his back, he hurried over to the western gate as the last stars faded and the sky became brighter.

[User]
The first light of dawn snuck into the large room through the cracks in red satin curtains. Compared to the smaller, dingier rooms that belonged to Madame Merida's other employees, Jenessa and Isolde's room was a splendid residence indeed. Posh silks and furs piled high on the bed next to a fine mahogany armoire. Candelabra stands and even two oil paintings created a well lit and decorated environment akin to a throne room.

On their bed fit for a queen, Jenessa and Isolde slept, wrapped up in each other's limbs. Mordrag stirred from his final resting spot on the floor. He was naked, an empty bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of gilt scissors eyeglasses in the other. A thin beam of gray morning light lie directly across the huge man's eyes, pulling him from his world of dreams and into a world of...

Bloody little men dancing in my head! Theres a fat horde of cattle stampeding up there. The Gothi sat up and looked up at the two beauties through squinted eyes. Even after a rousing, raucous night, they looked like angels come to earth. Absolute perfect last night before the big journey. And at the end of this, I'm gonna buy my own place like this. Madame Mordrag. Yeah, yeah, that's got something to it!

The barbarian stood up and poured himself another glass of wine. Sleep it off or drink through it. The former wouldn't be an option, for he had somewhere to be.

"...we meet at the Western Gate tomorrow at dawn," Rask had instructed. Mordrag had a tendency to be late, but this time it was important. He pulled open the curtains and gazed out the window, dawn breaking over the butchers shops, taverns and fishmonger stands.

Dawn it will be. Then I'll have enough funds to live high and send the rest where they need to be. I can provide for myself and for everyone who needs me to. Dawn. Dawn!? It's dawn right now!

The big brute moved faster than he had in his entire life, throwing his pants on backwards and tossing his vest, boots and the mysterious eyeglasses into his small pack. He sprinted out the door, stopping only to slap Jenessa on her ample bum.

And then again for the other cheek.

____________________________________________________________________________

He eventually made his way to the Western Gate not TOO long after dawn. The entire rest of the band was there, but, thankfully, they hadn't left quite yet. Mordrag half ran, half stumbled up to the others and tossed his belongings on the ground at their feet.

"Don't you all worry, Mordrag's made it" he panted, doubling over from the exertion with hands on knees. After catching his breath he made his way over to Wretha – still half dressed with his pants on backwards – and draped an arm over her shoulder. "What's next boss?" The big brute looked at Rask questioningly and smiled.


[System]
BASIC
Goes By (Nicknames): None currently available.
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Human

APPEARANCE

Face Claim (Actor/Actress They're Played By): TBA / I've yet to find an actor for this character.
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Skin Tone: Slightly pale.
Height: 6'2
Weight: 170lbs
Build: Lithe, somewhat muscular.
Weapons: Twin swords, multiple daggers and knives hidden on him.

Overall Appearance:

Dark features, Visible, jagged scar that runs down his right eye. Various scars are hidden underneath his clothing.

Ghent is often clad in black or dark grays.
Most of his clothes are made from black leather; his cloak has a hood and a mask to cover the lower half of his face if needed. He has various weaponry concealed; he often wears fingerless gloves, laced up bracers, and boots.

PERSONALITY

Likes: Gold.
Dislikes: Talking, poverty, people in general.
Strengths: Picking locks, leadership, agility.
Weaknesses: Stubbornness, Greed.
Fears: Loss, failure.

Overall Personality:

Stubborn | Calculating | Complicated | Quiet | Incredulous | Shrewd

Ghent's family was very often poor and lived in a lower part of a small, poverty-stricken town. His mother passed away shortly after giving birth to her second son, Garth. Ghent was ten years in age when she passed.

Ghent's father turned to drinking heavily and he came to blame his children for the loss of his wife. Fearing for Garth, Ghent took matters into his own hands; at the age of thirteen, he took his younger brother and left home, never once looking back.

Life on the road was not an easy one, but Ghent was determined to tough it out so that they would not have to return to their father. At first, Ghent began with petty theft; he stole what was needed in order to keep them alive, they took shelter where they could and lied whenever questioned. As the years went on, they moved up in the world. After years of practice, Ghent became a highly skilled thief. This was the start of a life he would live well past his teenage years.

* * *

Ghent has an eerie calmness about him and his emotions are seldom ever shown. Because of this, he is very difficult to read -- almost impossibly so. Ghent handles matters in a diplomatic way and doesn't often resort to violence unless necessary. For the most part, he is quiet and reserved, therefore much of his past is unknown.

Deep down, Ghent does have a heart, though he does his best not to show it. He'd be the last to admit it, but he has a soft spot for those in need.

BACKGROUND

Date of Birth: ? Have to calculate that. ,_,
Place of Birth: Outskirts of Laketown. Not quite within the town, though close.

Family Relations:

- Garth (younger brother)
- Lydia (Mother; deceased)
- Vincent (Father)
- Kaiden (cousin)

[User]
"He's leaving!" Ori piped up, only to be pulled away by his older brother Dori.
"Come away from there! It's not natural, none of it." Dori often lectured his brothers, much to the dismay of Nori. "It's obvious: he's under some dark spell...sounds like dark magic to me!"
This gained murmurs of agreement from Bofur and Gloin as Dwalin checked the door.
"Enough! We can travel no more tonight. We will have to rest," Thorin announced, much to the relief of many including Bilbo. The home was somewhat messy, yet very comfortable. Clean hay littered the ground, perfect for sleeping. "It is obvious he cannot be reasoned with."

Kili was once again impressed by how much his godmother knew. "A skin changer? I've never heard of one...can he only change into a bear?" Often observant, Kili inspected their surroundings. To a dwarf, the home appeared furnished for a giant. Everything was taller and much larger than back home.
The hay looked comfortable, and after their lengthily journey, they deserved a place to rest. Kili reached up and took Saeril's hand, leading her towards a spot so she might sit down and rest her leg.

[Assistant]
"Don't be a fool; he's under no enchantment but his own!", Gandalf retorted, reassuring him that there was no ill-will to be made to the giant black bear. Obviously, Beorn didn't have many companions as of late, but for Saeril to cross paths with him, he was only viewed as a victim of tragic circumstance. Someone that was pitied upon. "Do not worry about yourselves; you'll be safe here...", the wizard trailed off and muttered under his breath, though he knew Saeril would be the only one to hear it. "I hope".

Saeril hoped that would be true, but then she figured that as long as Beorn walked about outside, she figured that they would be fine from their hunters. Everyone slept on the floor of the barn, and the she-elf's nerves were calmed when she felt Kili take her hand and lead her to comfortable spot that Fili, once again, found and set up. She was being careful, and decided to keep her cloak on as she slept on her side on top of a blanket, and some hay, as she let herself sleep in between the heirs. With Fili's back towards her, it seemed that I have his brother was the one the closest towards her, laying his head upon her chest, like a child. That same night, nobody noticed Beorn in his strong male form, as he enters the house. No one, except Bilbo, notices him.

[User]
Snuggled against his godmother, Kili slept like a rock. The youngest didn't budge or stir, he was exhausted, and thankful for the chance to sleep. The night was long, peaceful, and without disturbance. Aside from Rivendell, this was the most comfortable the company had been. In a home like this, no harm could come to them. They were perfectly safe, and no one had to keep watch.

When morning did come, Bilbo was startled awake by a large bumblebee. Every object and creature within the home was about ten times the size it should have been. Scrambling up in haste, Bilbo moved to join the others at the table. Beorn was speaking with Gandalf while Thorin and the others listened by.

While it was unlike him, Kili was one of the last ones awake. Hay clinging to his clothes and hair, he sat up, rubbed at an eye tiredly, then noticed their burglar pass them by. Even from their distance, Beorn was visible, and the skin changer was a sight to behold. In Kili's mind, this was the only in Middle Earth that could have been taller than Gandalf.

[Assistant]
Upon Gandalf's request, Beorn was reluctant to beckon the dwarves to sit at this large table where they could eat and drink. Noticing that they were the last to be awake, Saeril gently nudged the dwarf until he awoke. She was relieved that her companions were accepted by the great beast, otherwise it would have turned into a jeopardizing predicament that could turn messy very quickly. Standing near the wall, just near the brothers, and across from Thorin, the she-elf was in her thinking stage as she had small bites of cheese from Kili's breakfast.

"So, you are the one that they call Oakenshield", Beorn growled as he poured milk into each of their mugs. It would seem he had at least heard the tale of Thorin before. "Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

[User]
Kili ate his breakfast in silence. Beorn was intimidating, yet completely interesting. His tall form hovered above them, and his low voice supassed even Thorin's.
Still tired, Kili leaned into Saeril a little bit, taking care to listen in. The youngest's brown eyes landed towards Beorn's wrists, and he frowned in concern. What had caused this?

Thorin looked to Beorn as he spoke, an eyebrow raised. "You know of Azog? How?" The very name of his enemy boiled his blood, though he kept himself in check. This was their host, one good enough to have offered them a meal along with shelter.

Similar to Kili, Bilbo couldn't help but notice the evidence of shackled wounds around Beorn's wrists. Unlike Kili, Bilbo was quick to advert his gaze.

[Assistant]
"My people were the first to live in these mountains; before the orcs came down from the north", Beorn explained as he walked up and down the length of the room, kind of caught in the past a little. "The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved. Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skinchangers and torturing them seemed to...amuse him", his voice was low, to the point of almost growling in anger. "There used to be many of us, but I remain as the last", he finished.

"You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn", it was a statement, not a question. "Before Durin's Day falls, yes", Gandalf confirmed. "We must go through Mirkwood", just by hearing that forest, Saeril stiffened a little, she kept a soothing hand upon Kili's wrist.

"A darkness lies upon that forest; foul things creep beneath those trees", Beorn warned. "There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and The Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there, except in great need", Beorn told the wizard of the dangers within the forest. "It's not safe there; the Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They are less wise, and more dangerous", he concluded.

"It doesn't matter, the Orc numbers are growing, and we are on foot. We've been through enough danger", Saeril spoke up from her position next to Kili. "You will never reach the forest alive", Beorn growled before standing up at his full height. "I don't like dwarves; they're greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own", he notices a mouse on the table and picks him up. "But Orcs I hate more", he growled in anger to himself. "What do you need?", he asked the dwarven Prince.

Later, the beast was kind enough to let the group borrow his horses from the barn on their way to the forest. Saeril helped Kili upon his horse by lifting him. "Go now, while you have the light. Your hunters are not far behind", Beorn warned them before they left, with the she-elf sitting behind the youngest upon his horse for the first time, since their journey began.

[User]
Kili kept a hold of the reigns, relieved that his godmother might rest her leg. The horses were taller than ponies, and the help from her was appreciated. The company traveled a few hours until they arrived at a forested area. Unlike the rest of the foliage, everything within the entry appeared withered and dead.

"This forest feels...sick, as if a disease lies upon it." Bilbo was uneasy, and he looked to Gandalf in hopes of him coming up with another route. "Is there no way around?"

Kili wasn't liking the looks of this, either. The woods were dark, and the trees were too close together to allow a horse through such a tight space. "This isn't like our forest, is it?" The youngest questioned Saeril lowly, referring to her home and the woods of his childhood.

[Assistant]
Gandalf looked back to see the huge black bear watching them, who seems to be making sure that they didn't take the ponies into the forest. "Set the ponies loose", he ordered them. "Let them return to their master. We must travel through on foot. Going around will take twice as long", he spoke as he stepped to examine the entrance to the forest.

Saeril glanced at the forest as Kili asked her about the difference between this one and Fangorn. "A little bit. This one is more denser; heavier, and much longer and taller", she looked at the forest before her. "Unlike the woods you're used to, you can easily get lost in this one". She's been here, and it was all true. "A shame to lose such fine beasts", she stated as she dismounted the horse before helping Kili down. "If only you saw the creatures living in Fangorn", she spoke to him, chuckling at a fonding memory of the Ents, although she hoped her laughter would bring a little light to their upcoming situation. "Mighty things they are", the she-elf sighed as she thought about her home, softly smiling at the creature before her.

Pulling an old clump of vines off a stone statue, Gandalf saw that a large eye had been plastered with red war paint. Galadriel's voice spoke to him in his mind. "If our enemy has returned, then we must know. Go to the tombs in the mountains."
"The High Fells. So be it." he swallowed, turning quickly back to the group. "Not my horse, I need it!" he called.

[User]
"What kinds of creatures?" Kili looked back to Saeril as the rest of the company dismounted from their horses. Kili did the same, and he offered his godmother a hand even though he was so much shorter than she was. It was the thought that counted, anyway. "Were they like the stone giants?"

"Focus, Kili." Thorin knew that his nephew would ask dozens of questions, and now was not the time. Gandalf was leaving them once again.
"Come on. We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin's Day." The woods were uninviting, and a broken, paved path lead them towards the darkness. Foliage and shrubbery crowded the travelers, and the trees seemed to reach the sky and block out the possibility that the sun was above them. "This is our one chance to find the hidden door."

It wasn't long before the company became hopelessly lost. "Is there no end to this accursed place?" Thorin searched for the path, but it was gone from view. Increasingly agitated, he and Dwalin both attempted to go in different directions, but they were lost. Hopelessly so. Some dwarves voiced their concerns, others merely mumbled to themselves.

Kili felt himself grow dizzy and confused, and when he looked towards where his brother should have been, he found Fili gone. "Fili?" Worried, Kili started to leave the group in order to find him, but all he'd seen was an illusion. Fili was further up ahead.
The youngest was not the only one hallucinating: Bilbo saw himself walking backwards, and when his head snapped up, he saw himself in Dori's place. Something was terribly wrong here.