[System]
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Ethnicity/Nationality: Arab-American
Physical Description:
Ria takes after her father, dusky skin and broad. At 5'5" and 140lbs, she is fit and toned with a layer of muscle, not curvy. Her near black hair is cropped close. She has strong facial features - pronounced cheeks and nose, with a sharp chin. Her dark brown eyes frequently have bags beneath them, and make up barely registers as a thought. Her body is scarred and frequently bruised. There are two thick scars that run from her right shoulder nearly to her mid back.

Skillset:
Skills: Tracking, planning
Training, Knowledge & Education: Vampire lore, her family's hunting history. Training started a young age with trips to a gun range, as well as hand to hand training. "Normal" studies were attempted, but traditional book knowledge was never a priority. Ria also speaks English and Farsi fluently, and can get by as needed in Arabic.
Talents:Preternatural sense of vampires, including a pulling feel towards a specific individual.

History
Though she came from a family of hunters and had a network of family "friends" and acquaintances in the same line of business, it wasn't until she was nearly twenty that she was party to a real hunt. For much of her childhood, her father would train her and her sister, Nima, and occasionally disappear with friends for a week or two. He would come back, nearly always injured.Nima was a few years older and started to join their father while Ria was a teenager. In those days, it fell to Ria to put together plans and contingencies. She played a peripheral, albeit important, role.

As she neared adulthood, she joined her family on their hunts. A string of suspicious disappearances when Ria was 19 spurred the small group into action. Ria's plan was foolproof, at least for getting out alive. Nima would play the bait, pretty and similar to the girls already taken. Ria hadn't counted on there being two of them or that they had indeed been baiting the hunters. Though she had an immediate bad feeling as they sprung their own trap, it was too late for Nima. Ria watched her sister disappear, unable to do anything but run. Her father, overwhelmed with grief, took his own life a short month later.

She buried her own grief, grief that turned into rage and near obsession. Leaving behind the others in her group, she set out on her own to track her sister. What she would do when...if...she found her was a question Ria could never quite answer to herself.

It took years to get any sort of definitive idea as to where Nima had gone. She ended up in Vancouver, sneaking aboard a yacht in the marina. Ria was certain she could feel her sister's presence, but it was not Nima who confronted her. The handsome vampire sneered cruelly. His attacks mixed with feints, like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it. Ria was no match, especially not on her own. Her head slammed into the railing, and she was certain she heard Nima's laughter from a distance. In the moment her attacker paused to savor the moment before the killing blow, she flung herself overboard in the dark, cold embrace of the water.

There was no up or down, no moon to cast an eery glow in the water. As she flailed in the water, her lungs desperate for air, Ria saw Nima flickering in the water. She kicked towards her, pushing, clawing through the water.

She woke up in a hospital, banged up badly but alive. Not long after waking up, she was offered a chance, a real chance, to hit back.

Psychological Profile:
Ria is motivated nearly entirely by a desire for revenge. Watching her sister be taken and likely turned and her father's suicide in quick succession pushed a young woman over the edge into blind despair and rage. Working largely on her own for a few years taught her extreme self reliance. A more fragile mind would have cracked. At the end of the day, a chance to hit back is worth the chance of becoming monstrous herself.

Modifications: (The ones already listed are standard issue for all characters)* Communications suite, HUD and neural-computer, all standard issue – Vigil agents are able to text by thinking it among each other on a heavily encrypted wireless network. In fact, the computer works off brain impulses and is easily one of the most sophisticated and useful implants they have; what's more, its capabilities have yet to be fully exploited. The downside of this implant is that it includes a cortex bomb with an anti-tampering device. A captured agent can set it off, destroying the hardware inside, or a signal from control can do the same. This is to prevent the enemy from learning the capabilities of implanted agents.
* Internal air supply and aerial toxin filter -- this also has the added advantage of making the agent immune to vampire pheromones, as some types of vampires are known to use this to seduce their prey.
* Blood/liquid toxin filter -- the obvious is at work here -- vampires use their blood as a means of controlling mortals, and this system (and everyone, even non field agents, in the Vigil organization have this implant) screens out one of most subtle weapons a vampire has, rendering them functionally immune to being controlled through ingested blood the way mortal thralls of a vampire might be.
* Eye augmentation; a HUD showing all sorts of system data, such as the status of implants, as well as allowing for low-light and ultra-sound modes of vision, the latter being thought to be more effective than thermographics when dealing with vampires, who tend to run cold if they haven't fed lately.
* Implants in her right arm and hand to restore feeling and full function
* Neural implant to strengthen her preternatural sense of vampires and tracking of an individual

Equipment: (The items already listed are standard issue.)
* Mimetic Camouflage (Predator) coat, though this is designed to look more like a trenchcoat -- no doubt some project engineer with a penchant for the dramatic, or an interest in fashion design. The coat is actually stylish, which serves a dual purpose as vampires tend to dress stylishly and surround themselves with the stylishly dressed. This allows Vigil agents one more edge. Of course, they call it the Predator Coat. Because the engineers are geeks. (This is a standard issue Vigil item)
* Modular, caseless assault rifle/carbine. Bullpup, caseless ammunition, synched with existing implants and capable of mounting a variety of accessories including a 25mm grenade launcher whose munitions range from conventional high explosive to nano-guided scattered mines. It also syncs with HUD implants for improved accuracy in a mechanism similar to a bluetooth link. The trigger is electric and the weapon includes a biometric security system; anyone but someone authorized to handle it and it will blow; that is a standard feature on most any weapon the Vigil has in service with its teams. (This is a standard issue Vigil item)
* A number of electronic accessories, including a PDA tablet and other items to assist in making physical connection with computer equipment. (This is a standard issue Vigil item)
* Grenades, mostly white phosphorus. The organization has designed a 'grenade' that involves a strobing UV light that damages vampires -- it is known as 'the disco ball'.
* Other items as you see fit.

[User]
"Holy shit, it worked." Saria was breathing heavily, a mix of exertion and the remaining adrenaline in her system. Giorgio was dead, decapitated. Anna and Mullen were incapacitated. While she had not accepted that this would be a suicide mission, there was still a healthy dose of skepticism she retained.

"So far. Trenton and the others arriving in 10." Kramer joined in, eying the situation up close. "They're going to be pissed, it's Anna they're bound to."

The former hunter glanced sideways at the woman. Pathetic, her abdomen was mangled. Both of the incapacitated Eternals snarled against their restraints. Thralls in withdrawal would not be pretty for Dukewater. How long the withdrawal period would last seemed to depend on many variables, and this trio had set up their territory in the town for a while now. Saria pressed her lips in thought. Regardless of their decision, they did not have long to clean up and clear out. She wiped her face against the back of her hand.

"Hey, new girl. Get the van?" Morgen, spoke up. "We'll need to move the bodies out before Deputy Dickie shows up with his posse."

Saria rolled her shoulders in annoyance, she was frustrated to not finish off one of the vamps. "Trust me with the keys? You're sweet." She caught them easily, and jogged off to where they had parked their main transport.

A few minutes later, and with a few minutes to spare before the deputy should be arriving, Saria returned with body bags slung over her shoulder. They would finish disposal of the bodies later, where they wouldn't be disturbed. She glanced towards the others before setting herself to the task of getting Giorgio into a bag. In the distance, she could hear sirens. The others would be able to as well, undoubtedly. That made her nervous, thralls could be dangerous, especially those fully armed.

"We getting out of here?" She asked, the now heavy bag hefted over her shoulder.

[Assistant]
Saria wasn't the only shocked one. Simulations, technology and all that didn't necessarily offset the dark fears that whispered in his head. The trauma required regular medication, there was a computer that monitored his emotional responses and dosed accordingly to stabilize. But he was elated, it worked. However, it worked and left them holding a bag. Saria nailed it; Thralls. What to do with them?

"Not yet. Can't leave these thralls to detox around civilians."

He didn't want the vampires to overhear the plan.

Designating map points for deployment. Let's pick up Anna and Richard and lure these deputies away from civilians.

Either way, it'd be a mess, but at least if they left a mess of deputies dead somewhere away from everywhere else, there'd be an investigation. All the same, the result of leaving thralls to detox meant that people who weren't involved would get killed. So Marco was already hefting Anna up. Someone else grabbed Richard, and they started to move fast, getting the two of them to the vehicle and getting it started. Others were able to move unencumbered and quickly while the van played a coy game of lumbering along, trying to string the thrall deputies into the trap alongside.

It took a couple punches to get Anna to settle down long enough to get her and Richard into the back of the van. Marco was right there with them, so was Saria. And behind them were Dukewater's finest, blood-addicted and on the razor edge of seemingly normal behavior and a homicidal freakout with tac-gear.

[User]
She should have known better than to insinuate they would leave a bunch of helpless people to deal with detoxing thralls, but neither Saria was not eager to see how they would have to deal with deputies. She glanced back towards the damaged Eternals, a reminder of how far all of them had come. She hoped they felt the same sense of dread so many mortals had felt, she wondered if they could fully fear true death.

PDA in hand, she pulled up a map of Dukewater.

I don't suppose crossing jurisdictions means much to the deputies.

It was only sent to Marco, and regardless of it just being an attempt at banter, she followed his lead in leaving the vamps in the dark as much as possible. With a different thought, she changed her search. Permanently closed business. There was a list, restaurants, mom and pop stores, not the kind of place she wanted to guide them towards. Her eyes lit up further down the list.

About 15 minutes out from an closed warehouse. Relatively empty industrial park.

Seconds later she sent out the coordinates to the group. The route would take them closer to the city, a calculated risk. Saria doubted the thralls would want other police departments to engage, given their cargo. She flexed, stretching her arms and legs, one by one in the limited space allotted her. They might have to kill the deputies, she knew it and kept the thought in the back of her mind, preparing herself. But it wouldn't be their first resort, or at least it wouldn't be hers. Much like Marco had taken the poor prom girl out with a tranq, Saria shuffled to load up on some non-lethal options. Equipment was certainly not a scarcity with the Vigil.

The warehouse had surely once been one among many such facilities, a few decades ago. Once it had been a paper mill, and like so many others, had struggled along, cutting workers until it was barely a shell of what it once was. Back in the day, the jobs if offered would have given an average Joe a decent wage to lead a mediocre life. It had been abandoned completely for some years, boarded up with no trespassing signs littering it's entrance road and building. The county and state didn't have the funds to tear down all of them, especially when ownership remained up in the air. It remained fenced off, but between kids cutting it to sneak in for urban exploration or parties and more nefarious sorts using it as a place to dispense with business, the fence was not well maintained. It wasn't difficult to enter, and the sprawling, dilapidated parking lot with out buildings made it a prime location for the impending showdown.

As the vehicle came to a smooth stop, Saria took a deep breath. "Time for the not-so-fun part, hm?"


[System]
Guerra

"Ever heard of that saying: 'mess with the bull, you get the horns?' Yeah, well I'm the bull, and my horns are made of fire."

Vitals
Title: Reaper of War

Age: 32

Sex: Male

Date of birth: 17th March, 1983

Lineage: -

Class/Major: Tank

Class/Minor: Support

Occupation: Reaper

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Marital Status: Married, three children

Birthplace: San Jose, California

Blood Type: O+

Eye Color: Wholly crimson red, glowing and flickering with an unnatural fire. Occasionally sparks fly from the corners of his eyes.

Height: 6' 3"

Weight: 185 lbs

Hair Color/Style: Medium length, longer fringe, light brown.

General Appearance: His build is muscular, strong and typical of a man his size. His usual combat gear is his combat vest, desert beige fatigues, combat boots and a tan scarf/neck protector. When not in combat gear, Luis is commonly dressed in a tee shirt of any design he chooses, blue jeans and sneakers, with a gold chain around his neck.

Skin Tone/Condition: Slate grey, dark and riddled with cracks. A deep red and orange light emanates from these cracks, as if the man's body is only a shell around a raging fire within.

Markings: -

Combat Stats

Dominant Hand: Left

Equipment:

-Upper Body:
* Hellfire Armour - once thought to be a standard US-issue ballistic vest with plating, the body armour has since morphed into a fiery, ashen armoured regenerative vest, a mere visage of what it once was. It protects against most medium calibre bullets, but has a harder time stopping higher powered projectiles.

-Lower Body:
* Boots of Flame - these special combat boots are part of Luis' Flame Boost power; their soles easily combust and break away to allow his flame jets to burst forth. They also regenerate nearly instantly, but do little else.

Weapons
* Cuarenta (Forty)- What was once an M249 SAW is now a fire-spitting beast of death. Drawing upon daemonic powers, the machine gun's magazine no longer requires bullets, instead spitting a constant stream of hellfire bolts at Luis' enemies.
* Ira (Anger) - This Benelli M1014 shotgun is no longer a shotgun. It instead is an agony launcher, firing explosive shot or depositing pellets of distilled pain and fury into enemies, turning them into mindless killing machines that cannot tell friend from foe.
* Desierto (Desert) - What used to be an IMI Desert Eagle is now a heat-seeking bolt thrower. The bolts from this unholy pistol release ungodly amounts of heat when fired, drying up plant life, dirt or soil, superheating liquids, metals and solid structures and weakening them.
* Spada (Sword)- Luis' machete has been given a brain and a pair of eyes and a mouth, and now this foul blade reaps death in the battlefield, its bloodlust and power growing with each kill.

Abilities
* Super enhanced strength, endurance and stamina to nearly superhero levels.
* Enhanced speed and reflexes.

Magic
* Fire Form - By breaking free of his ashen flesh shell, Sanchez is able to turn his whole body and kit into an unstoppable raging fire, capable of swarming and engulfing small to medium-sized structures and turning everything into ash. Standing still and within his ashen shell, Fire Form renders him impervious to most basic projectile, penetrating or wounding attacks. When not in this form, he is mostly human. Sustaining Fire Form requires stamina, and though Sanchez is high on that, it's not infinite.
* Ashen Flesh - What encloses his heart of hellfire, Ashen Flesh is a passive magic that overtook Luis' entire body upon his death and resurrection. It converts his skin, muscle and bone into a hard, dense ash that protects his innards. This ash isn't impervious to his own internal fires; the light and bursts of flame that emanate from the tiny cracks within the ash are what enhances his aesthetic. The ash is strong enough to withstand basic non-powered attacks from any type of melee weapon, though not tough enough to withstand either powered attacks or bullets. Other projectile attacks that are magical, not gunpowder-powered, are dissipated or absorbed, unless the power levels are too high. It all depends.
* Flame Boost - By breaking holes in the soles of his feet, Luis is able to blow out jet streams of fire out his legs and effectively boost around like Iron Man. Flame Boost renders Luis capable of short-distance, sustainable flight, or long-distance ground travel.
* Unkillable - Being made of unquenchable fire means that Luis effectively cannot die, though like Cho before him, being injured greviously or to the point of death means that he has to spend a long period of time slowly regenerating his body and rekindling his flames.

Bio
Voice: Hard, crackly, as if he was talking through a fire.

Personality: Sanchez is very up-front, gung-ho and boisterous. Most that are asked to describe him say that he laughs in the face of danger, and most times it shows.

Backstory: Sanchez was a full blooded Spanish-American, born and raised in San Jose on the west coast. Not long after he hit the right age, he immediately requested to sign on with the army. After his basics, he was placed within an infantry battalion, one that was posted to fight the War on Terror. This was in 2003.

In 2006, his platoon came under fire from an enemy machine gun emplacement inside a building. Trapped across a road from the rest of his section, Sanchez took it upon himself to free the rest of his comrades from the suppression of hot lead. With only his LMG and shotgun, he charged at the building in question, daring and taunting the insurgents within to kill him. They put up a fight, but Sanchez beat them back, forcing the gunner away from his position by firing back. With his bravery and confidence under fire, it was then that Delta Force took notice.

Two years later, in 2008, Sanchez was part of a Delta Force squad that single-handedly took down a terror cell hiding in a remote desert base on the outskirts of Cairo. On their way home though, they were ambushed by insurgent raiders and subsequently trapped in an abandoned town. It was there that he and his squad fought not only insurgents, but something else entirely. Something not quite human.

The dark skinned, robotic humanoid that greeted their squad wiped out the insurgents in a fit of rage, then turned on the four operators with a fire unmatched by anything they'd ever seen before. The team was killed, one by one, until Sanchez was the only one alive. The man was burned to a cinder by his opponent's magical fire, left as a husk on the battlefield next to the corpses of his friends.

Thus the Darkness chose him to bear an eternal fire and turned him into the Reaper of War.

Just as in life, when a courageous fire burned within his heart that could not be quenched, so too in death he was given a fire, a flame that consumed his entire inner being and set him ablaze in a furious inferno.

When he awoke, he found his skin like hard ash, his flesh like cinders and his inner body a raging fire. His weapons were possessed by daemons, and yet they were strangely friendly with them.

And, in front of him, stood another man. A man made of shadow.

A friend.

A Reaper.

OthersDaemons
Much like Cho before him, Luis was bonded to four daemons after his experience with death. However, in accordance to the way he died, the daemons he was bonded with are vastly different to the ones Cho travels with.

Cuarenta
Cuarenta, or Ren for short, is a fire daemon. She resides in Luis' machine gun and, like Tac, is considered the de factor 'leader' amongst the four daemons with Luis. Her gentle and often understanding nature belies the cruelty and ruthlessness of her daemonic fire.

As Renny is a fire daemon, her powers and skillset are mainly devoted to fire; either causing it, spreading it, or imbuing it into his weapons and body.

Ira
Ira is a rage daemon, and he resides in Luis' shotgun. The youngest of the four, he doesn't let his inexperience stop him from unleashing fiery anger and unholy rage upon Luis' enemies.

Ira's skills and powerset passively augment Luis' combat and endurance abilities, bestowing upon him godly levels of endurance, healing and stamina, while enhancing his natural strength and speed.

Desierto
Desierto, or Des for short, is a heat daemon, and the main difference between her and Ren is that while Ren produces and manipulates fire, Des can make and manipulate heat. She resides within Luis' pistol, and she is commonly used as a precursor for stronger attacks from his other weapons. Though her usefulness is limited, it doesn't stop her from trying to be the best she can be.

With aggressive heat as the basis for her skill and powersets, Des is most often used as a combat starter, prepping the battlefield and targets so that his other weapons have the most effect when they come into play.

Spada
Spada is the oldest daemon of the lot, and is an elite daemon fighter and warrior. While he doesn't have any special abilities, he makes up for it by being Luis' main source of combat smarts in the field, guiding the one-man wrecking crew along when he's busy being an unstoppable killing machine. He resides within his machete, and is most at ease in the heat of battle.

Spada's entire skill and moveset rely upon Luis' instincts and close-quarters combat abilities. By constantly observing and analysing a fight or combat, he is able to give consistent, good advice, as well as being able to make any bladed attacks home in slightly on their target.

[User] The other man brought the machine gun up, then started talking? Drall thought he heard his real name, but nonetheless the man continued to talk. Before he could even finish his little speech Drall zeroed the sights on his center mass and rapidly sent seven rounds from his magazine downrange.

[Assistant]
As the bullets tore through his body he staggered, getting pushed back slightly from the force of the rounds impacting his chest. Without thinking he immediately flashed his body into fire, exploding in a red hot inferno as he quickly converted his sustained wounds into fire that burned strong and hot. Then, as quickly as he had exploded from his ashen flesh, he reformed himself, his flesh forming back and cracking under the intense heat contained within.

"Hijo de puta."

He ran straight at the offending office building and burst into flames, blasting straight up towards the fifth floor in a raging inferno. As he broke through the windows, he reformed himself and raised his machine gun, squeezing the trigger and laying down a field of fire upon his adversary.

[User] "that's annoying" Drall commented to himself as his opponent reformed. The man sprinted at the building and Drall let the G3 fall so it was hanging on its sling. The minute he turned to flames and began to climb Drall dropped two fragmentation grenades at his feet and turned sprinting. Diving over a desk as his opponent shattered the window to shield himself from the explosion that ensued as soon as his opponent opened fire.

[Assistant]
As he landed and peppered the area with gunfire, the two frag grenades his adversary dropped detonated. The combined concussive shockwave knocked him back a step, but it was the desk that impacted his face not a moment after that made him stagger back a few more steps. As the heavy wooden desk shattered into pieces against his body, he grew enraged, roaring as a torrent of fire poured from his mouth, setting the office space in front of him on fire, triggering the fire alarms and sprinklers not a moment after.

The explosion itself tore a mighty hole in the floor of the current level of the office building, completely shredding the metal framework at the corner where his adversary had been. Glass in the whole level was shattered into pieces, and the power was out from the major damage. The building as a whole was mostly unharmed, but the current area was very unstable; the floor falling out in places nearby the explosion site.

As he calmed down, he surveyed the area. His opponent was out of sight, had been as soon as he'd got up here. Probably had run off somewhere to cower while his explosives did their work.

He back slung his machine gun and brought his automatic shotgun forward instead, pumping the slide to chamber the first shell even as it pulsed and rumbled in his hands, the daemon within aching to get some action.

"Now where is this puta. Sniff him out, Ira. Find 'im."

Following his shotgun's instincts, he slowly walked in the direction of Drall's hiding place. Obviously not knowing where he was exactly, once he reached the little set of cubicles and desks where the man was hiding, he raised his shotgun and held down the trigger. The automatic shotgun roared and spat explosions in quick succession as he raked his fire across the area, each gunshot sounding deafening in the confined space. The shells that he fired contained explosive warheads that primed in the short distance between gun and target, and detonated once they impacted any solid surface.

The entire area would be torn to complete shreds before he'd have to stop and reload or switch weapons. The miniature fragmentation grenades contained within each shotgun shell would most definitely result in some form of injury unless he moved.


[System]
Species: Human
Age: 40

Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.

Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.

Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.

Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It's not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.

Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.

Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren't much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.

It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.

His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.

-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.

Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.

With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.

Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.

As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.

So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.

He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.

Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus.

[User]
Isabeau had not moved from her spot within the group. As each made attempt to address or calm the scared man behind the bar counter, she had only drifted towards the back, slowly and cautiously moving into the tavern, assessing each guest and their threat level. The conversation turned back to Sakaala. How overly gracious of the best woman to make such an offer. Not only would she not use a room and still part way with her coin, but she had also offered to fix the man's door. The barkeep stared at the large beast, whether it was out of awe or fear, curiosity or suspicion, it wasn't clear. But he slowly nodded to her and stuttered a single word. "Thanks".

Her nose wrinkled in thought, which had been split among too many variables to count. Dizzying to say the very least. Taking a moment to breathe, she shut them out long enough to gather enough coin for the barkeep. Enough for the room, dinner and enough gin to drown her pesky conscience and its thoughts.

"I will take the first room then, and gin along with my dinner please. Thank you." Her mouth seemed a bit dry, and her voice slightly hoarse with exhaustion. She glanced towards Ajax, though not at him persay, but more to spot the artifact on his person. She trusted him enough that he wouldn't kill her, either he had no reason to or she amused him somehow. But she couldn't yet make up her mind on whether or not she trusted him with the artifact. Everyone was at risk, but perhaps the question was Is he stupid enough to linger on it long enough to be corrupted? Is he stupid enough to keep it from me?. Creases formed around her lips as she pursed them. She hated not trusting people just as much as she hated having to trust people. Neither made her job any easier, and moreso it just gave headaches and heartache. But there seemed to be little choice in this matter, she have to trust him, as she imagined it wouldn't end well if she tried to take it from him. She loosed a soft sigh and turned her attention back to the barkeep.

"On second thought, I would like the strongest stuff you got, and I'll take that now, thank you.

[Assistant]
"I don't think the inn is being robbed." Tarden muttered to himself, as if saying the words out loud would help him to believe them. He grabbed his pick and slowly headed downstairs. Foot after foot he creeped down the stairs and took a concealed look at the assembled group. Okay, the bar is being robbed was the only conclusion he could draw.

The various strangers that had entered the bar all towered around Jarkson as he cowered behind the bar. Well, except for one child who slept in the arms of a young man. The door lay across the floor in some pieces, and Tarden could only attribute that to the great hulking ball of muscle who stood stoically to the side. Jarkson was probably on his own, Tarden didn't think he take any one of them in a duel, let alone all of them. Except maybe the child he mused. Actually, I couldn't hit a child. I would lose that fight too. and his self esteem lowered just that little bit more

"On second thought, I would like the strongest stuff you got, and I'll take that now, thank you." It was one of the politest requests from a thief Tarden had heard, and she didn't look overly threatening to be honest. Eyes fool, minds don't! his father had once told him, and it was a much better idea to stay back before he jumped to any conclusions. He had an uneasy sense of danger when he looked at her. If it came to a fight he knew she'd be much faster than him, but he had every other advantage. But deep down, he still knew he'd lose, and he couldn't put his finger on why he felt that.

He quickly moved himself back into a concealed position and thought about what he could do, singing a silent prayer that Jarkson had this under control.

[User]
Ajax nodded at the man, offering a grin as the details of their stay were worked out. "Well there you go, this doesn't have to be terribly unpleasant for anyone" he said in an honestly merry tone as he picked the door back up as though it were a simple plank and carried it towards the hole it had once covered, setting it down in such a way that it at least partially blocked the entrance to the establishment. And then it kind of hit him. "Oh right. I lost what little I had fighting the demon summoner living in a cursed mansion right up the road" he casually uttered, making a little pause to let the words sink in.

Ajax was, indeed, quite literally stripped down to his undergarments. Unless he had some gold hidden there somewhere, he wasn't lying when he said he had absolutely nothing left to give whether the townsfolk bought into the talk of evil sorcerers or not. Of course, if those words were true then maybe these people could be seen as heroes and then they could get some free lodging. "Ajax Diagorides always pays his debts, however. Surely you have a problem that needs solving. Something to move, something to raze, a limb to break...", he said as he cocked an eyebrow at the man. "I won't judge. There's always something".


[System]
Appearance:

Alias(es): Hellspawn

Age:36

Gender: Male

Description:

Height-5'9
Weight-180
Skin: Tan
Hair: darkish brown
eye colour: dark brown, almost makes it seem like he has no iris
build: Average build as fit as any regular military member

special features,

Magic Type: Mana

Role: Battlemage

Specialty: Elemental magic

Personality:
Quiet
Studious
knowlegable
Lack of sympathy\
Loves sweets
Hates Pirates, criminals, evil doers
Explosive when angered

Background:

Born of Hell's Flames

Arn was born to a mother who had been sold to a brothel by pirates. He never knew why he had been allowed to live when other females merely killed the embryo in utero. Perhaps it was his mother's need for somebody to truly love instead of the myriad of men who visited her bed.

Whatever the case, Arn grew in the rough and deadly environment of vice and vile. Despite this, he still thought that life had more to offer. He grew up really quick, always wanting to take care and protect his mother. He spent his time running from bullies and just trying to survive really. While he hid from the older kids, he would spend his time reading random books he found in the trash. His favorite was of oriental stories of men of valor, strength, and honor.

It was this mentality that steered him in the direction of trying to be a hero. It was one of time that a particularly violent customer visited his mother and he was hiding in the balcony that he attempted to act on his illusions of saving her from that life. He burst in while the man abused his mother. Arn tried to attack the man but ended up getting beat. His mother then tried to protect him and the drunk and angry man beat her unconscious. Thinking her dead, the young boy knocked the man down and in a feat of anger somehow activated his contact with Gea which manifested into an inferno.

Flames engulfed his hands which in turn devoured not only the violent man, but his mother and the building with all in it. Authorities would later report finding the crying boy holding the charred body of a female, his own hands sporting serious burns.

Learning to Temper the Fire

Eventually, it was discovered that the sad angry boy was adept in magic. He was recruited by the military and sent to study at the academy in Belisio. He was too dark, sad, and awkward to be of good social standing. However, he was able to forgo this with the sanctity of the vast library. It was here that he fully threw himself into learning all he could of magic. He felt that in some way, his mother's sacrifice had unlocked this gift in him. It was a way for him to feel closer to her in a world where he felt alone. Due to his focus and innate gift, he was soon a top level student which meant he was in the focus of jealousy and bullying from less capable more influential students. Luckily for him, the military cared nothing for his lack of social know how. Instead, he went on to become the youngest battle mage so far.

Forged in the Fires of War.

Arn was no stranger to death and suffering even before he stepped into the battle field. However, he was too good of a killer even for his superiors. He specially seemed to be extra vicious against pirates or criminals. Many of his squad mates could swear they saw his dark eyes gleam with fire as he incinerated people who had been on the verge of surrendering. This and the fact he preferred fire attacks that earned him the nickname Hellspawn. He was headed towards a court martial when a Knight took him under his wing.

The only reason why Arn listened to him was because the knight reminded him of the oriental warriors he had read in his novels. The Knight taught Arn self control, temperance, and peace. Interestingly enough, this made him an even more efficient killing machine. However, this new facet was much more focused. He still felt no remorse in killing bad people, but his incidents of friendly fire were all but none existent. He won the trust of his squad mates and superiors but the nick name never went away. Indeed, many in the underworld still say the name in hushed tones.

Equipment:

Samurai armor fashioned battle vest that is made of Kevlar plates able to withstand small caliber bullets and some explosives.

Keeps Ornamental Daisho swords but that are still able to be used in battle

Abilities:

Flamethrower- His mana excites the atoms around him and engulfs his hands/feet in flame and able to expel it up to 15FT like a flame thrower

Burst- able to produce an outwardly expanding flame ball with the force of a claymore mine. Produces fire and concussion damage.

Rock Wall: Causes a concentrated seismic reaction that produces a rock wall up to 6ft tall and about 3ft thick.

Avalanche: Able to deteriorate an area of ground by cutting the Aether strings which will cause a collapse of about 3ft deep to an area of a bout 15ft.

Wind Bullet: Able to compress the air around him and fire it off at high velocities.

Wind Cushion: Focuses a high air pressure to form an upward force to slow the rate of descent. Especially effective if used with parachutes or other such devices.

Hydrocannon- synthesizes the moisture into a stream as powerful as a fireman's hose.

Extra: (Optional)

[User]
"Confident as always. Some would say such confidence will not always hold up."
Tyrhallan watched the man shift to a more suitable battle stance. He could sense Leo was adjusting and raising his ki, probably as much as he was. The only difference was where they chose to send that energy.
To Tyr it was spend in a single fraction. What good were barriers and walls when your opponent was already within one's own inner circle. No way to deflect, all that was needed was one strike. It was his preferred method of fighting. Like a Viper or a Falcon swooping down with outstretched talons.
He was about to oblige Leo for once, knowing the young man's reputation and love for the deathly dance.
It would be a good way to warm up indeed and to allow the man to lose some that unspent eager rage. That need for a fight, a gnawing feeling that would overcome every warrior, even someone like himself fell to its powers when he was not careful.
With the battle closing in on them, this might be his only reprieve before the storm.
Tyrhallan needed to silence his own troubled mind, he was about to respond when he noticed that Leo had noticed their spectators.
Or rather the mage who had been quite ready to use his magic on them.
Hearing Leo's words however made him roll his eyes in resignation, could the young man find some more wisdom in the silence of his tongue instead of using it to start another fight to release the bottled up desires. He was itching for a fight all right, by all accounts he best prevent the fool from being burst into flames.
He turned as well facing the mage and those behind him with a stern but friendly expression, holding up his hand in a gentle gesture.
"All is well, there is no need for your well-meant interference Battle Mage. Keep your watchful eye though, for I believe it will prove lifesaving in the battle to come. Be assured for I have control over this particular situation."
To Leo he send a look of 'Don't goad them. This is not the time.'

[Assistant]
Arn lowered his arms when Leo addressed him. He cancelled his connection with Gia and the casting ceased immediately. The feeling in his stomach dissipated and his heart rate went back to normal. He gave Leo a quizzical look. Most of sarcasm was lost on the battle mage. He wondered why there was an annoyed feeling in the air.

Apparently, he had walked in on another Knightly duel. Knights often dueled for honor, or to prove something or etc. While there was some sort of unwritten rule that Knights and mages were to never get along this fell along the lines of politics for him and he cared little for it. He never even knew what the disagreement was supposed to be anyway. When the knight with noble demeanor utilized his politically correct address the battle mage shrugged.

"I did not mean to intervene in any sort of practice or sparring session. However, as you are well aware gentlemen, training must be routed via the appropriate channels and sanctioned by the Commanding Officer. Unless, immediate training is necessary to ensure efficient and safe mission completion. If this was a sparing session, the rules state that there must be at least a witness to prevent any sparring from veering into brawls."

He approached the pair. He moved easily and confidently. He was not much shorter than Dalmer. He could appreciate both the knight's stature and obvious fitness levels. If a spar match was to ensue, the mage had no doubt that they would give a good show. This gave him an idea and addressed the warriors in an even but respectful tone.

 "I understand that you gentlemen would like to blow off some steam instead of all this waiting. Honestly, I think your spar would perhaps serve as a diversion for the junior personnel which would boost their morale and prevent any last minute jitter from setting in." He looked both directly in the eyes. He did not care for politics but he cared for the lives of men and women who served in the military. Arn would do his best to keep as many alive as he could even if that meant his own death.

[User]
I couldn't help it, Leo gestured back with an elaborate shrug.

As the mage spoke again however, it quickly became apparent that he would provide no amusement and his words soon became noise to Leo as he wondered what kind of magic the man might have used on him.

Leo had fought mages before, but try as he might, he never could decipher what the signs of their power meant before taking form and effect. Whether it was a slight shimmer in the air, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, or the physical movements of the mages themselves, it was impossible to read. All Leo knew was to get out of the way before anything happened and launch a counter attack as quickly as possible.

A horizontal slash towards the neck, unprotected by the armour, Leo thought as he imagined ways of killing the mage in a combat scenario, resisting the impulsive urge to do it for real.

Then with an abruptness that was almost surprising, the mage stepped forward to approach the two knights, close enough for Leo to see the man's brown eyes and startlingly small irises. This time, Leo could not help paying close attention as the mage spoke.

"Well, how about that," Leo said, nodding with approval as he turned towards Tyrhallan. "What do you say, Captain? Shall we put on a show for them?"

[Assistant]
Tyrhallan unlike Leo listened patiently to the Battlemage. He observed the shift in demeanour and carefully took a long reading look over the man, who appeared closer to him in age, but with mages one couldn't really tell.
He was a bit perturbed by the man to lecture 'him' of all people on the rules, but he chastised himself stating that he most likely would have done the same thing. Nevertheless, it rubbed him the wrong way. He would have to find out the man's name later and make a mental note of it...if his underlings ever complained about his strictness towards the rules he would drag up this guy.
Still to his surprise and that of he actually proposed to turn their little warm up into a proper sparring match.
He pondered the request not showing his immediate thoughts on the matter, unlike Dalmer who's eagerness was akin to that of dog waiting for its treat.
He turned his gaze towards the sky again as if he was listening or searching for something, before a soft exclamation of breath was given in agreement.

"Very well and considering your own contribution to this sparring match Battle Mage, you can be the Arbiter." He said as he narrowed his eyes. "After all someone has to oversee the rules and judging of the match, someone as impartial as you would do nicely."

[User]
Arn felt both men studying him. He felt no danger or awkwardness from this. He actually expected it from veteran soldiers which actually spoke beneficially for the two knights. They were appraising him not on the looks of his clothes or age but on actual battle efficiency and theat. He felt it only proper that he would do the same. It was easy to see that these two had seen many battles. Real ones at that. The way they held their weapons was very comfortable, very learned. The knights had managed to meld with their weapons to the point that it was part of them. Just as one forgets they have toes or arms until they are needed.

The battlemage's eyes fluttered to Leo, who enthusiastically agreed to the proposal. It was not hard to imagine that the knight enjoyed the thrill of battle. After all, the clang of steel and the din of battle are but songs to an battle happy heart. His attention was demanded by the hidden tone in the other knight's tone. While polite and proper, Arn had been on the receiving end of such tones all his military career. He had no problem sharing his origin and his mother's occupation. Disrespect of either of these however, would land him in the brig again or perhaps in the stocks.

Instead of feeling annoyed or irritated at the condescending tone the obviously nobly birthed warrior sent his way, Arn merely shrugged. The battlemage's own tone was calm and almost monotone. "I will readily be the Arbiter. For ease of communication allow me to introduce myself. I am Arn of the second Battlemage battalion, the Shooting Stars. I have no family name." He offered this last statement as a way to prevent any further questioning not as a way of apology.

"I do not believe that rules and procedures would need to be enforced in a battle between knights. It is understood that your honor is your bond. The match rules will be simple. The battle ends upon loss of consciousness or forfeit. However, I will ensure that no excessive force is used and would like to ask you gentlemen do not feel honor bound to prevent defeat. After all, tomorrow will require all available swords." His tone was without feeling but his words could be construed as insulting. Arn however merely held the two knights gaze.

"Might I suggest we move this to marshalling spot B? I believe that they have yet to fully utilize it for the on load of stores." He turned his head in the direction though he was sure that they would know where that was. All squad leaders and supervisors had been given muster orders and locations.


[System]
Alias: Juppy
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Disposition:

Cheerful, humorous, get 'er done!

He's the kind that stays 'in character', the one that loves laughing and provides something to either laugh at or tell to shut up, every time. And, while being that guy that you could pour your heart out to and get it in return- he's got a real heart of gold- he acknowledges the shittiness of the world, and gladly takes a paycheck to shoot it up. A morally right, honorable guy.

Harold is a man who has seen all manner of people, tried all manner of food, and has been beaten up by a great many people- so he's since then figured that every, regardless of nation, has just as good as bad, and it just depends on how they use it. He's a bit of an unforgiving guy, though, because he believes that if you do wrong, you decided to do it, and that's a great offense to him. He's well aware that some people are more violent, or will curse more- but act wrong and he'll not forget.

History:
A native Sodroyan, he's a blend of everyone from all over the world, his household being a great big multistyled house that expanded with the family- which now numbers in the dozens, in an oddly chaotic but routine lifestyle of sharing and caring. Amid lots of screaming.

Many questioned his reasons of going into fighting- quite simply, he didn't want to get beaten up on, and he had a talent for information- for command and control. He served in the military, joining up as soon as possible, and quickly found himself as a tactician and planner, an adviser to the more experienced officers. After the bureaucratic bullshit tired him, Harold quit the military, resigning within a week all of a sudden, and going out to buy a really nice mech- and started suiting it up when he realized that he didn't have all the funds.

And so he joined the Preying Panthers. ("Hehehe, the Pee-Pee. Sounds friggin odd, but I got my hope!")

Appearance: 2.bp.blogspot.com/-2rsVWJvoC3o/UmbEMjM..
5' 11", 185 lbs., green eyes, brown hair, brown/red beard. As muscly as a casual laborer is, but not thug-like or hulking.

Other: Does the history need to be written out beforehand or can I make it up as I go? Whatwith the "past doesn't matter, this is your new family" and all.

Name: Jupiter Grounded (ACS-3G Zaruga)
Manufacturer: Cradle Dynamics
Height: 4.1 meters
Weight: 5230 kg
Armor: 20 mm durasteel alloy
Speed (Walk): 65 kph
Speed (Skate): 91.6 kph
Sensor range: 5 km
Communication range: 25 km
Operating range: 600 km
Extra Systems: ECM suite, laser target designator
Power: 130
Weight: 80

Armaments:
(50 weight free; 10+24+2+5= 41 of 50 weight used)
- 1x Autocannon - GPR21
- 1x Bazooka - ATB140 "Bully"
- 1x Anti-infantry - MG27

- 1x C3 Imaging Suit
- 1x EVF "Chameleon" Active Camouflage

UNEQUIPED:
- 2x AT Missile - MGR-2A
- 1x Autocannon - AFC-40/L

Money:
First mission stats:
$+400,000 completion payment
$-132,000 for ATB140 and GPR21 and C3 and EVF
$+59,000 previous balance
Total: $+337,000

Beginning:
$+600,000 starter payment
$-541,000 for Zaruga, 2x MGR-2A, 1x AFC40L, and MG27
Total: $+59,000

[User]
Ryder sat with a stone cold expression in the waiting area among her fellow recruits. She was silent, completely silent as she awaited their CO. Other than the occasional blinking or tapping of the foot, she sat nearly completely still with a morose look upon her face. As one of the first ones to arrive in the waiting area, she found herself sending stares to each other pilot. Looking them up and down, subtly as she inspected them. This lasted a while before her thoughts began to wander.

Ryder's memories were clouded before her incident, so her thoughts switched to her FRAME. She was by no means an expert, but she learned the ropes and was battle ready, especially outside of the FRAME. Ryder's eyes flicked shut as she imagined being immersed in her Zaruga once more. This lasted mere moments, though, before two people entered the waiting room, but not from the same door the recruits had emerged from. Ryder directed her attention to the female in front as she spoke.

Ryder silently obeyed Cecilia's command, standing from her original seat and heading to take a seat near the front of her commander's screen so she could view it easily. She leaned her elbows on the divide in front of her seat, listening attentively as she soaked in the mission information.

"Cradle Dynamics has requested that we intercept a Paloka Industries shipping convoy, passing between New Lundregen to Kent." Her Commanding Officer stated. Ryder looked to her belt as he did so, tapping a hand gently on the weapon holstered at her side. The mission could get dangerous for her fellow Panthers in an instant, and although they would be in their frames, she always felt safer with the weaponry at her side. Ryder paused for a mere few moments as Cecilia finished, waiting for anyone's questions to be answered and then hastily pushing herself to her feet and heading to inspect her FRAME for the mission without a word.

[Assistant]
Isabella sat with the others in the waiting area and made good on the rooms intended purpose. Not that she waited patiently of course, she hated the downtime before the briefs or any downtime for that matter, and tried her best to keep herself occupied by scanning over the fresh meat. The newbies were a mixed bunch, homogeneity certainly didn't seem to be the Panther's MO if the people they recruited were any indication. The fact that the newbies were going on this mission made Isabella uncomfortable, she'd only been with the Panthers for a year but they'd at least given her a proper evaluation that wouldn't potentially kill her or result in a loss of profit for the company. The entire thing just seem needlessly risky, but considering the lack of veterans still kicking around the outfit, a trial by fire did make a certain kind of sense. Either way, its not my call, she thought and pushed her apprehension from her mind and went back to scanning the motley crew assembled outside of the war room.

The girl in the corner with the purple hair was interesting. She was strikingly beautiful, but what drew Isabella's attention was her mechanical arm. Its not often that people that young walk into a merc outfit, much less with replacement limbs. But Isabella supposed that she wasn't much older when she got her own arms blown off. She seemed pensive, or adamant on avoiding contact with others and so Isabella let her be, no need starting something right before her first mission with the crew, though Isabella would certainly like to get to know her afterward. There was also the man who seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn't. He was an odd duck by her first glance, but nothing too out of the ordinary.

Her observations were cut short when the door opened and XO Lang ushered them inside. Isabella let out a sigh of relief and plopped down into her seat in the war room. She listened carefully to the scant details of the briefing. She wasn't sure if Bentz' omission of what they may be facing was intentional or not, but it certainly didn't put her at ease. Her body and infrequent dreams could attest to what happens when you have bad intel and she certainly didn't want a repeat.

"We're heading out in an hour," Cecilia informed the pilots. "Until then, make any preparations to your FRAMEs and be ready to move. Any questions?"

Isabella moved to speak, but her question had already been forwarded by Elaine. Instead she simply pointed at the fiery readhead "Yeah, what she said." While she waited for an answer the guy who wasn't talking earlier seemed to suddenly find his voice again. What began as a question rather quickly turned into a long treatise on why he needed C&C modules for his FRAME. That's a bit forward for a new recruit she thought and also made a mental note to not ask him many questions. Isabella suspected that if she got him talking he would never stop.

[User]
"Is this a paid test?" was the first question to come from the assembly. Richard chuckled, admiring Jason's bluntness.

"The payout for the mission is over four million creds, which will be divided among you lot. The rest goes to fund the Samigina's upkeep and crew. You can expect to walk away with around five hundred thousand each, give or take."

"But don't get ahead of yourself," Cecilia chimed in. "If you don't make the cut, you don't get a cut."

"Do we have any information on the numbers and strength of the security forces?" asked a familiar voice, belonging to Elaine; already a fully-fledged Panther.

"I can't give you a hard number, but I would expect at least two FRAMEs per vehicle. There are supposed to be four to five trucks. Let me remind you that businesses in the OSU are state-owned, so there's a good chance the FRAMEs we'll encounter are military. I'd expect them to be running medium Dreq FRAMEs." Richard brought up an image of a Dreq on the screen. "It's the standard general-purpose FRAME of the OSU. Don't let your guard down."

As Bentz finished his answer, he was almost immediately met with another, asked by one of the newcomers. He recognized the man's face as Harold "Juppy" Benson, a Sodroyan. He had a pretty respectable knack for intel, even if he was a little eccentric. Cecilia shared an awkward glance with her boss and opened her mouth to retort.

"You'd better hope I don't send you into this operation on point," she snapped, furrowing her brow. "Your background may have enticed the boss but until I see you in a FRAME, I don't care what your 'qualifications' are. You follow my instructions while we're in the field, you understand?"

Richard raised a hand and wore a grin to diffuse his adjutant's outburst. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to mod your machine how you see fit," he said calmly. "I can't guarantee you'll build the FRAME of your dreams, but you shouldn't be wanting for options. Your loadouts for this mission are very basic, I'll admit; but within good reason. We need to see what you're capable of at the most basic levels, without the aid of fancier tech."

"If there are no further questions, you're all dismissed," Cecilia announced, in a voice more suited to indoors. The glare of her eyes still simmered, however. "Be ready to board your FRAMEs at 0700. Don't keep us waiting."

[Assistant]
Benson sat through his XO's rather unprofessional lecture of how he needed to be combat ready and all that, entirely unfazed. And, he took it to heart, he knew that he needed to be combat ready, but it seemed that this lady had it out for him. So he gave a salute, nodded his agreement at all her points, maybe a little too innocently and agreeable for what was supposed to be a scathing response, and replied amiably enough.

"Yes ma'am, you make good points! Except I'm not saying front lines as in the literal front lines, I'm just saying front lines as in the actual battlefield, regardless of where I'm supposed to be. I'm not saying I can't fight, I'm just saying that I am more enthusiastic and, as said, I am hired for other reasons. And while I am not amazing with a FRAME, I do indeed know how to use them. And I'm not saying I'm going to be in control, either. If everyone can focus on their piece of the battle, and get updates as needed concerning them, without having to listen to the chatter about everything, it makes it easier for a pilot. Calling down airstrikes on command without the ones in the thick of it gives those that are in the thick of it more focus on the battle, without worrying about exactly where the rounds will hit, while I can make sure they aren't hit by friendly fire. I never said nothin about giving orders, just relaying them. A messenger, the map, the advisor that can still participate in the battle."

He gave a small smile, and nodded his head respectfully to his XO. Then he saluted his CO, still oddly military-like in the mercenary outfit, and gave a small wave goodbye, as he turned and strode after the rest of the team.

And inside, he felt like he just wrestled a rattlesnake, and was sure that he'd find that he'd been bitten.

He pushed it out of his mind- his quick retreat meant only to force her to either follow him- which would degrade her, to have to chase after a newbie- or to sit and think about what he said. She shouldn't have gone off on him, he believed, he wasn't and shouldn't have to be super precise with his wording to get his point across.

He sighed, as he approached his FRAME- he was quite sure he had made an enemy.


[System]
Age: 274
Gender: Male
Race: Ashan
Element: All
Background: Atlas is one of those rare male figures of the Ashan race that actually does a lot of dangerous and challenging tasks. Why is he an exception? Well, he's good at what he does.

Reason being, his a member of the Red Sun. Taking from birth, he was trained to be a cunning and deadly assassin. He was remarkably good at what he did, and his natural gift for magic only aided in his success. Using his clone as well as his other abilities, he completes most of his tasks with ease.

His is of great loyalty to the Red Sun and does all his tasks without question or second thought, and is a very accomplished Artist. He has a knack for stealth, and purely uses his body and his own abilities to complete his mission.

More personally, Atlas doesn't have much connections or personal interest besides the Red Sun. He has spent his whole life with them and completed many missions of varying degree, and is one of the Grandmaster's best Artists. Although he has a lot to learn, and is still growing as an assassin, his natural ability for it puts his ahead of the game. A killing machine, known by most as "The Shadow".

::ADVANTAGES::
Reflexes: Lvl-5. Nothing much sneaks up on Atlas, he's quick, always on his feet. He can inhumanely dodge out of the way of things, with impressive barrel rolls, back flips, bends and twists.

Stealth: Lvl-1. Being an Artist, Atlas has learned the art of stealth to sneak up on his opponents. Where he isn't the stealthiest person, he can quite his footsteps and knows how to stay hidden.

Hand-to-hand Combat: Lvl-2. Atlas has moderate skill in this form of combat, such as a MMA fighter would. Also, his reflexes greatly bolster his combat, making him quick on his feet.

::POWERS::
Perfect Clone: Dark Lvl-5. Atlas can conjure a clone entirely made of darkness that is in his image. It is indistinguishable from him, and call use all his powers besides cloning, also think on its own and can relay information back to Atlas. In addition, the clone is stronger, faster, and can regenerate itself with ease. It can last for long, but the more energy it exerts and damage it takes, the shorter it can last unless Atlas uses his own energy to fuel the clone.

Adrenaline: Fire Lvl-1. A limit breaker that gives him the effects of adrenaline does for humans, increased strength, speed, dexterity, etc. Usually used to accomplish a difficult feat or enhance his combat skills.

Phasing: Earth Lvl-1. Atlas can change his own construct of his body and phase through matter for a very short time. He is unaffected by physical means for the most part, but can still be affected by powers and other means.

[User]
Sundancer, Below Deck

There was three things that a wise man feared : the calm before a storm, a night without song, and the wrath of a Erdevar stuck inside an airship. It was not that Asrai particularly had a dreadful fear of flying but she disliked the act all the same. She much prefered the ground beneath her feet. Ground did not go and explode randomly in the sky and kill everyone inside, ground did not depend on the calculations and skill of others to remain alive. Ground was dependable and stout qualities that Erdevar valued immensely.

Normally Asrai would have made her pilgrimage to Kamisai on foot treking across the empire, across the border into Juren, traveling to the Juren coast and taking a boat from there onto the island before trekking it across the Kamisai chain of isalnds to visit each of the pilgrimage temples before heading back to her old village. Though it seemed all sense of normality was quickly leaving Azure as the Mytryan Monarchy grew hungry for more power. What was once a simple border crossing, became a whole affair as she had to pass through several imperial checkpoints and now she couldn't even do that as only special military visas could get you through the impromptu blockade the imperials had created. Though things like a simple military checkpoint weren't going to stop her pilgrimage even if it meant having to fly on a death machine through the sky. Sometimes she cursed her own damn cultural obligations.

The Vukodav sat as she did for most of the trip in silence legs crossed in a meditative position. Her bow was across her lap and Adra was curled up next to her his canine frame slowly rising and falling with his gentle breaths. Meditation was less of something Asrai did and more of something must do. The practice of Erdevar mediation is a process that is placed into the children of Kamisai at a very young age. They spend their first months of training at the temple learning to meditate properly. It started out simple lots of sitting and deep breathing and eventually they moved to more abstract ideas things that would make the average man raise an eye in postulation. They learn to feel the anima around them fluxing and coursing like a gentle river as they trained to feel the ripples that life caused within it. This lead to a very acute sense of self and presence in a Erdevar medition state as it puts you very quickly into perspective into the much bigger span of the universe. Each breath felt miniscule and yet oddly important to the bigger picture as if even though the void did not care of you without you the void had nothing of contrast. Though Asrai was having trouble finding an extended period of peace due to the constant racket of the airship around her.

As the Sundancer groaned again gently Asrai opened one of her eyes again letting out a small sight. Giving up upon meditation she arose to her feet stirring Adra who got up and followed close behind leaving her cabin. She did not travel far moving only from her quarters to the stern observation area. An observation area in the way that the ship was a luxury liner really just a place at the back of the Sundancer that happened to have a small window. Through her she saw what she could barely deem to see as another airship heading in the same direction of them. The strange sight almost past her by absentmindedly but being that close to Jurden made her extra suspicious.

"Hmmm...." was all she said already pondering to herself as she continued her idle wandering about the underdeck of the ship, Adra following close behind. She wondered if she would run into any of the other souls aboard the ship. They had spoken only a little, the Ashen was an odd one and judging from what she could sense from him he was always rippling with magic something that Asrai could only disapprove of in her head, the mord was oddly talkative and always trying to find time to talk to somebody and pester them about life, their captain was apparently a cold and suspicious women who always seemed as if she was waiting for one of her guest to try and stab her. Honestly Asrai would prefer if she didn't have to speak to anybody as it would just become tiresome quickly.

[Assistant]
Storage bay of the Sundancer

A man sleeping in full armour has a few similarities to fighting hordes demons, as in both cases they're tasks widely associated with general foolishness and a lack of will to live. Also, they're both things Mords were simply forced to get used to, among plenty of other things. And also another similarity is that they both leave you pretty tired, but that last part didn't apply to Mords. Not when sleeping while wearing armour, anyway. Demon fighting always took a lot out of you.

Gilbert blinked slowly, emerging from a groggy state. He slowly got off the floor, careful not to hit his head and got into a sitting position. He then stretched his stiff limbs, cursing his sleeping situation in his mind. Sleeping in armour for most of your life might make you get used to it, but it didn't change the fact that it was uncomfortable. Adding to the fact that he'd been sleeping in the cargo bay because the rooms weren't really big enough for him, Gilbert figured that even the most flexible person in the world wouldn't get out of the night without being in serious need of a winch to pull their limbs out of the dead lock.

Gilbert's joints made some healthy cracking sounds, and he loosened up slightly. He let out a large yawn and decided to go up to the deck to get some air. Picking up the greatsword that lay next to him, he stuck it onto his back and got up. His head smashed into the roof but he recovered quickly and was on his way, head bowed to avoid the ceiling.

Gilbert made progress through the ship, his armoured footsteps making quite loud noises as he ascended. He stepped quietly enough outside the cabin doors, in case others were around, and continued upwards through the ship. He saw another of the passengers at the observation deck and offered a short wave with one hand, stifling an onconveniently timed yawn with the other. He didn't know if the Eredvar noticed him or not, but it was highly unlikely that she didn't. Regardless, he grunted a greeting, still trying to shake off his sleepiness.

"Good morning!" He said cheerfully, before continuing his walk.

Normally, he'd probably make some light conversation with other passengers, and indeed, he'd tried on the first day. However, his fellow passengers proved to be less social than him and he found that the conversation couldn't be kept long enough for it to be amusing. Watching the outside held more promise but there was little else to do on the small ship.

Well actually, it was quite large in the view of smaller people, but Mords were 2.5 meter tall colossi and they didn't normally fit well in the abodes of other species. Another thing that Mords just had to get used to. Gilbert didn't really mind, though. He liked people, and while they people on the ship were unsociable, he didn't think they were bad, so to speak.

In fact, the captain of the ship had been so nice to let him on her ship so he could get into Juren. He was thinking about visiting but the country was in lock down for some reason, and he'd managed to hitch a ride with a reasonably trustworthy looking person for some of his money. Well, a lot of his money actually, but he didn't really need to hang on to it anyway, and she seemed trustworthy. In the back of his mind, there was an inkling of a thought about borders and legal stuff, but Gil was never good at that kind of thing so he payed it no mind.

Gilbert continued to climb and found himself near the stern, where the captain usually spent her time. He paused for a minute and decided to say hello. He bent down slightly and knocked on the door 3 times. Two large clangs resonated and on the third knock, he accidentally forced the door to open with a small bang.

"Ah, whoops." Gilbert said.

Disregarding the door, he poked his head through the doorway and issued his greeting.

"Hey, captain!" He said cheerily. "What's it like in the skies today? Oh right, sorry about your door."

[User]
Hunter's Ship, below deck

What a drag...

This is what Atlas thought in his head as he occupied his corner of the hull. It wasn't much the style of an Artist, to work along with some brutes, most of which that looked like they would have trouble fighting their own grandmother. Let alone be on some airship manned by an officer in the Empire, of all people. The Arkard seemed experienced however, and probably knew how to use those swords he kept with him. But other than that, nothing really stood out to Atlas, his magical aptitude seemed a little dim. He never really liked wealthy, privileged beings, but Atlas presumed he would just have to mind him.He hoped he didn't act like an asshole with a ten foot pole up his rear, like most acted like with such wealth.

However, this was the assignment given to him, and he would accomplish it however it took. He was used to working alone on these things, relying on himself and his skills to accomplish his tasks. Other people just seemed like a liability. The only good thing about it was that all the attention wouldn't be on Atlas, and the ignorant bafoons could be cannon fodder all they wanted. As long as Atlas got to his ultimate goal, he saw everybody else as expendable.

Although there were a few individuals he noted that looked to be above the average crop of mercenaries. A male Baraki with a fiery magical aptitude, and looked like he's slaughtered a lot of... things. A barbaric man, he seemed like the top that would run in swinging in a blaze of glory, head-first. The perfect kind of cannon fodder. He seemed to sharpening his blade across the hull, and Atlas found this honestly annoying, the sound that echoed throughout the hull. But alas, he could find nothing to throw at him.

Another Baraki woman was to be found somewhere on the ship, a huntress type with a dark affiliation for summoning things. What, he didn't know, but it didn't seem like anything too major. Almost the same as the other Baraki, except a little less barbaric and a little more cunning. But just a little, Baraki never tended to be too smart. The only thing he liked about her was her jokes. They were funny at times, but other times there was nothing more he wanted to do than to put a well-placed roundhouse kick straight to her jaw.

The last of them was an oxidal, who didn't look like she could very much hold her own in a fight. King of, fragile actually, although most oxidals appeared that way to Atlas. The one thing he could say for her is that she seemed to have more brains than the two Baraki put together, and maybe even the imperial. Still, she wasn't much use to him combat-wise, so he really didn't think much of her. But for all he knew, she could have some kind of portable cannon.

Atlas stretched his black angel wings and had them lay evenly down his back before making sure that all his gear was in place, his metal knuckle pieces slipped over his hand, his light metal chest piece, and small metal reinforcemnts over his knees and elbows, which still allowed for maximum freedom of movement. He didn't want to be slowed down, after all. He heard they were getting close to his target's ship, and Atlas wondered how long it would be before they made contact. He had a feeling that he wouldn't have to wait very long.


[System]
Age: 23

Birthplace: Harlem

Current Location: On a plane to Athens, Greece.

Occupation: Actress on Broadway, previous movie star. Current leader of the Salem Movement otherwise known as the Salem Revival.

Personality: Tes is a very open, very extroverted person. She is very compassionate and has an unrivaled love of life. Adversely, she has a very dark side, developed and coaxed by being famous since she was a small child. Still, it is well hidden and usually never seen by anyone, repressed by years of psychotherapy and medications.

Appearance: She has a very welcoming stare, which is what made her famous. Even as a child, many people praised her on her gaze. Her eyes are green, a nice contract on her light brown skin and dark curly hair. She's very tall and full figured.

Hobbies/Interests: Drinking and playing video games. She recently bought the largest vineyard in all of the Americas, located in beautiful Southern California. She's already made back the cost tenfold in profits, a few months later. She churns out 'Satyr Blood' brand wines and has put many breweries out of business. This too helps her cause with the Salem Revival.

Family: Father - Lee Kline, a classic rock genre musician, Mother - Alyssa Kline, a broadway legend.

Home Life: Despite the cheery relations she holds with her parents for the camera, she tries her best to avoid them outside of roles and talk shows. She lives in a very large condo in Manhattan for now.

Short/Long Bio: Born into the already broken marriage of a coke-addled rockstar and alcoholic thespian, by age four she had her first starring role on stage and by age five she was on TV screens everywhere. She grew up on screen, an addict by age thirteen and disappeared at age fifteen. She returned to the screen two years later, a completely different person. There are many rumors revolving around her two year absence, some claiming rehab, some claiming shady happenings with one of the directors on a movie set she was in. At twenty, she started on Broadway and stayed there.

Form of Witchcraft: Blood Magic

Form of Sacrifice: Blood & Sentimental, occasionally others

Abilities/Rituals:
Wrath of June: For a sacrifice of sentimentality and blood, the user can cast an attack on someone that sears someone from the inside out. This only works if the target has shed the blood of the caster in true malice. This also takes a large strain on humans that cast it.
A Muscian's Flute: User sacrifices a good amount of blood in exchange for answers as to the inner workings of another's mind.
Amphitheater: In exchange for blood of the witch, it amplifies the user's voice.
Universal Lighting: Sacrifice of any type can be used for this. It simply lights up a room, no matter how dark or how large of a room. It resembles daylight.
Prosopon: A very fragile and volatile ritual that casts the user a glamor, hiding their true appearance. This is volatile because it is done through the Fates, and requires a significant amount of witch blood to preform.
Religious Ecstasy: Should the user provide a large amount of all type of sacrifice, the user is granted audience with their patron god, or the Fates. This is possibly a very dangerous ritual, as any contact with such powerful and fickle beings could end badly.

Preferred Deity: Dionysus

Path to Witchcraft: In a private hospital, after being brutally sexually assaulted by a drunken director, she got a strange visitor. A very matronly woman who stayed in her room, claiming to be her aunt. She stayed by her side until she was off of life support and could breathe on her own once again. She asked her if she would like the power to stop people from doing that to her again. Her 'aunt' taught her a deadly ritual, which awakened her interest in witch craft. Years later, when Mount Olympus was reclaimed by a thick mist, Tes knew that woman had not been human.

Deity: Zeus

Personality: Very different from the Golden Age. Over the years, he became more and more reserved until he was the true visage of a king. Hera jokes that he simply grew up. He has become more morally aligned over the years and almost gentle, compared to how he used to be.

Preference of Follower Type: Powerful leaders to humans, but devout followers. Other than that, he typically prefers people who have a commanding presence. He favors politicians and royalty, but has a special hatred for dictators and fascists, as they remind him solely of his father, Cronus.

Purpose of Awakening: Continuing Lineage, and gain worshippers again. Zeus hopes to once again become the King of Gods.

Location: Mount Olympus

Appearance: He largely chooses to appear as a human, as anything else is usually too feared. It also makes communicating with humans much easier. Outside of that form, or variations of that form he's only ever appeared to Hera as anything else.

[User]
"I apologize, my lady." The descendent of Rhoecus said quietly, holding the phone up to his ear.

"What happened, Rhoecus Younger? Certainly you couldn't have lost sight of her. She has bright red hair, and a stare that could give my little Aphrodite worries." Hera said on the other end of the phone call. Though the signal was strong, the boy had trouble hearing her, though he imagined it was entirely because Hera was simply holding the phone wrong. Again.

"She... dumped quite a few frozen treats into the ocean and then she was gone." The boy grimaced, trying not to laugh as he remembered it.

"Bribery." Hera huffed, drumming her manicured nails lightly along the bronze throne. "Well, let's hope she doesn't turn you into an animal, my little dove. You're going to the island while she is there to deliver the gift."

"It will be done, my lady." The boy confirmed. He managed to find a ride thanks to a brave boatsman, willing to cart the ten peacocks and rather large boxed item, without asking too many questions. He watched the island come into view, growing nervous. He had faith that Hera would protect him, as she did when he was a small child. He gently touched the tattoo on his shoulder, watching with interest as fish swam along the sides of the boat.

[Assistant]
Tes was mindful not to blow smoke in the faces of her companions. Someone approached her to tell her to put out her cigarette, but she glanced over and gave a small wave and grin. Usually once people recognized her, she got away with everything but murder. The man hesitated but pretended not to notice the scent of tobacco and clove that was heavy in the air as he walked away.

"Sure!" Tes hummed. "I'm starved. Do you know any restaurants around here? It can be my treat." She offered. Then she hesitated as she put her cigarette out on her palm before dumping in it a trashcan once it was cooled off. She looked at the mark on her hand before ignoring it and heading towards the exit, fully expecting the other two to follow. "So, outskirts of Athens, eh?" She said. "Oh! Hey, Eun, how's that brother of yours?"

[User]
The dark haired male seemed to be absentmindedly playing with his glove as one of the men approached Tes to probably tell her about putting the cigarette out considering that they were inside an airport. However, he seemed to have hesitated and moved on. Demitrius looked up once more when Tes asked about any restaurants around town. He let out a chuckle before turning to Eun. "I don't eat out all that much. You know anything?" By 'all that much', he really meant never. Nothing beats home cooking.

"Ah, but my mom's preparing some food back at home." He decided to point out. If anything, he didn't want any of his mother's food to go to waste. That and he didn't want to have to eat feast food for three more days. That's just how things work out at his home. Leftover food is meant to be eaten after all so they just eat it everyday until it was all gone. Of course, he had instinctively followed the girl as she began to walk. "And yeah, it's best that we're not too close from the hustle and bustle of the city but close enough to trade." It was the most ideal position. It was good that they were able to grow crops so near to Athens; they certainly were blessed by their beloved deity.

Demitrius's eyes sparkled at the mention of a brother. "You have a brother Eun?" He asked excitedly. "Oh! He can come with us for lunch too! If... he's not doing anything that is." He quickly added the last part as to not seem too pushy though he doubted that they would mind. Right?

[Assistant]
Eun watched curiously as the other woman smoked, her expression rather still. She wasn't a fan of those who did smoke, but at least Tes had to decency not to puff smoke everywhere right? Not to mention that this did little to tarnish how the younger girl thought of the other; it was freaking Tessa for crying out loud! Eun-Ha's expression did however brighten as food was mentioned.
"I don't eat out much myself, but I have heard that the Mani Mani Restaurant has quite to array of dishes." She answered Demitrius as she clasped her hands behind her.

Hearing that Demitrius' mother was preparing food as they were speaking, Eun nodded slowly in understanding. She herself preferred homemade food since she could never afford the pricier stuff.
"If that's the case, might it be ideal to settle at Demitrius' home to feast instead? What do you think Ms. Tessa?" She questioned, as she was now following beside the raven haired boy. She listened on to what they were saying, mostly about where Demitrius lived, before her brother was suddenly brought up.

A sheepish smile formed on the girl's lips as she scratched the back of her head.
"Chan is doing quite alright, thank you for asking. He'll be grateful to hear about your safe arrival." She answered Tes first before turning to Demitrius and placing a finger on her chin in thought. "If I am not mistaken, my brother Chan is still in school right now. So unfortunately he'll be unable to join us at the moment. Hopefully you understand." She concluded with a kind nod of her head. Of course she regretted leaving her brother out of all of the fun, but fortunately, once school let out, he'd be more free to possibly spend time with them.

[User]
Circe held the map, frowning. Navigating these modern cities was nightmarish. Once upon a time, the entire population of Greece could fit inside a single district of the capital. Now, Athena's own city had swelled to unrecognizable levels. And she still didn't know how to use those cellphone gizmos, which she thought it was the reason why people didn't get lost.

She briefly considered doing magic divination to find her way quickly, but she refrained to do so. Magic could potentially draw a lot of unwanted attention. The old witch simply resigned to finding her way in the traditional way: Asking a locale. She found her victims readily. There was a mixed group of youths whose members did look foreign alongside a young local man.

<"Excuse me."> She said in a fluent but slightly odd and archaic greek. <"Do you know where this place is supposed to be?"> She pointed at the map, readily, as she focused her gaze on Demitrius.

Wait. Wasn't one of them that Salem Cult leader upstart? She thought as she sideglanced at one of the women there. Well, she didn't have for this. She was on her way for a business meeting.

[Assistant]
Demitrius sighed, "Aw, too bad. Next time, perhaps Chan can join us?" Well, that was, if his school didn't end early. Maybe he could help pick him up for Eun? It was the least he could do for her entertaining him with her music every time he was at the main city. He had a car anyway, might as well use it. Unless his father had something for him to do, then he wouldn't be able to do anything.

That was when his ears perked up to the different language another person was speaking. He quickly turned his head to the woman. Her fiery red eyes and exotic look quickly caught his attention. There was something about her that made him feel odd but he quickly dismissed the feeling. Her choice of wording was odd - a rather old version of the Greek language. It didn't matter much to him, though, as he could still understand it. Studying about the olden days did this.

<"Of course."> He replied, trying his best to not sound very awkward when it came to speaking the old language. He then looked at the point she was pointing at. He then looked up from the map before pointing down the street. <"Turn left at the next intersection, go straight for about two blocks, turn right again and just go straight from there. You should be able to see it."> It was a good thing he practiced talking in it. There were some words that weren't in use anymore but at least it was a little similar so it didn't take a whole lot of practicing to get it right.

[User]
Tes stared openly for a moment at the woman who approached them, even going so far as to push her sunglasses into the wild curls of her hair. For once, the determinate and self-assured look in her eyes faltered as she watched Circe speak in a tongue she did not know, yet felt vaguely familiar with. A slight tinge of red grew across her cheeks as she realized she had dazed out. Hastily, she pulled her large sunglasses back over her eyes, hoping the woman did not catch that expression. Now uncertain of what to do with her hands, she stuffed them in the pockets of her shorts, trying to comprehend what it was about that woman that had flustered her so easily.

Working in the entertainment industry as long as she did, she had some pretty racy moments on camera that didn't make her bat an eye, but this woman simply spoke and caused Tes to blush like a school girl. She glanced about the area, before narrowing her eyes and looking at Circe once again.

She wondered if it was some sort of glamor ritual, but disregarded the thought almost immediately and settled on rummaging through her bag. She pulled out the business card for her agent, an all black card with a pink phone number embossed on it. The phone number was a private line, inaccessible to anyone who had no been given it directly. She handed it to Eun with a little wink. "Before I forget." She whispered. "Just call that when you're ready to come to America and get in our industry."