[System]
Age: 30

Appearance:

Personality: Loves to learn more things constantly. A peaceful person, he prefers commerce and negotiation to battle, and will only fight another person in self defense.

Skills: Engineering, computer use, electronics, physics

Non-standard Abilities:
Mutation: Radiation absorption: Metabolism feeds on Alpha, Beta, and Gamma radiation up to a certain level. If he absorbs too much, his radiation level will start to go down once he enters and low radiation area. This allows him to travel areas that would normally be dangerous for humans to be in. While metabolizing radiation cellular mitosis occurs faster, giving him up to a 5x healing rate.
Bionic Implants: Computer interface: This implant can wirelessly access nearby computers and download data or control them. It allows perfect recall of any data stored on the device. It also stores his electronic currency behind a firewall so that it can't be stolen by run-of-the-mill thieves.

Equipment: Dual Ion Rifle: Can switch between firing Negative Ions, which damage shields and electronics and stuns organic life, and Positive Ions, which heat up and burn targets, though it isn't as efficient at producing damage as a particle or laser weapon.
Wrist-comp: A largely unnecessary computer on his forearm, he keeps it for its superior processing speed, Geiger counter, holo-projector, and long range communications array, essentially an overpowered cell phone.
Backup power cells: Extra charges for his rifle or wristcomp. Sometimes used to bring derelict technology back to life.
Personal shield generator: Found on a dead Slaver, it doesn't protect against many hits, especially from heavier guns, but it is enough to keep him from getting injured by a stray shot while diving for cover or moving between cover areas.
Hyper-crystal necklace: Given to him as payment for repairing the reactor that almost killed him, he keeps it both for sentimental reasons and because it is both beautiful and valuable. The hypercrystal appears to contain a moving light within it, as the tachyons that enter it from hyperspace decay into photons when they enter our space-time continuum. Theoretically, the crystal could be used to power a hyperdrive, but he lacks the funds to build one.

Bio: Shortly after birth, he was adopted by someone who could afford to properly raise a child on Earth, something which is fairly rare. Raised by a Zathuran engineer, Setta Feestra, who worked at a starport in one of the larger salvage cities by the name of Savannah, he studied science and technology from a young age. He left when he got old enough. His implant was a gift from his parent, and was manufactured on their homeworld.
After leaving Savannah he traveled around, looking for a place where he could put his skills to work, earning a living by helping people. He learned of his mutation when a traveling wave reactor he was building for a city developed a radiation leak. He received a lethal dose of radiation and was expected to die, but over the next few days his radiation sickness went away, and his sores began to scab over. Within a week, he was reading as radiation free by the Geiger counters at the clinic.
Since then he has made a decent living salvaging in lightly irradiated areas, as few people have tried salvaging them, and radiation suits and radiation treatment drugs are fairly expensive.
Name: Zathuran (Zthu'rn)

Homeworld: Zatha

Specialization: Advanced tech, especially power, FTL, and scientific equipment.

Appearance: Red, yellow, or sometimes Purple Humanoids. To the human eye they appear to have a mix of male and female features, such as male physique, but also having feminine facial features. They rarely have visible hair on their faces or heads, though what hair they do have is in shades of white, silver, or grey.

Description: A race of hermaphrodites, they have a fairly diverse culture compared to many. The structure of their brains naturally makes it easier to understand advanced mathematics and physics, which has lead to many of them specializing in technology. In fact, their technology is the industry standard in the areas of hyperdrives and warp drives, as well as quantum singularity reactor technology. Their computer technology is also some of the best, as it has needed to be to do the calculations necessary for advanced physics research.
Those that don't go into such fields often still enter a scientific field, causing a much larger than normal percent of their population to work in biology and the medical fields. They also have a rich culture of art, music, and philosophy which draw large numbers of their people into it. This uneven distribution of employment has lead to them seeking other races out to fill the jobs in their business which their own society cannot provide. Many also go to other worlds to seek better employment opportunities outside of the flooded employment market of their homeworld.
At a young age all children are given a computer interface implant to aid in their education. Other races also purchase these implants from time to time, as they work with a variety of neural patterns as long as the proper firmware is installed on the chip.

[User]
The sound of a running motor was hard to miss. Rolling down the road was a very rough looking vehicle. It almost looked homemade, and Neptune wouldn't have been surprised if it was considering the driver. An off-worlder whose blue skin color matched the shade of blue that was his natural hair color. He made note f this as he turned to see Stan and his partner had disappeared. He made note of the door that had just closed to the shop across the street, and walked over to see what was going on.

Taking a peek into the bar to make sure they hadn't gone in there, he cracked open the door and poke his head in. No one had really noticed the door opening a little, and he was free to look without attention being drawn to him. A lot of drunkards in here, and even more people on there way to being drunk, he sighed. How could anyone drink their life away without ever having a desire to make a difference in the world? The answer eluded him and he shook his head after assuring his guys weren't in there. He closed the door and looked back at the shop across the street. Lo and behold, he could see through the window that two figures stood in front of the silhouette of a panicked clerk. Neptune's hunch was right, and before he could start running to the shop, the clerk dropped. It didn't take long after that for Neptune to bust through the doors of the shop.

Stan and the stranger turned to see him without a weapon drawn, and made it a point to flash each of their shiny, sharp knives. Neptune calmly stood there without moving towards his weapons. "Put the weapons down and I'll go easy on you," he said, managing to only get a laugh out of the two men. Stan turned his knife upside down and held it by the blade, brought it back, and threw it at Neptune, who ducked out of the way of the blade hurtling towards his head. The two men charged at him, but now only one had a weapon. As the stranger brought his knife back to jab, Neptune stepped to the side, grabbed the strangers head, and slammed it against the wall, knocking him out cold in a single blow. Stan had enough time to land a blow on Neptune's jaw, but it didn't do too much, and Neptune quickly retaliated by grabbing Stan's arm as he went for the next punch, twisting it around behind his back, and pressing him firmly against the door. Helpless, he tried to shake free, but Neptune was stronger than he was and held him against the wall as he grabbed his other hand and held it behind his back. Using a zip tie- yeah, the town didn't have but one pair of handcuffs, and that set was in the possession of some other guard- he tied Stan's hands behind his back. He forced him to lay face first on the floor so he couldn't get up and run very quickly.

Checking to see if the clerk was okay, Neptune walked around behind the counter. Luckily, he had only been punched as his only wound was a broken nose. He breathed a sigh of relief as he then thought about what to do with the two idiotic criminals.

[Assistant]
After trading some scrap for a few fuses T'Lora opened the bonnet of her jeep and installed the new hardware. It wasn't a big job but it was necessary. Just as she finished she was approached by a human.

"Hi." he said, walking up to the alien woman, "nice Jeep. Looks like a pre-apocalypse gas-burner that was refit with Lightning parts, possibly during the first ten years after it."

"You've got a good eye, Human."

"You look like a skilled salvager. I guess it's kind of unusual since you don't know me, but care to team up? I know where there's a fairly fresh Zathuran security patrol ship in a rad zone. With your vehicle and a few rad-resistance chems we could get inside the ship before getting badly irradiated. Once inside, we'll be able to pull more salvage than you've likely ever seen."

"Straight to business. I like that." Most humans approached her for something other than work. Humans seemed to have a ridiculously active libido and always seemed like they were looking for potential mates. T'Lora sometimes used that to her advantage, she learned fairly early during her stay on Earth that if you made yourself more sexually appealing to humans they were more likely to be generous during trade offers although this time it didn't seem necessary. "More than I've ever seen, that's cute. I've been pulling wrecks since before you were born." Although that was true she said it jokingly. No need to sincerely insult the human, after all a security patrol ship was actually a decent find. "Getting past their security will be a pain though, it always is. Sounds good to me but we'll need a bit of muscle too. Assuming it's in good condition we'll need someone to carry the heavier equipment since Zathurans use fairly dense materials on their military ships."

[User]
"More than I've ever seen, that's cute. I've been pulling wrecks since before you were born."

"Well, more in one place, maybe, not total. If it's as fresh as I hope, neither of us will have to worry about money for a while."

"Getting past their security will be a pain though, it always is. Sounds good to me but we'll need a bit of muscle too. Assuming it's in good condition we'll need someone to carry the heavier equipment since Zathurans use fairly dense materials on their military ships."

"True. And I doubt any of the exoskeletons are left in the cargo hold." Exoskeletons were valuable and in high demand due to the fact that they could roughly triple the amount you could lift. For that matter, they could triple the strength of your punch too. "As for some extra muscle, I'd look for an out of work security guard or caravan guard, maybe an anti-raider. There aren't many bounty hunters or mercs I'd trust on a job like this." Anti-raiders did to raiders and slavers what raiders and slavers did to normal people, and unlike bounty hunters, they didn't wait until enough people had been attacked or killed that the local law enforcment put a bounty out. Many raider camps had been slaughtered and looted by anti-raider parties. Because the anti-raiders didn't hurt non-outlaws, towns didn't mind having them around. "So, which one of us should go find one? We'll also need a trailer to haul stuff in. One of us will need to rent or buy one. And the Jeep will need a recharge, as the wreck is north of Houston and I don't want to risk running out of power out of power in a rad zone."

[Assistant]
Neptune stepped outside, knowing full well that the two individuals inside couldn't get out any way except through him. He waved a few guards and a wagon over to take away the captives. The wagon was for the wounded one. "Let's have these two put away for a bit. Alcohol may or may not have influenced their actions, and I want to find out." Neptune was fully aware of what happened to people who committed capital crimes, and if alcohol wasn't involved, they would definitely be let go with a simple ban from the bar. If not, well...

The town couldn't afford to hold any prisoners for long, since there were only two rudimentarily put together cells. He just hoped that they were under the influence. Odd to think about at first, but at least they'd get a second chance. He began walking down the road again, whistling Yankee Doodle and hoping the rest of the day was calm.

[User] "Qasan T'Lora..." She touched her right hand to her forehead and bowed slightly as is customary for her people. "...that all sounds like a good plan but I'm beat. I could use a rest and a good drink." She stretched her arms out and leaned back against her old jeep. Surely he wouldn't mind if they waited until the early morning. It was already getting late and a few hours rest would do her (and probably him too since he walked) a world of good. "Besides, if you want muscle in any town you start with the bar!" She smiled to herself, even if it was true she was still using it as an excuse to get drunk. It had been too long since T'Lora tasted a drop of anything other than recycled water and it was time to fix that. She started to climb back in the jeep. "Do you want to come along or should I just meet you somewhere?"

[Assistant]
"Sure." said Has'la. "Has'la Robinson." He held out his hand. "I've never really needed extra muscle for a job, but you seem to know better than me what to look for. I'll put a listing on the 'net, see if any ex security or caravan guards are looking, but I'll have them meet us in the bar at sundown. I'll meet you there as soon as I unload some junk and buy or rent a trailer for us. Shouldn't take long."
After the conversation was over he walked into the general store she had just left and traded in the junk he had salvaged on the way for a few Valn. He then walked around the town until he found a trailer that met his needs. "Are you looking to sell?" he asked the old man who was unloading scrap steel from it.
"Depends on how much you're offering." said the old man. "I still need the jeep, but I can borrow a trailer if I need one."
After settling on a price, he arranged to pick it up tonight and went to the bar. There he found T'lora and sat down, ordering something to eat.
"So, find anyone interesting yet?"


[System]
Age: 27
Archon of: Water

Physical Attributes
Apearance: With long muscular legs and a toned torso, Maya's physique resembles that of an Amazon warrior. She is roughly 5'11 and 140 pounds. Her posture is upright and commanding due to years of royal etiquette training. Coming from an alien race, her features are slightly more angular than those of a human. In addition, her hair ripples down her back like a silver waterfall, and her eyes are piercing pools of aquamarine.
Physical Weaknesses: Low pain tolerance…definitely still a princess in that regard. Maya is easily broken if the ones she loves are in danger, causing her to be reckless and self-destructive at times. She is agile, but not fast. She can't run long distances without tiring out easily. Also, she sucks at shooting guns –basically has the aim of a blind person, so hit the deck if you see her holding a gun.
Physical Strengths: Years of self-defense training are ingrained in her brain, allowing her to excel in hand-to-hand combat when pitted against someone her own size. While she is slow on land, she is incredibly fast in the water due to her Archon abilities. Maya can also hold her breath for long periods of time underwater. Her strong upper body and powerful legs allow her to climb easily. Archon related strengths include her being able to control the element of water; she can lift it, move it, shape it, and can absorb it from anything…even living beings.

Mental Attributes
Personality: By now, Maya has been through a lot. While she has never been overwhelmingly bubbly or flamboyant, she was much cheerier in her youth. The events that have taken place shattered her like a piece of pottery; the cracks may be glued back together so that she resembles her old self; however, the scars are still present. Despite being broken, she hangs onto the regal elegance of her past life. She continues to uphold a level of clear-headedness and retains her penchant for logic. Unlike the others, she isn't spurred on by revenge or tainted by cynicism. If anything, this whole ordeal has made her more compassionate and loving towards the ones she holds most dear which compels her to fight harder than ever before.

Likes: Archon of Time, swimming, drinking, fluffy clouds, waterfalls, starry nights
Dislikes: Being alone, being tickled, feeling helpless, fire, nightmares
Phobias: Losing the ones she loves. Letting people down. Being left behind. Burning to death. Falling from great heights. Mind control.

Background
Biography: Maya hails from the planet Neodomus (New Home) which is inhabited by aque sapiens, a sister species to homo sapiens (There is a huge backstory to this planet, but that is a story for another time).

Maya was born into royal blood. Her father reigned as king over the territory of Jaspae, and her mother, unbeknownst to Maya, was the godlike Archon Aquarius. Her early childhood years brimmed with fond memories as her parents lavished love and attention upon the young princess. Unfortunately, that cheerful chapter of her life ended abruptly at the age of seven when an unknown villain slashed both of her parents' throats while they slept.

The responsibility of the throne was thrust upon Maya like a yoke upon an ox. While there was a Council of Nobles established in order to help guide the young ruler, they were anything but helpful as they paraded under the pretense of good intentions. Maya saw them for the vile creatures they were; greed and lust for power saturated every fiber of their beings. For years, she struggled to maintain control over her country while simultaneously undergoing private lessons in both scholarly subjects and physical combat. She loved her country, but she abhorred the crushing societal pressures which accompanied the crown and throne.

Once again, Maya's life changed drastically when a mysterious man by the name of Marcus Skylark washed up on her castle's beach. Mistaken as a spy, Marcus, the Archon of Light, was brought before Maya. Upon realizing that the young ruler was the daughter of the Archon Aquarius, Marcus propositioned a ludicrous story wherein Maya was some magical descendant capable of wielding great power. Furthermore, the strange man spoke of a war going on…one that involved her parents' murderer. It took quite a bit of convincing, but Maya ultimately came to terms with her destiny as she agreed to go with Marcus on the Leviathan.

After embarking with Marcus and the other Archons, Maya went from spoiled royalty to skilled warrior. Imbued with the elemental power of water, she felt unstoppable (and more than a little bit cocky). The Archons easily overcame the initial scrimmages with minimal damage. Yes, the Archons were good, great even, but little did they know that there was someone so much better and so much worse than they could have ever imagined. It was a losing battle. Friend by friend, comrade by comrade, Maya witnessed the Archons die, a piece of herself dying with each one. During the final battle, the Archons of Light, Time, and Water fought ferociously, like wild animals trapped in a corner, but it was to be the end of another chapter. As they faced the permanent oblivion of death, the Archon of Time made a last-ditch effort to save them all by sending them back to the beginning. Humbled by the horrors she experienced, Maya enters a new timeline with the determination to save the ones she loves and conquer Ragnarok once and for all.

Combat Information
Typical form of combat: Close combat with precise and graceful blows. Her assaults are deliberate and calculated. When given the opportunity, she will stalk and observe an enemy before engaging in conflict. She likes to figure out weaknesses.
Preferred Team Role: Assault / Flank Attack
Weapon: Capella – Trident that is an Archon heirloom which helps to enhance her powers.
Unique Equipment: Eh, not really.

[User]
Maybe, just maybe, if I sit here quietly, they will go away. Maya thought dubiously to herself. She mentally mapped out her options, quickly weighing the pros, cons, and likelihood of survival. Running would be futile. Fighting presented too many risks. Surrendering held the most potential of getting her to civilization and closer to the Archon.

Must you overthink everything? You've spent most of your life as a royal official. You know how to charm and lie to get what you want.

I prefer to think of it as tactfully-embellished negotiating. Most politicians and ambassadors typically weren't pointing weapons at me, however.

 "Reveal yourself," a voice called out, "We've surrounded you. Please don't make this hard, any commotion will alert the Enemy to our position. We all live, or none of us do."

 Maya nervously caressed her trident, deciding whether she should bare it defensively or retract its blades into the compact cylinder. Choosing the latter, she slid her weapon into a sheath slung around her back. Slowly, she emerged from behind the rock with her arms lifted above her head. The headlights from the motorcycles washed over her, illuminating her silvery hair. She squinted, trying to discern the faces of the shadowy silhouettes around her.

Maya cleared her throat. "Hello, gentlemen," she greeted cordially while eyeing the myriad of guns focused on her, "No worries, I'm not wanting to cause any trouble. If you would be so kind as to lower your weapons, that would be much appreciated."

[Assistant]
While fighting back the spicy bile in his throat thanks to the veracity of the impact, Paul was busy picking off some leather that was sticking ever so slightly out of his boot. While, had he immediately gotten out of the pod, he probably would've been able to catch his ever-so-charming lover as she was also removing herself from a pod not terribly far from his location. Instead, Paul preoccupied himself with removing the one little piece of leather that was hanging ever so slightly, just enough for him to notice and become irritated. Paul had also cut his fingernails recently, so he was having quite a frustrating time. Finally, after a solid five minutes, Paul picked it off and was put in such a bad mood that he forgot to check the pod's schematics for oxygen levels, air pressure, etc. Thankfully he had no repercussions for his naivety on this day, but if that were to happen again he very well could've become a Paul-pancake (Paulcake?) if the gravity was too strong. Hopping out of the pod, he waved his hand to get the spiraling steam out of his face.
 Barely in the distance, he could see a shape that looked an awful lot like the drop pod that he just removed himself from. Curious, Paul made his way over the pod while rubbing his arms rapidly in an attempt to stay warm. Peering inside the drop pod, he gave it a big whiff, and instantly recognized the smell.
Maya.
He couldn't place exactly what she smelled like, but it was a smell that gave him warmth inside, although he would prefer warmth outside at this point.
Odd, the coordinates for a Archon are supposed to disappear if someone is already looking for them... A glitch, maybe?
Or perhaps there are two Archons on this planet.
 That'd be a change of pace, for sure.
Despite the gravely ground and murky atmosphere, Paul could just barely make out Maya's footsteps from amongst the dark soil. He had to practically form an acute angle with his body in order to make them out, but he followed the footprints nonetheless, until he bumped he tripped and fell on his head. Taking a few seconds to dust himself off, he could now make out some headlights in the distance. While they were yet to exist on his planet, he had at some point in his adventures encountered the mystical "motorcycle," a transportation device of untold power. He continued to follow the footsteps until he finally made out Maya, hiding behind a rocky structure. He was about to call out to her, but her loud sneeze covered up his voice. Maya emerged as the motorcycle riders pointed their weapons at her, and Paul remained where he was, prepared to jump out if anything went wrong. His dagger, ever at the ready, was gripped tight in his hand.

[User]
Fuma lands his craft and it dissipates into the surrounding, writhing blackness. He doesn't break stride and continues into the hangar. It's quieter, since the shift change went smoothly and without confusion. The calmer, more rested day shift just finished lunch. Now, what was he back for... Ah that's right.

Fuma taps on his radio and begins to speak but is interrupted.

"Took you long enough. The scouts have made contact with the intruder. First report states that it's a female,white hair and dark clothing. She does not appear to be hostile and did not greet our team with malice." Radio pushes a roughly typed report into his hands that he does a once over of.

"I see. Well, than we should refrain from using force." Fuma flips on his channel to the scouts and calmly speaks his orders to them.

"Good work fellas. Please lower your weapons as the lady asked, I thought I taught you to have some manners."

The leader jumps a bit at his superior's voice and reaches up to his Comm device.

"Yes sir, understood, sir." He repeats the orders as protocol demands, and the scouts lower their weapons. He takes off his helmet and nods to the strange woman in apology.

"Please forgive me, we don't take any chances around here. What happened to you, miss? You look worn, and you appear to be alone. It's too dangerous out here for that kind of behavior."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Rai shakes out her jaw length jet black hair and walks over to Fuma with growing curiosity. She listens to his orders and feels a spark of excitement. Sounds like what Radio was talking about is a lot more than she made it out to be. Even so, there are weapons to be repaired and blades to be sharpened.

There's a rumbling in the atmosphere... I can feel it. Like the thick warm winds before a storm.

Her exotic appearance and unearthly skin tones mask her wonderings as she goes about tuning up her weapons and armor, waiting for more information on the visitor.

[Assistant]
Maya stood poised and patient as the leader of the group contacted his commanding officer. Having lost sensation in her fingertips, she lowered her hands slowly to her sides, hoping not to spark a shower of bullets. Minutes ticked by awkwardly while the man reported the details of their expedition. Tilting her head inquisitively, she carefully examined each scout in attempt to discern if any of them exhibited telltale signs of Archon lineage. Marcus was capable of reaching out with his mind in order to scan others' thoughts, but Maya hadn't quite perfected the skill. Instead, she relied on her acute perception to pick up on behavioral cues. None of them men before her fit the bill.

 Her back stiffened; Maya was suddenly very aware of someone else in their presence, hiding in the shadows. The leader was still engrossed in conversing on the radio, and none of the others appeared to be aware that they were being watched. As the wind switched directions, she eased as she detected a familiar scent -like burning leaves mixed with leather and a sweet touch of rum. It was Paul hiding out of sight.

Sneaky bastard. He should still be in sick bay. What, did he think I couldn't handle this mission on my own?

Well, you're currently surrounded by men with guns…

They haven't shot me yet.

Yet.

 At that moment, the leader of the pack turned back around to Maya, taking his hat off apologetically. "Please forgive me," he announced, "We don't take any chances around here. What happened to you, miss? You look worn, and you appear to be alone. It's too dangerous out here for that kind of behavior."

Dangerous? I wonder what has been going on on this planet…

 Putting on a smile and her polite business voice, Maya replied, "No worries at all. It is completely understandable, especially in times like these. As odd as it may sound, I am actually trying to find someone of great importance to me. If it's not too much trouble, could I possibly catch a ride with you to the nearest town or city?" She made sure that the last sentence sounded extra pitiful, pouting her lips for effect.


[System]
Generally minus the wings and a slightly more human figure, if only for the sake of… kind of blending in.

Age: Immortal – confirmed year count 4,732

Gender: Adapts a female appearance and goes by "she".

Race: Demon

Personality: Deceptive, cunning and tactical. Though she has never betrayed the demon lord, she has betrayed almost every other demon she has come across in some way or another, usually for the sake of her master. The result is a reputation for being almost entirely untrustworthy. She cares not of what others believe or think of her, not really; her skillset is such that she is very difficult to trace, even by the demon lord herself, and she puts these skills into use frequently if she is under the impression someone is out for revenge. She is driven by "something more"; she looks for something beyond raw power, though she has told no being what exactly it is she wants.

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Class: Demon Runic Mage

Equipment
Runic Robes: A protective assortment of clothing that is partially intertwined with her skin, soft to the touch and hinting to what many would consider an attractive appearance. These robes give her many of her capabilities. The runes are pure demonic symbols that are nearly invisible in the fabric to human eyes, though they stand out like red beams to those with magical skill if she is not attempting to cloak herself.
Runic Beads: Four arrays of beads that are in fact minor runes, each serving certain purposes and generally left to hang out from the aforementioned robes. Said runes can be utilized as extra appendages, though rarely do they come into use for that purpose.
Orb: A small, swirling black ball that is always in her hands when attempting more complicated spells that are beyond her basic skillset. Suspected of being at least important to gaining her secrets, if not the very foundation of her knowledge, many have tried to steal it from her. However, it never leaves her grasp, and it has never been stolen. Its exact properties besides being a utility for her spells are unknown.

Powers
Illusion: Kolonis is capable of creating and maintaining elaborate illusions, either to the minds of multiple weak individuals or a single stronger one. Those with divine abilities and a high amount of raw magical power can override her spells in this field, as can individuals with strong wills – but only if they catch on to her attempts at the outset, as the best illusions are those most believable.
Runic Spells: Kolonis utilizes an old art of runic magic, a delicate art requiring extensive knowledge and involving more than a little safety risk. As one of the few demons capable of using it, and the only high-profile one to have mastered it, this knowledge has sustained her position through the years. Runewords can be created in blood, and depending on the type of spell, multiple types of blood.
Demonic Nature: As a demon, she has a corrupting influence, a durability far stronger than that of an average human in combat, superior senses/reflexes and some natural control/immunity on the matter of fire. However, she lacks a true demon form.
Dematerialization: Kolonis lacks a true demon form, but makes up for it by being able to turn into a dark blue liquid or other non-solid state. Useful for escaping or transportation (though she's not much faster than her solid form) but rather pointless when using spells, as they require all portions of her body to be solid.

History: Kolonis was one of the Demon Lord's early supporters, having joined him nearly 5000 years ago. Presumably, she existed before then, though for how long and what she did is entirely unknown. Bringing with him potent spells and skills in the shadows, Kolonis made herself invaluable from the start and steadily rose to be a silent member of the top leadership, playing a hand in many plots and eliminating an array of potential threats to her master. Her first missions consisted of assassinating and otherwise destabilizing the reigns of higher ranking demons, and as her master grew in power, she slowly rose to deal with problems across the board. Eventually, she led many of the preparations for the overworld. Never one for direct combat if possible, and thus rarely seen on the field – sometimes to the ire of her fellow demon - she nonetheless earned at least the respect of her superiors. Said superiors were few in number by the end. Never has she revealed more than a taste of her secrets, and she says absolutely nothing of her past prior to meeting the demon lord.

Though Kolonis had slain many heroes who may have caused trouble before her master struck the world, she failed to miss the greatest danger of them all. Originally, the hero appeared irrelevant and entirely escaped her notice. Her concern began when the hero began to circumvent, outwit, or entirely destroy her many traps and precautions. Kolonis prepared many specially tuned curses, spells and enemies in combinations that would have been fatal to any hero. Such was not the case; before long, Kolonis had exhausted a formidable supply of attacks and plans to no good effect. Indeed, it seemed that for every one of Kolonis's failures, the hero became stronger. By the time the demon lord intervened and took personal control of the crisis, it was too late.

Kolonis barely escaped as the strongest demons fell or fled one by one. She took to the shadows once more, without a plan or a master. The organization of the demon lord's forces fell into total disarray, and she had very little authority to stop it. Some promised loyalty to Kolonis, only to vanish the moment a plan for counterattack was mentioned. Others shunned Kolonis for surviving and not battling to the end, as one of the demon lord's closest allies. Her reputation was always mixed; now so more than ever, and largely unfavorable towards her.

[User]
"I see..." Leila answered, sounding a little dejected.

Their conversation was cut short with a lizard man suddenly leaping down from the roof, taking down a couple of zombies with his attack. Then, he loudly called for anyone who was there hiding to come out.

Leila never thought of that possibility. Her mind was entirely focused on the destruction of the village that she neglected the possibility that others might come to check out things too.

The rumor? She had known about it before she came here. It was yet another reason why she went here, though she had already fully expected the possibility that it was just a hoax, or even worse, a trap.

So this woman was responsible for the rumor, huh? She just wanted to gather strong people to bring down the Hero.

If it came to that, then she would be ready to fight.

...Wait, did she hear that right? Did she say the name of the Demon Lord, Remus? She said she could communicate with him.

Fishy. That was definitely fishy.

"Hey, what do you mean that you can communicate with Remus? Isn't he dead already? Are you one of his minions?" Leila said with a raised voice, her hand readied at her blade.

Her alarm bells rang even harder when a literal demon suddenly came out of nowhere and walked towards them. She just ignored her as she addressed the lizard man.

And then another person showed up. Thankfully, he seemed to be human from what she could tell. He walked towards the brawler and introduced himself.

"Careful! This girl apparently had some connections to the demon lord!" she warned him.

Now she had no idea what to do. Should she strike right away at the demoness? She didn't look to be hostile, and she herself wasn't sure that she could take her on. And then there was still the matter of the suspicious brawler.

Could it be that she just stumbled upon a gathering for the remains of the demon lord's army?

She shook her head. She had to stay calm in a situation like this. She concluded she would adopt the wait and see approach for now. With her blade's grip still in her hand, she waited for the brawler's explanation.

[Assistant]
Slightly confused, Vreskrr assessed the situation. Random crying woman, check. Oblivious zealot, check. Shady figure trying to blend in...Concluding she had found herself in some silly soap opera, Vreskrr decided to 'handle' the situation. Pulling her spear from her zombie-meatshield, Vreskrr charged the spear, aimed it and shot a beam past the crying woman, barely passing next to the woman's cheek and hitting a zombie behind her.

Vreskrr turned towards the 'zealot'. "I wouldn't suggest picking a fight here girly, with the undead and all. So remove that hand from there will you?" She spoke in a voice that was clearly not human before adjusting to a more serious tone. "--If you don't, I'll have to." Laughing in a manner befitting her demonic voice, Vreskrr turned to perhaps the most interesting person around. "I don't know much about this rumor, but Remus? I thought he'd perished. Well, not that I care all that much, I've been feeling better than ever since I quit his army."

After a moment of uninterrupted silence Vreskrr sighed. "Geez, enthusiastic much? Fine, I'll play by your game then." Vreskrr took a step forward, unimpressed by Leila who was visibly on guard against her. "Call me Vreskrr. I might not know much about this rumor of yours or your plan, but I'll play along for now."

[User] Leila's face turned into a frown at the demon woman's attitude. She was clearly irked by how arrogant she was. She did not respond to her taunt. Instead, she sent her sword away, though she still eyed the demon with a gaze that might just drill through the skull of an ordinary person. She reasoned that the demon seemed to come in peace for the moment, but you could never trust a demon. So even though she had summoned her sword away, she still would be ready to summon it in a split second if the demon decided to suddenly turn hostile. She was quite proud of her quick draw, having already caught many opponents off guard with her suddenly pressing her sword on their throat even though she was unarmed just a second ago. She thought this would also make the demon lower her guard, even if just for a little.

[Assistant]
The fist fighter's announcement didn't move Tony, it only made him more suspicious. The only thing more suspect than a nutjob was a magic nutjob. Not that the girl (If he could say that; magic always made things weird) was necessarily insane or magical, but talking about dead people and demons tended to point towards insanity, and there was a good chance that magic was also involved. But he could accept that she might believe that she could hear the voice of the dead demon lord, he'd met plenty of people say that they could hear dead people, so that didn't bother him. If she was telling the truth, that would be bother him a lot, but that remained to be seen.

There was still something that bothered him, however, and that was his prospective teammates. One of the problems was that he could count the humans on one hand, and even then he wasn't sure they really were human. There was the fist fighter, the young knight, the man that introduced himself as Jason, and the crying girl. But with the presence of the spear wielding demon, that opened the situation up for all sorts of trouble. Any or all of the humans he'd counted could be demons, crafty lot as they were. The only one he could actually count on not being a demon was a lizard man, but that wasn't saying much.

Many people had an immense hatred of demons, and although Tony was not amongst those numbers, he'd lost a fair few friends fighting the demonic hordes. This gave him a slightly negative disposition to them, but that wasn't the main problem. The main problem with the group were that they were just eating this up! For all the things the demons had done to his fellow soldiers he at least believed they were realistic or cynical enough to not just believe some random possibly insane stranger who claims that they're talking to their dead leader. Tony himself wasn't exactly one to mind either but half his regiment didn't give their lives so humanity's last hope could follow the first random guy (or girl) who claimed to have a way to beat the tyrant. He wasn't against the idea, he too didn't have any options, but he was starting to get annoyed that no one pointed out the absurdity of this situation.

Tony stepped out of the shadows to where the group had begun congregating.
"Well look at the sorry lot we have gathered here." He said, walking confidently forward.
He took a moment to look around at the misfits gathered together. A demon that fired beams and various assorted persons of varying degrees of scruffiness. This was the group of misfits he expected. Well, he wasn't quite expecting demons but he hadn't been planning for any worse.
"I'm all for following a random stranger on an adventure and off a cliff or wherever it is you're supposed to go," He announced. "But I'm not biting the hook just yet."
He began slowly walking towards the monk girl, taking long, measured strides.
"I don't know about the rest of you," He continued, eyeing everyone in the group. "But when some nutjob starts telling me she can see the spirit of a dead schlub, I start turning the other way."
He stopped just in front of the girl and crosses his arms, staring resolutely into her eyes.
"So you're telling me that you're channeling the spirit of a dead man." He began. "When the only dead men I see are these god forsaken rotting abominations."
He gestured at the shuffling zombies pointedly and recrossed his arms.
"So I'm going to have to ask you to tell me again; why exactly should we trust what you're saying?" He continued. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't have any qualifications to call the shots around here."

[User]
Kolonis found the gathering to be a rather strange mix. Of all beings, demons seemed to have a strong lure. She thought they had all broken arms and lost their will to do anything useful. It posed opportunities and challenges, for while she could work with demons when they were under her command, they could be annoying rivals when there was a question of leadership. She won those fights most of the time in the demon lord's army, but they were still political affairs she had disdain for. Her distinctive appearance would be a dead giveaway to any magically attuned being that focused on her runes and appearance long enough, combined with her reputation that she couldn't entirely minimize. Nonetheless, she continued to make no use of illusion spells. Transparency would be her option for now, though if the humans remained ignorant of her identity, she wasn't inclined to correct them.

She took slow steps forwards, still well outside the main gathering, using a very minor spell to make the zombies pay no heed to her in particular. While it was sometimes fun to smash them, like training dummies that humans were so fond of using, she didn't feel like presenting herself as anything more than an observer. The demons would know what she was, perhaps even who she was, and she would be equally aware of them.

She finally stopped at a burnt bench a few yards away from the openly demonic figure (Vreskrr) and took a seat, observing the proceedings and creating the foundations for her next move.


[System]
Age: 16

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Appearance:

A bright eyed girl from the Steppes of the Northeastern highlands, she carries with her a brightness and optimism that would lead one to believe her a simple runaway girl with dreams of adventure. Her complexion is tanned from her time spent under the open sky, and she seems to be in a perpetual good mood, judging from her omnipresent smile. She is of a lithe build, and has a slightly bowlegged stance from her life spent riding on a horse. Her arms and legs are fairly toned and muscular for her frame, making her a lot stronger than your average girl from a farm.

She is almost perpetually seen with her hair in a ratty mess, the only restraint to it being her hairband that keeps her bangs from blocking her vision entirely. Her outfit usually consists of a traditional tunic of the Steppe, with large sleeves that give her arms free movement, a black long skirt that has been ripped at the sides to allow her legs more freedom, and a pair of leather sandals. When adventuring, she wears a leather breastplate beneath her dress for added protection.

Height: 5'7"
Eye Color: Amber
Hair Color: White

Personality:
A little ball of sunshine and happiness, there doesn't seem to be much in this life that can get the Steppe Archer down. She carries with her an almost infectious energy that brightens up the room, seemingly always in high spirits.

Her optimism is matched by her keen observation skills. In just a few minutes, she can identify the people in a room at a glance, and tell how someone is feeling by their expression. Despite her perceptive nature, she herself is very blunt, and often unable to think before she speaks. It is not uncommon for something she says to come across as harsh due to her lack of common sense compared to most other people.

Likes: Horses, Sweet Meats, and Flowers
Dislikes: Enclosed spaces, Negative thinking, and Insects
Hobbies: Leather working, Cooking, and Stargazing

History:
On the large rolling plains of the Northeastern Highlands, one is born, lives, and dies on the move. There is no pause available to the nomadic people, with each waking moment spent with focus being on procuring food, supplies, and, once those begin to run low, the focus shifts to uprooting the camps and moving elsewhere on the Steppe. Their society is organized by numerous small "tribes" that have banded together to form a Confederacy, overseen by a leader who rules for a period of ten years after a martial tournament is held between the greatest fighters of the tribes.

Before she was born, her father was heralded as the mightiest man on the Steppe, unbested in archery, and a master of wrestling. On the second year after she was born, he was dethroned and retired to his previous life of being a hunter to provide. In the time she spent with her father, she would learn the art of the hunt, and come to grow into a young girl. Life would proceed as it did, the circle of life in an unending loop, marching onwards with the beat of the people who's lives were spent chasing life. It wasn't all bad, not in the slightest. The meat was plentiful, the hunt was thrilling, and the life lead was one far from purposeless.

Eventually however, the decade-held tournament would be held, and with the rise of a new chief came new and bizarre laws. One of which being that a "bride" of each tribe was to be offered to his son, as if they were pieces of meat to be handed out. And quite unfortunately, she was "selected" as the delegated bride. Rather than accept some impish demand for her virtue and hand in marriage to some spineless whelp, she would instead flee the Steppe with her father and mother's blessings, figuring that she could eek out a living as a mercenary or adventurer.

With no military willing to accept such a young girl despite her demonstrated skills, she was left with no avenue but to become an adventurer, arriving in Palisade town on the Frontier due to its closeness to home.

Adventuring Rank: Porcelain

Equipment:
Nomad Bow: A composite recurve bow of Steppe Archer's own making, made out of horn, wood, and sinew. It is well used from the years that Steppe Archer has spent hunting. Due to its smaller overall size compared to a normal bow, it is ideal for shooting on horseback and while moving, while not sacrificing the power of a full bow.

Nomad's Sword: A steel curved sword resembling a slightly less curved scimitar. Ideal for slashing things apart, or gliding past something with a slash. Has a large enough grip to be two-handed.

Torchfire: A beautiful mature auburn colored horse that Steppe Archer rode into town on. Despite the fact that she isn't able to bring it on many adventures due to the danger, she still insists on keeping it stabled up in Palisade Town, just in case she needs it. She is Steppe Archer's pride and joy, and her greatest asset in battle on a more open plain.

Skinning Knife: A small knife that's sharp enough to cut through flesh. Usually used by Steppe Archer to skin the beasts that she slays, in order to sell the pelts for a sizable sum. Steppe life taught her never to be wasteful.

Steppe Ensemble: Steppe Archer's protective leather breastplate beneath her folk-style dress. Her clothes keep her cool in just about any climate, and the leather armor beneath provides enough protection to shield her from light damage.

Porcelain Adventurer's Tag

Skills:
Horseback Riding: There are few that can match the riders of the Steppe when it comes to equestrian based combat, and as a proud Steppe child, Steppe Archer can ride with the best of them.

Trap Setting/Disarming: Much of the Steppe's hunting is done using traps to catch prey. As such, Steppe Archer is proficient in finding the perfect spots to place traps, whether that be to aid her friends, or harm her foes.

Handy Woman: On the Steppe, work is divided amongst the men and women equally. As such, Steppe Archer is skilled with physical labor, capable of many tasks that many in the realm would consider "men's" work.

[User]
Big Red shook his head, why were the humanoid females such troublesome beings? Still at least she'd scout around with Archer Girl. Still the farmer was brushing the old mare, taking off the dirt and dust of the road possibly? The brush didn't look particularly pleasing, even to him and his tough hide. But what did he know of domesticated animals anyway? His people didn't practice husbandry and domestication, the swamps were too deadly for normal livestock.

Apparently they stole literally everything they could. Some of it made sense, a bucket could be turned into very basic crappy armor. Rope has so many uses there's no point listing them all. Sacks of food and empty could be turned into clothing. He had heard they weren't much smarter than children, but even kids desired clothes and to be warm. Of course talking about the goblins agitated the man and made him brush the horse to roughly.

He then went on to say the direction they always came from, north northwest. So they didn't circle around to confuse anyone, good. Made things more simple. The final tidbit interested him most, they always came at dusk or night time. Nocturnal?"Thanks for the information." He said before turning and leaving with a brisk pace.

It took him seconds to spot the girls at the fence perimeter and he sped on over. They were looking at the ground, looking at tracks? Well they could follow those if they were the goblins foot prints. "So, the goblins are most likely nocturnal. He hasn't ever seen them in the day, only dusk and night." He said before reiterating the information he got. How the goblins stole anything they that wasn't fully secured and the direction they always came from.

"So should we get going...? He questioned, the farmer probably had no more useful knowledge and it'd probably take them a bit to locate the goblins hidy hole.

[Assistant]
"I'll do what I can to help you out." Druid Girl said in reply to her archer-ally. "Some of the local animals might've seen the goblins too, so I could always ask them." She added.

Soon enough though, Big Red rejoined the two girls, and Druid Girl welcomed him back in a friendly manner. After hearing what the lizardman had gathered in terms of information though, the caramel-skinned girl wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it. If goblins were active during dusk and night, that meant that right now - during the middle of the day - they were most likely asleep, or at the very least resting. This meant that they were probably holed up in their nest or whatever home such creatures made... Which was both good and bad for the trio.

It was good, because all the goblins would likely be in the same general area. The bad news was that all the goblins would be in the same local area.... She'd heard tales and rumors about the little creatures before, like how they were weak and stupid and most adventurers didn't even bother dealing with them, because they were filthy and not worth the effort to bring down. Still, if they stole from farmsteads, and if they were indeed responsible for that woman over by the road, then wasn't it just as plain as day that they were a threat and danger to people? Sometimes tthe girl had a hard time understanding her senior fellow adventurers and their unique way of weighing what quests to take...

Still, the lizard had asked a question about being ready to go, and Druid Girl for one was more than willing to get off this decripit farm as soon as possible.

"I'm all set, we can leave whenever." She said, a bit of energy back in her voice when copared to the sour mood she had been in earlier.

~ Later ~

Once all was said and done at the farm, the three would set off and march their butts first north, then north-west, following the shallow tracks made by tiny feet. Throughg the combined efforts of the druid and the hunter, they were able to - not too often - lose their way and keep on point with their hunt. A few stops for asking the local wildlife, like crows and squirrels, if they had seen any goblins, along with a mandatory potty-break for all of them, were all the interuptions afforded.

Still, even with their skills at tracking and their ability to inquire animals, the group did not locate the goblins' hideout until mid-afternoon. Not yet dusk, but not far or many hours away from it. The sun was lower in the sky, noticeably, and the tinge of the sky had begun to change slightly far off in the east. Still, theyh had found what they were looking for - and fortunately, they had encountered no sentries or guards to warn the residents inside of the approaching trio of would-be-threats.

The goblins hidey-hole was, in all fairness, nothing more than a mossy mound and cave, with a crack roughly the size - slightly bigger - than your average doorway to a human house. Bushes and trees stood around the cave, and if the group hadn't been approaching from the south-east, they might not have spotted the opening at all. From any other side, it just looked like a small knell or hill. Even if they weren't clever, they still seemed to know how to pick their lair, those crafty goblins.

A quick survey around the immediate outskirts revealed no traps or alarms. It seemed this group of goblins were confident enough in their natural camoflaughe that setting up any sort of perimeter defense or security wasn't needed... That, or they simply didn't know how to do such things. One thing was for certain though, somewhere not too far off was the source of a foul, piercing, eye-watering stench. A mix of amonia and rot and what could only be feces caused a foul-wafting aroma to permiate this otherwise pitoresque area of woodlands. Druid Girl wrinkled her nose and grimaced slightly.

"I'm not one to be all fussy about the smell of dung, animals leave that sorta thing behind all the time... But, this is a bit much, even for me." She said while trying to get into a position that was up-wind from the stank. "Still, what do you two think we should do now? It's getting close to dusk, and they'll probably be scurrying out of the cave soon-ish... We could wait to ambush them... But if there's too many, we might be better off sneaking in and dealing witht hem while they're sleeping or resting, right?" She proposed the two most basic options.

From what she and Steppe Archer could tell of the tracks, there had only been maybe two or three goblins that made those prints, and neither of them seemed to have been lugging anything around. Still, there was no telling what was waiting for them down there in the dark, musty depths of the mossy cave...

[User]
"Welcome back, Big Red," Steppe Archer would say in greeting at his return. She hoped that talking to that old man hadn't worn his ears out. With his newfound information and the combined efforts of the archer and druid, it seemed that finding the den would be time-consuming, but not especially difficult. The stench however would be difficult to stand as the nomad's nose crinkled, her eyes watering a tinge from the raw stank present in the area. It made her want to vomit, but...she supposed she'd dealt with similar enough stenches that such a reaction would have made her father think less of her. As such, she swallowed the rising bile in her throat and shook her head with a shudder. Nasty.

The Druid Girl gave their options of laying an ambush or to storm in while they're asleep, and, being a huntress, Steppe Archer thought that laying a trap and forcing the goblins into an unfavorable situation for them sounded good. "I'm for an ambush. I can trap the entrance, so that maybe two or three goblins would be caught trying to exit. Then, we could simply wait and pick them off. If these goblins are cowardly enough to steal in the night, then we can expect that going in and killing them in their sleep won't as simple as we think, she said, giving her stance and reasoning. Before they even had a plan settled upon however, Steppe Archer would begin finding twigs and grasses to construct her trap with.

They'd already wasted a lot of time trying to track the goblins down, so waiting until a decision was made would mean they might risk being in the middle of setting up the trap before goblins would attack them. At worst, she'd just drop her gathered materials and head inside, but at best, she'd have ample time to make her goblin snare.


[System]
Age:
27

Planet of Birth:
Concord Dawn

Species:
Human

Skills/Abilities:-
- Sniper: March is known a one of the best sharpshooters in the galaxy, often rated in the top 3. He is well known for extreme long distance shots and rebounding his blasts off of the environment.

- Close Quarters Combat: March can handle himself in a fist fight and is quite keen on breaking his opponents limbs with quick submissions.

- Tracking: Born and raised hunting wildlife, March is renowned for his ability to track a target and even predict where they're going next. He understands people and environments very quickly which gives him a great tactical advantage.

- Hustler's Charm: As stated before, March is very good at understanding people and can very easily mould his own attitude and image to reflect his targets wants and needs, making his information gathering skills very valuable.

Equipment:-
- CM Reaper Sniper Rifle
- DC-15 Side Arm Blaster
- Electric Charged Shoto Club
- EMP

Personality:
March is a unique individual. He appears to be of sound mind and strong spirit. He rarely makes long-lasting relationships with men or women and professes to have never fallen in love. March maintains no friendships from before leaving Concord Dawn and only the most irregular contact with friends from his late teens. March is not nostalgic, but lives firmly in the present. He has only vague notions or thoughts about old age and retirement, which he does not seem to think he will live to see. He enjoys pushing himself to the limit, both mentally and physically. March's stress levels actually drop when the stakes are higher. He is prone to boredom and mild depression when not challenged. He has strong interpersonal skills and appears somewhat lackadaisical and flirtatious to the outside world despite his inner craving for solitude. He can act comfortably in many situations, but does not seek out companionship except, most notably, for sexual recreation. March's lone wolf personality-type tends to attract others.

He is goal-oriented, but he often seeks these goals in an indirect and secretive way. He has kept many areas of his life meticulously compartmentalized, never allowing the emotional issues from the loss of his family or from relationships to intrude on his professional life. March seems to have an emotional and mental need for multiple layers of reality. He thrives when not revealing all of himself, carefully organizing the aspects of his personality he reveals to others. Thus he is excellent at burying information he does not wish to reveal, making him a very good security risk if questioned under almost any circumstance.
March treats his "fake death" almost like a real death. He considers himself dead and everything he has done since as a dream. He believes firmly in immediacy, the moment is all that matters…

History:
Gendro March was born on Concord Dawn to a simple farming family. Much of his childhood was spent helping around the farm and out in the thick jungles hunting with his father. From an early age he showed much promise in sharpshooting, his parents knew that young Gendro was not made for farming like them, he had a greater destiny. The boys goal was to become a Journeyman Protector for Concord Dawn, so he worked constantly to hone is skills, he wanted to protect his planet. Things changed for Gendro when one day, the family travelled into a nearby town for supplies. As they gathered their needs, a rogue band of criminals invaded the town and forced everyone to give up what valuables they had. The March family, being principled and humble, refused. All were gunned down, including Gendro but either by luck or fate, he survived.

After recovering from his wounds, thirteen year old Gendro was initially filled with rage. The criminals had gotten away with murder and the townsfolk had all but stood by and done nothing to help. And these were the people Gendro wanted to protect? No. They weren't worth it. His family was gone, he had no past and now with no one to share it with, no future either. Gendro only had the present, the only moment that mattered. Hitching all the way to Coruscant, the boy dropped his forename and began to live a low life in the slums of the Capital City.

Hooking up with a group of travelling assassins, March watched them intently. Quietly learning every trick of their trade. No longer did he want to protect. All he could do now was what he had done since near birth and that's hunt. For years he was trained to be a hunter of men and finally at eighteen, March was assigned his first target, a senator. Tracking him was easy, the senator made it all too obvious that he was into some pretty dirty stuff. He visited places like Mos Eisly often, hiring gunrunners to supply his troops for an illegal war. When the time eventually came, March had no qualms with pulling the trigger.

Upon graduating to the life of an assassin, March made a name for himself for his skill. Always returning to Coruscant as a base, it was here he was approached with an offer to join a new rebellion. It paid ok but the credits weren't what interested him; the idea of testing his skills and hunting out some of the most interesting prey? That did though…

[User]
Urgop gave a kick to the PLNK droid as he walked. That he was being forced to take the IMPERIAL SPY robot to this rendezvous was bad enough, but the fact that it wouldn't stop trying to tell him about it's day was far worse. "And so then I said, 'I think what you need is a replacement for your thermal exhaust valve', but he wouldn'--" he gave it another kick. If this was a sign of things to come... Urgop shuddered, the thought rolling around in his head.

After a few more brain-cell killing minutes, the pair had reached their destination: the run down and dingy bar known as 'The Royal Bantha'. Urgop reached into the sack hanging from his back, pulling a powerpack bomb from within. He set the timer for three hours, and concealed it amongst some rubbish at the entrance. If he wasn't out in time to defuse it... Well, then it would mean the site had been compromised, and that the detonation would do more bad than good.

"Oh neat, this is the meeting place for that rebe--" another swift kick shut Plasters up. "Yes, this is the place. Foolish spy droid." Urgop did not like speaking out loud, but he had to make sure the droid STAYED quiet. Moving inside, he made his way past several seedy figures. An angry looking wookiee, at least two Deathstick addicts high out of their skulls, and... There, the backroom that matched the description he had been given. Looking around with a paranoid gaze, he hurried in to see a Twi'lek and a Trandoshan chatting casually. Urgop stared for a moment, hoping to be sure these were the ones who hired him. His silent staring was interrupted, however, by another outburst from Plasters. "Are you the rebels?"

[Assistant]
A fairly tall young man was sitting at the bar in the front room of the Royal Bantha, sipping a glass of Gralish liqueur, amazed that such a low class bar would have such a rare drink. At first glance, he didn't look like someone who belonged there - too fancy for a dive like that. Purple dress tunic, black Lashaa silk waistcoat, matching black pants, monocle. He pulled a small PDA out of his pocket and checked the time, then quickly finished his drink and stood up. One minute past schedule - or, perfect timing, by his standards. He liked being slightly late - it gave him a slight edge in judging his company's characters.

He grabbed his coat and started walking towards the back rooms, keeping his eyes out for anybody who might try to pull a weapon on him, and keeping his hand on his own vibrodagger. He knocked on the door mentioned in the message with the other hand, loosening his dagger in its sheath a little bit more, then pushed the door open and stepped in.

A motley band of mismatched figures all were present - along with a droid. Clearly the group he intended to work with. He took a short bow before introducing himself with a smile.

"Ah, hello there. Arimax Lispat at your service."

[User]
A Zabrak woman moved out of an alley beside the bar, her eyes scanning the area as she moved towards the entrance, a blaster slung noticeably on the belt of her jumpsuit. Vixai slid through the entrance, right before a group of humans moved inside. She sighed as she entered, remembering how much she truly hated places like this, too loud, too crowded, too many unnecesarily angry and shady beings trying to forget their lives through alcohol. She had never been a fan of the stuff, it messed with her work too much, she always needed to have her eyes open and on the prize.

As she glanced around the establishment she noticed two shady characters looking at her menicingly, she calmly moved her hand towards her belt and tapped the butt of her blaster. They would be foolish to try anything anyway, but it never hurt to let others know that you weren't a pushover ready to be jumped and taken who knows where. The two wisely looked away as Vixai walked towards the backrooms.

She was nervous about meeting the others, but she couldn't let that show, they were all hardened enough to take the job. While she would have rather worked alone, she would try to be friendly with them. Partly avoid getting shot in the back, though again she would never admit that either. The tall Zabrak girl found the door which would lead to the others, she carefully opened it after a deep breath.

"Um, hi, I'm Vixai." She said, in her usual quiet tone of speaking to the others as she entered the room, hoping she wasn't disturbing anything.

[Assistant]
A heartbeat. That's all he needed. March had spent years honing his talents with a gun but he had also trained his senses, being a hunter, senses were key. March had learned to read a heartbeat, even identify his prey from the rhythm of the beats. Walking the downtrodden neon streets of lower Coruscant, he could hear everyone. Those that were lost, those that did not want to be found, those preparing to, those that were and those that had committed terrible, unforgiving acts. A former mentor had once said that March's intuitive understand of locations and people was something to do with something called the living force, March slashed his throat about a month later; ancient religions and magic tricks didn't appeal to him. Skill. Training. The Thrill. The Moment. Those are what mattered.

Before his next appointment at the Royal Bantha, March had one last bit of business to take care of. The place was all but empty except for one other patron; a Cerean male sitting in the centre of the room. March took a seat opposite him and the two men sat in silence for at least a minute. "Is it done?" The Cerean asked placing something on the table. March's dark eyes never moved from the Cerean's face. "I gave you my word did I not?" The hunter of men responded in kind. "I am a man of my word, Larloq. You will not see Katu Wayn again" The Cerean now identified as Larloq broke his stoney faced façade to breathe a great sigh if relief. "And me? You said you would not let me come to harm at his or his thugs hands" March placed his hand on top of Larloq's and gave him a subtle smile. "Indeed I did" The Cerean removed his hand, allowing the assassin to pick up the credits that had been beneath it. March stood up and placed the credit card in his pocket. "I gave you my word that you would come under no harm by their hand. I said nothing, about harm under my own" Larloq began to feel a burning sensation in his hand, his throat tightening. "I normally don't particularly care for what my employers do, however you Lord Larloq, spend your days turning young children into slaves. That is one thing, I cannot abide" Every word March spoke was deliberate, calm and with class. "The poison that I just introduced into your system acts fast, so your death will be quick. Your lungs will close, your blood will boil and eventually your brain will shut down. You have maybe a minute, probably less. Your heartbeat betrays you. Dead men tell no lies, my lord"

The Royal Bantha; March had been here several times over the years and the décor never seemed to change. Maybe the Bantha was stuck in the centre of a black hole and thus time ran different. He didn't know. The faces always changed but the place remained the same. The invitation to this meet up was all very cloak and dagger, March had always prided himself on his skill in secrecy. Decoding the message he received wasn't too difficult, though the timing could've been better. He had quite a few jobs lined up though this particular one was intriguing. Entering the back room, March took in his surroundings, escape routes, possible hiding places for weapons, this line of work always meant you had to be on your toes. This was an eclectic bunch of ruffians, why on Earth gather such a group? Guess he would find out.

"Hello there"


[System]
Title: None
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Species: Half-Orc, Quarter Human, Quarter Elf
Class: Barbarian

Physical Appearance
Being an amalgamation of several races, Zul certainly has an interesting appearance. Though her features are obviously dominated by her Orc blood she still has hints of Elf and Human traits that make it hard for her to pass as a pure Orc. At a towering 6'6", she is generally taller than most human men but shorter than most full-blooded Orc. Thick muscles line her body, toned from years of harsh survival and fighting. Her skin is pale gray and crisscrossed with various scars. The most notable of these marks is a huge knotted gash that runs across her back from her upper right shoulder to her left hip.

Zul's face is where the most notable hints of her mixed lineage surface. She has the prominent jaw of her mother's race but lacks the signature protruding Orcish teeth. Instead, she has tiny nubs of fangs that just barely peek up from her bottom lip. The mixture of Elf and Human in her has done much to soften her features. While still nowhere near the fairness of an Elf, Zul has a unique beauty all her own. High cheekbones, large red eyes, and slightly elongated ears all balance out her somewhat manish appearance. If she had a more feminine hairstyle she might be considered somewhat pretty. Instead, Zul wears the typical braids of an Orc warrior. Intertwined in the black twists of thick hair are various silver rings and beads.

Personality
Bloodlust is not the reason Durzul rejoices at the thought of battle. She loves the exhilaration of danger, the chaos of blades clashing like shimmering waves, the comradery one can only find between brothers and sisters in arms. Since she is not one to crave simple death and destruction, Zul doesn't pick pointless fights with just anyone. However, if challenged outright she is more than happy to oblige.

That being said, Zul's rage is a force to be reckoned with. Thanks to a lively, if not crude, sense of humor she can take most ribbing jokes without becoming angered. If one were to question her ability in battle or her dedication to her company, then one better be prepared to dodge a few axe blows as well. Her lack of patience is what causes her the most trouble. Often times the long waits between fights will leave her antsy or moody.

An oddity of her otherwise harsh personality is her love of the arts. Be it musical, spoken word, or fine craftsmanship. Zul's bard father left his mark on her and she continues to admire those with the gift of gab. Something she does not possess. In diplomatic moments, Zul tends to keep silent and listen. Her bluntness is not always appreciated when there is a need for tactful words. This brooding quiet gives her an air of mystery to some but she sees it as knowing her place. She's a warrior, not a diplomat.

Motivation
Know what's bad business for sellswords? Peace treaties. Zul enjoyed her time when the Farhelgur and Eshhire were at each other's throats and once talks of peace started she lamented over her loss of sport. She was approached about a certain mission to circumvent this treaty and immediately signed up. However, she doesn't understand why they don't just lop off the envoys' heads and be done with it.

History
There once was a very, very brave bard. He was traveling the land and got himself caught in a blizzard, nearly freezing to death. He was rescued by Urzul, a banished Orc woman who had made her home in the wild north. The two spent a long winter snowed in Urzul's tiny cabin.

By the time spring had melted the last of the stubborn snow, Durzul was born. For years it was just the three of them in their mountain home. Though looking back on memories, Durzul believes her father stayed more out of fear of her mother than love. He always did dote upon Durzul and taught her to appreciate the music and beauty of the world around her. His gift of storytelling was her only eye to the world beyond their remote cabin.

Durzul's mother refused to let her daughter become soft with music and stories. In true Orcish fashion, Zul went through relentless training from a young age. Her mother often saying that she had to make up for her weak blood. It was around her tenth birthday that her father disappeared, after arguing with Urzul over the recently broken bones of their only child. Whether he finally escaped or Urzul killed him is still a mystery.

The harsh instruction of Durzul continued for some years. Finally, she had enough. She yearned to see the land beyond the snowy forests. One morning she confronted her mother with her plans to leave and was immediately struck to the ground. The two struggled for what seemed like hours. As things seemed to be going poorly for Durzul, her mother spat at her and remarked that she was as weak as her father. A sudden, blinding rage engulfed Durzul and she renewed the battle with her mother. Finally, she slammed the blade of a woodcutting axe deep into her mother's chest. The battle was over.

After giving her mother a proper burial and taking what supplies she could, Durzul set out to make her mark on the world.

It wasn't long before she got herself tangled up in a bit of a mess. Drunk and naive to the ways of the world, Durzul ended up shanghaied into serving in the military. While her success in battle and popularity with her comrades were obvious, she often challenged the authority of those over her. Superiors said that if they could simply remove her personality then they would have the perfect soldier. After nearly shattering the humerus of an officer, Zul was dishonorably discharged from service. She would have been arrested and charged had she not taken out a good number of men before making a hasty escape.

With her taste for war ignited, Zul started her own mercenary group. The War Hounds were very successful in their start but just as things were going well, disaster struck. Peace talks began between the Farhelgur and Eshhire leaving the future of the conflict uncertain.

Equipment
Thick leather armor
Dual wield war axes
Short bow with 10 Arrows
Metal gauntlet covering left forearm and hand.
Travel pack with survival gear and minor healing items.
Flask of rotgut rum.
A miniature kalimba, a gift from her father

Strengths
Physical Strength
Battle Prowess
Menacing Appearance
Survival
Rage
Darkvision

Weaknesses
No magical abilities
Prone to anger
Low stealth
No negotiations
Criminal past

Relationship
Former service buddies and members of The War Hounds. No living family that she knows of.

Note: I've never played D&D (always wanted to) so I had to do a lot of research for this. If I need to fix something let me know!

[User]
The day had been long with no orders or word from the one known as Lord Shade. The small encampment among the mountains north of Torlynn, a small village with much to say for its farmland but little in any other regard. Vashin Manor stands as a great bump upon the side of the peak with its access to caves and caverns which wind deep through the mountains. Only rock and silver come out by the hands of heavyset Duergar miners. Overseen by Count Vashin himself, a human-looking man with a pale complexion and thinned features, along with his moderators and guards to ensure security and keep the work flowing, the Manor offers much in the way of funding for the efforts of Lord Shade.

Some new arrivals come to the Manor over the course of a few days. Each with their own orders, goals, and purposes either for Lord Shade or their own fruits. Though diversity does not span the cosmic list of sentients, many are present in various forms of commonality; elves, dwarves, orcs...and some mixtures of the undead. None at the Manor question such vile creatures as the walking corpses, and they offer services and act accordingly to the will of Lord Shade. While intelligent and self-driven, some suspect their underlying will is tied to some other force either within or beyond the Manor itself.

Across the landscape of the Manor rests a graveyard, a smithy, and a few houses. One house seems as a store of some kind with general goods such as arrows, simple equipment, sacks of grain and general food. Another seems a storehouse meant for holding goods, perhaps for those about the Manor. Another appears as a more specified intended structure with shields, blades, and armor. Yet another appears as some sort of library with many books, scrolls, and equipment associated with such industries.

Sitting upon a tombstone near a small graveyard riddled with ancestors of Count Vashin rests a palish figure in fine-scale armor grinding stone against the tip of a spear blade. His legs dangle from atop the stone with worn words and dates barely readable upon its surface. His head is hooded and partly covered with strands of black hair dangling from the sides of the inside of the hood. A pipe sticks out from his lips with soft smoke wafting into the air. A satchel of gear rests at the base of the tombstone, nestled close for safekeeping.

[Assistant]
As the sun was reaching afternoon, a fine figure of a man, arrived on the back of an wagon. The teamster had hauled ore up to be smelted on the way back it was hauling timbers for bracing the mine shafts. On the top of the logs, rode a man with a couple trunks. He had a nice outfit on, with a black outer cloak lined with purple cloth an inner coat with many pockets

The man climbed down, thanked the driver for the ride. Slipping him a couple copper coins. With the trunks unloaded, the man pulled out a piece of paper sent to him by his former guild Master and friend.

The note read,
"Go to the mining village north of Torlynn.
Asking where you can buy some of this enclosed stone.

Buy some so you can make earrings for your mother.

Greet my sister, Slavi. She can help you with your letters and finding that old book.
Yours,
Uncle George"

Andrew read the message ago translating it in his head:
"Go to the mining village north of Torlynn. This stone is your key to getting the job. The pay will be good and they know of your family situation. There is a woman named Slavi that has supplies and can teach you. I consider her my equal. Your Master."

"First things first, Uncle," Andrew said. Finding a bed and a meal for the night. Traveling through the mountains is not, the most comfortable. When his horse was stolen by his loving brother's scouts, Andrew felt sorry for himself. It was by sheer luck that a farmer stopped and helped him. He road from one wagon to another. Some times he would end up sitting for a night or sleeping in a barn. His purse was a little lighter now as he had been spending his money on transport. Well, he had his pack, tools, trunks, and his sword.

He sat on the trunk, looking for the inn or someone to give directions and assistance.

[User]
A hulking figure emerged from the treeline, catching the nervous eyes of a few townsfolk who quickly backed away to make room for the imposing creature. Zul shifted her leather pack on her sore shoulders. The silver rings knotted into her thick, black braids clinked together as she moved. Her red eyes surveyed the sparse crowd of servants and workers who were transversing the beaten path from the manor toward the town as the work day ended. The shifting flow of individuals around her was a surprising variety of races. Even more surprising was the odd animated corpse that walked among them, seemingly ignored by those around them. Zul's face twisted into a sneer. She was never a fan of the undead. Her hands shifted beneath her tattered red cloak to rest on the head of her axes that sat in the metal rings attached to her belt at the hips. The metal gauntlet that covered her left hand pinged sweetly against the cold steel of her weapons.

Ignoring the distasteful presence of the corpses, Zul started her trek up to the manor. Her tired legs protested the slight incline but she ignored them. The sellsword had been traveling ever since that fated night in the tavern. She had been several tankards under the table when approached by a few men who were too well dressed to be regular patrons of such a shady establishment. They sympathized with the plight of a mercenary in times of peace and offered her a way to remedy the situation. The two men quickly interjected that this job was to be discreet as possible and would require only her. Seemed fishy to her but she guessed that any plot to destroy a tentative peace between two houses and spark an all-out war would be on the dubious side of things.

She had left her company, the young mercenary band named the War Hounds, in the capable hands of her second in command. Not that there was much that needed to be managed at the moment. With the steady decline of battles between the two great houses, there were fewer and fewer contracts put out to supplement the armies on either side. Durzul had not seen a proper fight, outside of tavern brawls, in a few months now. Her hands itched to take an axe to an enemy, to feel the roar of warriors flood her ears as they charged. Hopefully, this mission would prove not only to sate her lust for adventure but also return the lands to the turmoil of war.

The wild half-orc reached the peak of her trek and stood before the open manor gates. This was where she had been instructed to meet the rest of those who would be undertaking this task. Zul had scoffed at the thought of having to work with total strangers. Her band of mercenaries was more than capable of dealing with this peace envoy and she had argued this fact to the secritive men that offered her the job. The insisted on the need for a "lighter" touch and Zul was not about to sit there and waste time trying to tell them otherwise. The idea of working with people who may, or may not, have any skill was troubling. She knew the men and women in her band of sellswords. Each worth their weight in battle and then some. She would not know these people she was supposed to travel with. Entering dangerous situations without knowing your allies was a troubling thought but Zul had to admit that the risk was somewhat exhilarating.

She stepped beyond the open gates and stood in a courtyard of sorts. The manor was massive. The grounds were dotted with smaller buildings of various purposes and even a sizeable graveyard on one end. Zul had not been given any details beyond where to arrive, when, and to bring only what she needed for the journey. At the time she had been too drunk to ask. She had gotten here, she was on time, and her pack contained the basics. The problem now was, who was she meant to speak with? As the servants and workers of the manor eased by her, Zul was able to make out the figure of a man seated far off in the graveyard. He did not seem to be in the afternoon rush of the rest but also did not seem promising for information. The mercenary shifted the pack on her shoulders once more and cut directly through the crowd. The flow of people parted for her without hesitation. She headed toward a less populated section of the grounds, coincidently in the direction of the graveyard.