[System]
Gender:
Height:
Age:
Race:
Birth continent: (Avalon or Titan.)
Description: (Pictures work as well.)
Personality:
History/backstory:
Ect:

Modify and send to me as you see fit!

[User]
Aquilan was not a greedy man and he knew the importance of keeping the precarious alliance for now. He ignored the Drow's threat and crossed the small distance between himself and her small supply boat. The first gulp of water soothed his dry throat. He took one more as his eyes strayed towards the cliff. The cliff was almost beautiful to look at had it not been for that daunting feeling of being trapped. He slowly put the water barrel back down, his mind trying to make sense of the situation he suddenly found himself the moment he woke up.

Perhaps being trapped in this god forsaken place isn't such a bad thing. I have nothing to look forward to back in Elswin and nothing to go home to, he found himself thinking grimly.

And what of your plans to seek out the Church's assistance with this predicament forced upon us? came the proud voice in his head.

Quil almost laughed out loud. It was ironic, this concept of him being able to make it back to Elswin alive. Hadn't he heard about the dangers the island holds when he was still a child? No one ever made it back once they stepped foot on Crator Island. It was common knowledge. "Well, Lady, I have no great confidence in my chances of survival in an unknown terrain like this one. Even you thought that death would have served me better than finding myself stuck here," he responded.

There was a long pause that Quil assumed to mean that the phoenix was weighing her options. To have Quil die may mean her death too. Their souls have been so intertwined with each other that the elf's death may be her death as well. If she wanted to be free from this mortal trap, she would have to cooperate with the elf so that he may seek other ways of separating them.

I shall lend you my power, came the phoenix's steady and sure voice.

Quil sighed. "I suppose I should thank you for it. But lending me your power would not ensure our survival. But, I thank you all the same," he said as he stepped out of the small boat and headed towards the only inhabitable looking ship wreck on the beach.

[Assistant]
No darkness filled this mighty ship's hold as Zarriia peered into the hull breach. Another hole could be seen on the opposite side of the ship, as though something not much larger than herself had gone completely through this armored dwarven ship. Crates filled the room, however it appeared that the innards of the ship were very badly damaged. The rooms and hold space in the bow of the ship were inaccessible. As Zarriia stood in the entrance of this ship, she could tell one thing was very off about this wreck- About all of these wrecks. These ships had not crashed via wave, no they had fallen. These ships had fallen from the sky, while it is likely this dwarven vessel may be an airship, the sail bearing vessels that were around them on the beach had no means of getting where they were. A natural tide would have ground the wrecks to splinters years ago. Not to mention that this ship was not filled with seawater despite the innards being slightly lower than the sand. The floor was cracked and bent as sand seemed to have forced it's way from beneath the boards. This ship would offer shelter, however there were still two very easily accessible holes for which man and varmint alike may enter. Aside from these details, the only other thing present was a large crate and several barrels that looked to be well aged. These crates and barrels are still tied to the pallet that had been loaded onto the ship in port. With luck, they may be full of much needed supplies or tools.
Aquilan would place the barrel down to speak to the drow only to see that she was no longer near him. The silence with which Zarriia moved was unsettling, though the sand would help with this no doubt. His eyes had no problem spotting her, however. Zarriia had already started toward the dwarven ship with weapons ready. One could hope she was eager to find shelter, however the smart man would know this drow was craving a fight. Either way, she was taking the risk of going first. As he followed, he would note that at least one tale of drowish women were true, they are rather pleasing to look at.
To Aquilan, the dwarven ship was without a doubt meant for the skies. He could tell simply from it's lack of sails that the ship was an early model much like the ones sent in the first explorations of the Western sea. How it managed to suffer such a strange hull breach was indeed quite the mystery, as this bend in its hull was not beneath the ship, but in its side just beneath the top deck. To his knowledge, this ship would have three decks beneath the first, however as he followed the drow and could see within the ship he would see that the other decks were inaccessible. The ship was likely missing it's entire bottom half given the consistency of the sand.

[User]
The drow woman frowned at the holes in mild concern. She would have preferred one way in and a wall she could get about at her back. But as this was what she had, it would do for the first night. Night would fall and far too quickly for Zarriia's liking. They would need firewood, which seemed plentiful, and something to block the back of the whole. Sizing them up her brow furrowed as she worked out whether the small boat she came in could be put on it's side or propped against the ship to perhaps limit the light of the fire and make a rough wall. But she kept her steps light and weapons at the ready as she moved over to the supplies in the dwarven ship to pry lids off of the barrels and crate to see what laid inside.

As she moved and worked carefully, there was no need to get a asp in the face, or some deadly trap, Zarriia was prepared to jump away or 'hit the deck'. Her lips twitched at the humor in that thought, though she didn't let the elf see it. Best he think her ruthless, cold and deadly. Safer for her, and better to keep him quelled. Speaking with a authoritative tone, she purred adding a sultry inflection on her voice. "Do be a dear and get fire wood and bring out supplies over here. Night will be upon us soon, and I'd rather not attract unwanted attention." Sharp eyes cast over her shoulder at Aquilla, "Lest you think these fell by sheer happen stance?"

[Assistant]
Quil's sharp eyes shifted from admiring the drow to the dwarven ship. The wreck, he noted was actually an airship and not a sea faring vessel. The hull was intact in most parts but the breach just beneath the top deck was probably what caused it to crash. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out from where he was standing the emblem that was painted on the hull. The paint was faded but it was still visible. It looked familiar but Quil couldn't quite place where he had seen it before. Dismissing the thought for the meantime, he turned his attention to where he was going. He was at the hull breach's edge when he heard the Drow's commanding voice.

"No, I do not think that this ship ran aground by coincidence," he commented as his eyes fell on the hole opposite the one he came in from. "Something shot it out of the sky from the way its damages look. Of course, I can always be wrong," he said before turning away to do as she commanded. He did, after all, promised to do as she said.

Gathering firewood was an easy task as there was plenty lying round. It took Quil only several minutes to have enough firewood gathered and pull the small supply boat to where the wreck was.

[User]
The sun was already at an angle in the sky as the time passed.

Zarriia would be startled as two doves fled their roost from one of the nearby beams that had separated from the decking above. The lids of the barrels were easy enough to split, revealing what looked and smelled like dwarven ale. She would have no idea if the stuff was sour or not, but it was something worth finding. If nothing else, the barrel would offer a easy place to store rainwater. The several tied down crates were harder to get into. Telling Aquilan to gather firewood, she would set to work. The rope holding down the crates was still very strong, which means that it would be a waste to cut it. Maneuvering the ropes to the edges of the crates, she was able to pry the lid off of one of the crates in the time it took Aquilan to gather a healthy bundle of firewood and move the small boat up the beach.

Aquilan would set out to gathering driftwood and planks to prepare for whatever night may hold. He spent very little time picking up the light wooden planks that were littered about the beach, however a strange ship managed to catch his eye. This boat was made out of ironwood, making it's hull glow a different color in the rising sun's light. The symbol of a dove in flight was visible on the upside down ship's bow just before the sandline. Something about the ship seemed to cause him pause. Though there was little time for exploring at the moment. He moved on after dropping off the firewood to move the dinghy up the beach where the drow had requested. Aquilan would note that this boat was a lot heavier than it looked. Dragging it up the beach proved to be a slight challenge, however it was doable without too much exertion. After dragging the boat up the beach, he would not the drow has managed to open one of the unravaged crates.

Inside of this crate was a sight that would normally be appalling to Zarriia. Dwarven military rations. The crate was packed with them, more than enough to last her and the elf for the greater part of two weeks should they eat nothing else. Not to mention there were two more crates tied down with this one.

[Assistant]
The Drow glanced up at the doves before dismissing them as not a threat. They were merely doves, but doves meant food. Tempting as it was to string her bow and hunt, it wasn't the time. Not yet. They had supplies, and if worst came to worst she'd resort to eating the elf. It was a horrible thing to do but it was a matter of survival. Zarriia was nothing if not a survivor. The ale would be useful, though not as a drink. It would not be worth while. Better to use it as a weapon, or fuel if it resorted to that. Wedging the ropes off she steadily worked it off the lid, pulling it off quickly. Her sword was ready to attack any threat or deflect it.

Letting the ropes remain on the other two she replace the lids and began to dig a pit of the fire. Adjusting it so it was higher on the side with a clear veiw of the beach. "Put the wood for the fire in there. Stack the rest in the boat to help weigh it down." She looked at the spare entrance, checking both the time and weather as she did so. "Don't drink the ale, may be of use later. Three boxes of rations." Her voice gave a deep chuckle. "You have a affinity with fire. Something comes up, dump ale on them and set it on fire." She grinned with a violent glee. "Sounds like a warm bonfire."

[User]
Quil silently complied with the Drow's commands, his mind on the ironwood wreck on the beach. The insignia on it was strangely familiar to him the way the dwarven emblem was. But he couldn't quite figure out where he had seen it or why it even mattered.

Because it symbolizes the civilization you desire to return to, the ellegant voice in his head declared.

Is that it? Is that the only reason why I think it's familiar somehow? Quil thought back. Normally, he would have spoken out aloud but he was in close proximity of the drow and he didn't want her to know of his unique situation. He dumped firewood into the pit that the drow had made and the rest into the dinghy. When the phoenix didn't answer, he thought to ask another question. Do you recognize the signs?

A haughty voice answered. I do not concern myself with mortal made symbols.

Quil sighed just as the drow's sharp voice cut through his thougts. "You have a affinity with fire. Something comes up, dump ale on them and set it on fire." He looked towards the barrel filled with dwarven ale and shrugged his shoulder. He was never really fond of dwarven ale anyway. "As you wish," was all he said.

He paused as he quickly reassessed his situation. A drow that would no doubt kill him if she wanted. A phoenix that offered her help but at the same time probably wanted nothing more than to see him dead so she can be free. The leader of the Academy that sent him to the island under the pretense of a scientific mission but in truth wanted him dead. An island that shows no mercy and brought death upon anyone unlucky enough to set foot on its shores. Everything seemed to point to death. Wonderful, he thought sullenly.

Surviving may greatly depend on working together with his dark skinned kin. "My name is Aquilan. May I know yours?" he asked in a polite tone of voice.

[Assistant] The sky was absent of clouds as the sun was perhaps two hours away from being directly overhead. Time passed quickly as they scavenged the beach, work no doubt distracting the two elves from the horrid thoughts of death… well, perhaps distracting Aquilan. The fire pit took a while to make as Zarriia had to cut away pieces of the floor so that the wood beneath the fire would not catch flame and burn their shelter to the ground. The sand beneath offered the mound required to stack against the wooden floor. The slight slant to the floor offered an open view of this fire pit to the beach, though not a single ship had washed ashore or passed by during their time so far. As Zarriia filled the firepit with wood and situated the inside of the ship so that they could use it as a shelter, Aquilan would take note of just how desperate his situation was. He had worked to stack the driftwood and planks in the boat to block the other entrance as the drow had previously instructed, making only one entrance to this ship in which a fire pit had been erected near. The deck had a large grated door which would be opened when cargo would be loaded, meaning that the smoke would not be trapped within the hull. This shelter seemed to be quite perfect, however there was a new feeling that overtook both of the elves just as Zarriia would respond to Aquilian's request for her name. A feeling that something was watching them.


[System]
Nickname(Optional): June Bug

Age: 33

Gender: Female

Physical Appearance: Sayeeda is a medium sized woman of middle eastern extraction. She has the wiry build of a swimmer or long distance runner. Her eyes are dark and almond shaped and focus slightly beyond the horizon most of the time. Sayeeda keeps her hair just longer than a buzz cut in order to facilitate wearing her helmet. She has a large tattoo of several owls in flight on her right shoulder. Sayeeda does have feminine curves but her breasts are on the smaller size of average and she does very little to emphasize her gender.

Clothing:  Camo pants and a tank top are her civilian dress. She wears a ceramic breastplate if she is expecting trouble and also has a commo helmet which she uses in battle and for technical tasks.

Personality: Sayeeda is a former mercenary soldier and has a fairly relaxed view towards life. Anything and anyone not currently shooting at her is the second priority. She is very tightly wound when it comes to people doing what she expects them too in dangerous situations and she is extremely punctilious when it comes to fulfilling any sort of formal contract.

[User]
Sayeeda sat at the holotable of the Highlander, her elbows propped on the ceramo-plastic surface. Taya, Neil and Canek as at their own places while the waited for Taya to find what she was looking for in the databook they had taken from the former Pasha. Sayeeda was still wearing the harem girl outfit, though she had taken a few moments to wipe the grime away from her skin with cleaning wipes and she had added a jacket to the ensemble in deference to the cooler temperature created by the environmental control system.

"I'm not finding any records pertaining to the treasure ship," Taya said with a frown. Canek looked at her suspiciously. The mercenary captain looked considerably worse for wear. His right eyebrow and the hair on the side of his face had been singed away, and his skin was the unnervingly uniform color of a synthetic spray. Sayeeda, who had been severely burned during her time in the Armored, had some sympathy for him, but the fact that his goons had hit her over the head a few hours ago did someone dry that well.

"It won't directly mention the treasure ship," Canek prompted, "But there should be something, lights in the sky, unusual activity, strangers in the port." It stood to reason, if the Pasha or his ancestors had known the location of the treasure ship, they would certainly have claimed it long ago.

"Wait…" Taya said, tapping a few keys. The holo table sprang to life in a stylized view of the night sky above Hanh. An accented voice began to speak.

"I can seldom remember when the Lyre was in such opposition to the Queen of Darkness," the voice mused self importantly.

"These are astrological readings performed by the court Astrologer during the time the treasure ship was supposedly lost," Taya explained.

"Lonny can you do a search for any references to shooting stars or local variants of the term?" she asked.

"Aye Aye Lassie!" Lonny chirruped. There was a warbeling burst of sound which Sayeeda interpreted as the records being played at many times normal speed. The screen split into three, each recording a shooting star caught be the astrologers vid pickup. To Sayeeda's eye they all looked the same but Taya cooed in triumph and selected the right most screen, expanding it to the full size of the display.

"What's special about that one?" Canek demanded, leaning forward in spite of himself. Taya touched a few more keys and the display marked the track across the sky as a continuous line. There was a very slight arc to it which Lonny highlighted in red.

"Breaking thrust," Neil exclaimed, as a pilot he grasped the essentials faster than either Canek or Sayeeda did.

"Not much though, probably just the emergency systems, wouldn't have stopped a crash," he added, glancing down at the data scrolling past on the screen. Sayeeda frowned.

"Can we compute a vector from this information?" she asked, "A likely crash point?" Obediently the screen shifted, highlighting an area of several hundred square kilometers with a larger area around it highlighted in a lighter shade.

"Thats a big area," she said dubiously.

"We have nae information bout thruster discharge closer to the crash site Cap'n," Lonny explained, "We cannae be more precise than that."

"Its better information than anyone has had in a hundred years," Canek said with a grin.

"So we cant search this area with sensors or something?" Sayeeda asked, still dubiously. Canek shook his head.

"Unfortunately the poles are fairly heavily irradiated. There was water here once but a large uranium and soluble iron ferrite based asteroid blasted the planet some time in the distant past. Most of that radiation was sequestered in the water, which was drawn to the poles after the asteroid destroyed the original orbit. It's not dangerous in short bursts but it's enough to fox most sensors."

"Huh," Sayeeda said, shaking her head.

"So all we have to do is head up to a radioactive wasteland where an unknown number of psychotic treasure hunters are already scouring the landscape and hunt for a ship we can't use sensors to find in an area the size of a small country?" she asked. Canek spread his hands.

"I never said it would be easy, but if we pull this off you get your share and the parts you need to get off this rock."

[Assistant]
Neil and Sayeeda were ready to go, and to Neil's distaste, Saxon insisted on going along. He flexed his clawed paws as he insisted that if he did not brutalize someone or something soon, he would break apart the Highlander out of boredom. Neil believed him, and the three, along with Canek, made their way back to Canek's base to outfit themselves best they could. "I think we have a good arsenal back at the Highlander!" Neil yelled as they sped through the desert on Canek's bulked up transport.

"Trust me, my 'friend'." Canek said, still a bit put off by Neil stealing Junebug away in the middle of a firefight, paying no thought to the fact that Neil initially aided him by self destructing a dervish raider before combat began. "You will want to check my stock! You also will need some specialized rebreathers. They're newly developed by Iodian Tech!" Saxon snorted as if that was funny, and to him it would be as his rebreather was highly advanced. Neil new Iodan though, as a company. Their usual business was mining asteroids for precious metals.

Parking at Canek's facility, the members of his 'militia' or whatever he called them were busy at work repairing the damages from the night before. Some hauled boxes and used a junker version of the hauler to move crates, while others sprayed on plascrete to the damages architecture, the goo slowly reforming and hardening as they carved it up to resemble what it once was before explosives and small arms fire marred the place.

As sparks flew onto the dirties floor, a mechanic repairing a badly damaged hover transport, Neil and Sayeeda hopped out of the aircar, the vehicle notably lurching when Saxon stepped off. "Follow me," Canek said, calling for what guards were on duty to lower their weapons, as the newcomers had lasguns trained on them from the moment they set foot within. Canek stopped, motioning for Saxon to stay. "Er, not you. You look well outfitted, and you wouldn't fit inside, I am afraid."

Saxon growled threateningly, but didn't argue. They continued on.

Past a heap of parts that were likely scavenged from the desert, an immense fan that droned out all noise in the immediate area, and a few rougher men cleaning their rifles with a dutiful precision, Canek led them into a lesser corridor. The lights within were attached via thick wires, and they flickered unreliably every few moments. Turning into another hall, he made it to the first door on the left and opened it, revealing a dark room.

With an audible clack, the pulled lever on the wall lit up the large chamber of weaponry. Neil's eyes widened, and even Sayeeda, who had no doubt seen more armaments than any here felt a swell of adrenaline blooming in her breast. There were two floors, and they would be able to step down into the main area. Up here however, were various pistols and submachine guns looted from across the galaxy, if not at least various systems. Small arms with heat signature add ons, laspistols, plasma pistols, sawed off groaner guns, sawed off shotguns, slug throwers, revolvers.

Neil already had a pistol he wouldn't trade for the world, so he stepped down the small stairway into the larger room, where one could still overlook via railing in the pistol area. Below, and along the walls, were plasma guns, rail guns, gauss rifles. More explosives than Neil had seen in awhile, and it was actually somewhat arousing. Napalm throwers, napalm grenades, ion grenades, frag grenades, krak grenades. Las weaponry and slug weaponry of various types, with assult rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, battle rifles.

"Hey, you think we'll need this?" Neil joked, and Sayeeda could look down and see him holding a miniaturized atomic payload (it was still as large as Neil's chest) meant for destroying villages in a literal flash. Canek laughed guiltily. "That was quite a find. Do not drop it, though in theory it will only detonate with the detonator."

[User]
Sayeeda looked around the cornucopia of death and destruction wondering for what purpose Canek had gathered such an arsenal. There must have been a couple of million credits here in small arms alone.

"Recruits have been harder to come by than weapons," Canek explained, perhaps sensing her interest.

"Alot of men died in that ambush and well… I don't fully trust a lot of the local talent," he went on. Sayeeda picked up a submachine gun, not unlike the one she normally carried and was surprised to discover it was actually a plasma weapon. It was usually difficult to find a weapon smaller than a rifle, she fitted a patrol sling to it and began to gather reloads that were packaged in long slender tubes.

"I'm going to guess that finding this treasure ship is only step one?" she asked. Canek spread his hands wide in a theatrical guesture.

"Step one hundred and something probably. The goal is to raise enough men and hire enough ships to get to Seylonika," Canek said, half shouting over the roar of drive fans. Behind them the tank she had seen the night before was spinning up its engines. Large patches of tempered steel had been welded over gaps that had been blown in the skirts. A mechanic watched through a commo helmet, probably monitoring heat to make sure that the repairs could hold the pressure needed to float a thirty ton vehicle.

"What's on Seylonika," Taya asked. The girl was toying with a compact breaching shotgun, the kind that vacuum commandos used when storming ships in deep space. Sayeeda didn't think Taya or anyone else, could fire the weapon without being knocked on their ass, at least without a suit to adsorb the significant recoil.

"There was a general call put out about three months ago," Canek said.

"Seylonika is the center of the Six World League, they are looking at hiring mercenaries in a big way, there is a new Prelate I guess who has some adventure in mind."

"Ah," Sayeeda said in understanding and then because it was obvious Taya didn't, explained.

"There are a couple of different grades of mercenaries," Sayeeda said.

"There are people like us, more or less freelance guns for hire, and then there are licensed mercs, like my old outfit." Taya looked confused.

"Licensed by who?" she asked, apparently losing interest in the shotgun in favor of a sleek looking rocket gun of alien design.

"The Office of Special Actions," Sayeeda said, "they started out as a Terran government beaura back in the days when Terra was a bigger deal that it is now. They used to be in charge of certifying that contractors that worked for the Terrans did what they say, verified TO&E, made sure contracts were handled properly."

Sayeeda picked out a rad suit, a thin suit of flexible polymer with ionic inlays that would protect someone from the radiation they were likely to find near the computer projected crash site. Canek's people had a sophisticated array of sensors also, though most of them were likely to suffer some level of interference from the polar radiation.

"But they don't work for the Terrans now?" Taya asked.

"OSA is its own outfit now, they still do the same things verify mercenary contracts, make sure that the people doing the fighting do what they say and make sure that the people doing the paying pay up, but they work independently of Earth now. It's too big a business for the Terrans to corner the market I suppose."

The OSA was legendarily neutral, existing only to ensure that contracts were fulfilled as agreed. The arrangement suited everyone as it prevented mercenaries from deciding they would seize power on worlds they were contracted and it prevented locals from deciding that not paying or killing the mercenaries was cheaper than honoring their deals. In the event that one or another party didn't live up to its word, they could and would levy their own mercenaries to address the problem. Junebug hadn't had much direct interaction with OSA agents, but she knew from reputation, and horror stories, that the OSA wasn't fucking around.

"Ok," Taya said, obviously still confused.

"So what does this have to do with us, or with him anyway?" she asked gesturing to Canek with the barrel of the gun in a way that made Sayeeda queasy.

"There are two ways you can get a merc company registered with the OSA," Sayeeda explained.

"One, you can go through a lengthy legal process that costs millions of credits, or you can be part of a General Call. That is when a large enough world needs more mercenaries than are likely to be available, the OSA will certify formed units that show up on a provisional basis, which they confirm when the first contract is fulfilled."
General Calls were rare events, largely because hiring groups didn't usually want to give their opponents warning that they were gathering large numbers of soldiers and give them time to prepare their own defences. For an aspiring Mercenary Captain though, there was no greater opportunity. Hundreds of small timers would rush to the recruiting area to try to win a position, though even once they got there they would need to impress the hiring party enough to get the contract.

"Right," Canek chimed in, "And they will only sign of on a unit that is company sized or larger and properly equipped. I need enough money to raise and outfit at least a hundred pros, and get them to Seylonika in time, and the treasure ship is the only way I can see to make that happen. Once I have the cash, I'll be able to gather enough recruits."


[System]
Appearance:

Ghoul Mask:
Ishin's mask is a stylized metal helmet which looks to be a single piece of stained glass dyed multiple colours. It has no features present on the face plate and gives Ishin an eerily inhuman appearance.
Nicknames: "Savage"
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Rank: S

Kagune: Ishin's Kagunes are patterned numerous colours that resemble stained glass. His Koukaku is a set of two viciously long blades that wrap along his arm ending just underneath his palm, giving his arm the appearance of a tattooed spiral of stained glass. The Koukaku is able to flex and spread, giving him a form of amour across his arms. Ishin is also able to extend the end of his Koukaku past his hand into wickedly sharp blades, often giving them jagged edges in order to rip and tear rather than slice.

Ishin's Ukaku are a set of two large wings that are amorphous in the liquid state but when crystalized take the shape of something akin to a dragon. The liquid nature of the Kagune and his colouring gives it once more the appearance of stained glass. Ishin is able to use the solidified wings to great proficiency, sending blades of crystal at his target as he rushes in violently to attack. With some fresh food in him, Ishin's wings can give him limited flight.

RC Type: Koukaku and Ukaku

Personality: Ishin is a calm and collected man, full of sarcasm and wit and born with a silver tongue. He always has a calm word for friends and a smart ass one liner for enemies. This attitude seems apt as the man that runs one of the Sanctuaries for Ghouls in District 8, under the guise of a night club called "Dark Nights". This personality is flipped whilst hunting or fighting, under his mask he becomes diabolically savage and attempts to elicit as much pain as possible from his prey and any doves that are fool enough to walk past him.

Biography: Ishin was born in to the Ghoul world, thinking that what he was to be the norm and that humans were merely lower on the food chain to Ghouls. That's how his parents decided to raise the children under their care. As Ishin grew, he came to realize that Ghouls were a new development and not the norm. Humans outnumbered his kind. Accepting this, he developed himself to pass as a human…not wishing to go the same way his parents had and become infamous binge eaters. His teenage years were fraught with the usual things shown in tv dramas, sitcoms and movies. First loves, first heart breaks, failing tests and passing classes. All this was added to the struggle of controlling his hunger and the urge to eat as he slept his way through highschool angst.

Out of highschool and in to college, Ishin used the inheritance he had from his parents that had passed a few years into highschool to set up his own business. A business he could use to help ghouls to hide from the doves and to give protection to the ghouls of Ward 8. He named this business Dark Nights and it became known for its 'shock horror' atmosphere for a nightclub. He used this to continue providing funds for his education.

[User]
Kusime Institute

Keiji would walk through the streets of Tokyo in order to reach the all known school: Kusime Institute. It was not that he enjoyed spending his time in one classroom for the rest of the day. The reason why he did not mind to go there was because it somehow let him feel a bit more human than he actually was. I mean... a ghoul is not really the most welcome person in the world as he would go on random killing sprees from time to time to silence his hunger in order not to attack in a public place which would result in him... dead. There was however a bit of humour in it since it would actually be his punishment for killing all those other people in this city just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he could change himself, the first thing would be to revert his eating habits into those of a human so he would stand out less than he already was. Or so he thought so. Having to puke everything out after taking only one bite out of a sandwich was not exactly the most favorable experience that anyone could ask for.

Before he knew it, he already arrived at the school he went to. His first year in college. It was for most people an exciting time and maybe also a scary one as one could not expect how it would be there. But that was what it was all about, is it not? How could one live without any spark of adrenaline running through their veins and just witter their days at home on the couch. Well, that was not too bad now that he thought about it. But one could go mad for being locked up too long of a time. His thumbs would slip into the pockets of his pants as he would walk through the gates of the domain. His eyes would roam over the several windows to see if any classes had already started and of course there were. Well, it was not that abnormal that there were actually people in there. It would be weird if there was no one, as if it was some ghost building or something like that. A yawn would escape from his lips, almost unable to close his mouth again. The thought of the need of sleeping more popped up inside of his head as he had only three hours of sleep today. Not the best thing that he could do as he knew he had class the moment he would wake up.

[Assistant]
CCG 8th District HQ

"I know what I'm doing." He puffed out his cheeks in a petulant manner, making his way to the buildings exit. "I guess it's my first time actively hunting a ghoul, yeah. But that does not mean I don't know how to fight them!" He quickly pointed out with a raised finger, looking back to Matsuoka, his smile showing a little bit of teeth. "Valedictorian. I was really bad at a few subjects, but my average was higher than everyone else's thanks to Combat Education and Ghoul Biology."

Hisoka puffed his chest out proudly, looking back infront of him with shut eyes and a wide smile. Of course, that would only go on to reveal another one of his odd traits. Although it was unknown over what, Hisoka tripped forward and landed face first with a rather painful sounded 'thud', lower back raised in the air.

How embarrassing.

Slowly lifting himself upwards, Hisoka brushed off his front with a clear of his throat, trying to return to his near-professional demeanor as if nothing happened.

"Should I drive?" He asked, trying quickly to divert any attention from his fall to a different matter, hiding the burst of red on his cheeks.

Yuuka couldn't help but stifle a laugh. "Sure thing. Just uh, be a little more careful behind the wheel, okay?"

The Special Investigator and her new partner exited the cafeteria. Yuuka shoved a hand into the pocket of her CCG blazer, expecting to find her car keys, but she came out with only a fist full of empty air. In the end, she wound up patting herself down to find her keys.

"Where did I..." she said, pausing as she came to a slow realization.

Awkwardly (perhaps more for Hisoka than his partner), Yuuka reached into her cleavage with a black hand and retrieved a set of keys which she started swinging around on her index finger.

"I always lose these things in the weirdest places..." she muttered.

Alarms blared. Yuuka snapped to attention, but quickly realized she was already at the centre of it. With one foot on the other side of an active RC cell detector, her Quinque prosthetics had tripped the alarm. Guards flooded into the room, packing guns armed with Q bullets. They took aim at Yuuka. She sighed.

"Relax, boys. It's just me again."

She held up her badge and her license, and immediately everyone lowered their weapons, mumbling and groaning about the trouble Yuuka had caused them. Yet more fuel for quiet gossip.

"Sorry about that, Hisoka-kun. These Rc cell detectors aren't calibrated to tell my prosthetics apart from real Ghouls. They keep telling me they're gonna fix it, but they never do. I'm supposed to exit through a special door so this doesn't happen, but I guess I got a little careless, what with how excited I was."

She dropped the sweaty keys in her subordinate's open hands.

"My car's over here. You'll probably recognize it once you see it. It's the one that's all beat up and stuff."

The car in question was more than beat up. It was dented, scratched, dinged, keyed, and even missing a mirror in an astonishing display of ignorance towards road safety. Either someone had gone to town on this car, or Yuuka should've been barred from driving ever again.

"You still wanna drive, right?"

Hisoka said nothing, taking the keys and approaching the beat up car. It's not that he refused to say anything, but more that he could not find the words. Ignoring the feeling of the keys, he unlocked the car doors, slipping into the drivers side. Just like moments before, he tried to redirect the conversation to something less awkward for him. Never mind the fact his face was beet red.

"When I was going through the academy, I was always thinking about ways to hurt ghouls without a quinque or Q-bullets. Knight reminded me of something I thought up. Ghoul skin is tough, really tough, but it's not hard. If you poked it, it'd be all squishy and stuff, but if you stabbed it the knife would probably just bounce off." With them both strapped in, he started the car, testing the engine a little to get it started, "In a purely scientific sense, things cannot be hard and tough. It's a scale, I guess. The reason why maces were so effective against full plated knights was because they bent the armor, rather than trying to stab through it. Ghoul skin is a little bit tougher than that." He paused, pulling out of the CCG carpark, eyes on the road.

"When things freeze, they become hard, but not necessarily tough. Take a rubber ball for example; if you hit it with a hammer, then it'd just bounce off. But if you froze that ball, then hit it with a hammer, it'd smash. This should apply to the body of a ghoul." He finished, the embarrassment of the earlier exchange having faded away behind his vocalised thoughts.

"...So I was thinking, if I threw liquidized difluoroethane at a ghoul, it would freeze the surface it hit and make it easier to break, exposing whatever is under the tough layer of skin and some of the flesh."

Hisoka's phone went off in his pocket, drawing his eye from the road momentarily. He quickly reached for it, placing it down on the car dash as he drove towards downtown. "Could you check that, Matsuoka-san?"

Of course, it was a news flash. Knight's most recent actions and his challenge to Yuuka.

Note: Collab between Turbo and Art

[User]
close to the dark nights club a small skateboard shop was open. a young man around 19 years old named sora mamoru was sitting behind the counter reading thrasher skateboard magazine with his feet that are covered in a pair of white with black skateboard DC shoes. he looks calmly with his eyes jewel quartz grey eyes towards the clock that stands on his computer "ugh this late already" he said to himself before he removes his feet from the counter and calmly puts the on the ground with a small sigh "time to go home" he said while he stands up and unzips a grey hoody with the store loge on his chest and the name on huge on his back. by putting the hoody off he reveals a black slim fit tank top that shows a bit of his athletic muscle body although it keeps a little mystery behind it although it also reveals a black tribal tattoo on the outside of his right upper arm. he calmly hangs his hoody around the chair behind the desk and walks away from the desk towards the back while he pulls his black jeans up and tightens the white cotton belt with metal bucket so his pants doesn't drop anymore.

after a minute sora rolls out of the back riding a skateboard through the store and stops infront of the door. he presses the light switches on the wall to putt of the lights while he kicks the tail of his skateboard making the board's nose shoot up so he can catch it in his right hand. he walks calmly outside while he carries his skateboard and closes the door before locking them followed by jumping up and grabbing a cage the rolls down in front of the door. he drops his skateboard on the ground and places his left foot on it before he kicks off with his right foot making speed so he can ride calmly towards the Meat, Meat, MEAT!! restaurant

[Assistant]
Ishin growled violently at the brash attitude Knight had taken all of the sudden. He was admittedly one of the more…flashy…of the 8th Ward, and despite Ishin's requests…he would incessantly call attention to the Ghoul World. Ishin both hated and respected the man under the mask. He was strong enough to be so vehemently violent against their prey and their hunters, but this strength also gave him a certain air of arrogance. The red haired ghoul growled before he looked down at the CCG closing in to Knight's proximity. As much as he didn't want to help, he had a duty as a sanctuary owner to the ghouls of the ward. His kagune rippled forth, ripping his skin and coating his arms in thick bands of multi-coloured RC cells. His wings hardened and crystalized, extending to their full span. The effect was the inhuman idea. A silent harbinger. A violent angel of death. He leapt down beside Knight and growled.

"You're an idiot…but you will get your fight so long as you promise to be quiet for a few weeks after this" Ishin demanded before staking towards the CCG group that had arrived in front of him. Many were simply armed with Q-bullets, none of them attaché case wielding Doves. Except one. One that Ishin knew from the incoming Dove files. Ishin was so glad he had that simple connection to the CCG to allow him to know the Doves by name and face. He stood at his full, overbearing 6'2 feet and pointed at the group of CCG. His wings suddenly shifted, flicking a hail storm of crystal daggers at the CCG. Blood spewed from the few dumb enough to not protect their neck and Ishin blurred into the middle of them. Koukaku sharpened into deadly, sinister blades, he became a whirlwind of violence. The sounds of tendons ripping, muscles tearing, and bones snapping and breaking mingled with the gurgling cries of those unlucky enough to be dying from the initial onslaught of Ishin's wings. Ishin drew himself to full height, eyes staring directly at the one eye of Morizumi "Ahh…the one The Clown told me about" he said, his voice echoing through his mask and sounding all too inhuman "Show me….SHOW ME THE QUINQUE YOU MADE FROM OGRE!" Ishin shouted loudly and fell into a crouch, his blades glistening with ruby red blood.


[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]
the question brought an almost silly confused face to the Master Mage's face. The man had to work at hyper speed to try and figure out what the young woman was asking. The words were said and his ears received the sounds but the meaning was lost to him. A second passed then two as he tried how to best formulate first the meaning of the question and second how to formulate his response.

Normally articulate and sure of what he said. He often meant what he said and said what he meant. There was no mistake in his communication with his fellow squad members and even between him and Evander. However, in this particular situation he was not sure if saying what he thought in his head was appropriate or it would be well received. The debate lasted another second or two. Finally, the voice of reason, having been silent for too long during his recent interactions with the lovely Eilis, managed to settle the dispute.

He cleared his throat and began in as comfortable a tone trying to emphasize the veracity of the words he was speaking. "If I understand your question correctly you believe that the tattoos you sport have warped your features in such a way that you think you have become grotesque."

He placed a hand on her head and gently brushed back a few unruly strands that have fallen on her face. He studied what he been asked to evaluate. To his eyes, all he could see was a lovely skin and two jeweled eyes that looked up half glazed at him, the last remnants of Dark Sight seeming to disappear.

"I would like to assure you most strongly that this is not the case."  He traced the lines of tattoos, two smaller ones framing a third thicker one. His finger gently followed the contours of the lines, his callused hand slowly traversing the soft skin. He started at the crown of her head just at the hair line and followed it down to the ridge of her nose and down one side to her check down to her jaw. He fought the urge to continue down journey down the neck. Instead, he moved his hand and traced upward from the sleeve looking tattoo up her forearm to her shoulder.

To break the quickly becoming awkward silence when he remembered that she still could not see clearly he addressed her again.

"If nothing else, Eilis. They are quite captivating. Please forgive me for saying this but where it not for their harmful origins and function, they would be suitable adornment for a lady such as you."  He smiled down at her as he cleared his throat further. "Even as they are, I have to admit that I find myself wanting to closely examine them."  He cleared his throat again a bit embarrassed at his forwardness but too much had transpired between them to pay attention to propriety.

"When you have fully recovered your sight, I shall find you a proper reflective surface so that you can make your own conclusions. As it stands, all I see before me is a lovely lady." He said in his most amicable and truthful tone.

He added. "And that is the truth"

[Assistant]
She looked up hopeful at his words, but turned the palms of her hands upward, staring at her hands and the bits of tattoo she could see, before her jaw tightened and a slight tremble followed through showing itself in her hands as she squeezed them tight for a moment.
"Thank you Arn, eventhough I can't really believe what you say, I know I put you in a bad spot because I asked for your opinion, with having little real confidence in a satisfying answer." She told him truthfully before she sighed.
"Right...I suppose I should help you healing." She whispered as she placed a hand on his side.
"Close your eyes Arn...I can't do this with you staring at me." Eilis said with a teasing smile before she lifted his shirt up, letting of a soft 'tsk'.
"Arn, why didn't you say anything?" She said as he fingers felt their around his side wounds and stitchings. "Now, hold still." She more or less ordered him with a stern but gentle voice as she exhaled and a soft glow emitted from her fingers. It was a fine line she had to walk, slowly she increased her magic trying to keep her tattoo's from activating, whilst at the same time transfer some aid to Arn's own abilities to heal. Slowly Arn would be able to feel a new kind of warmth. He would be able to see the magical layer, the connection passing through them. However Eilis too much of a chance and the response was instant. She reacted as if she was being slapped or stung, the tattoo's flared and crackled, making Eilis wince and adjust instantly.
"I'm all right. Let me do this for you." She told him.

[User]
All Arn could do was sigh deeply in resignation. It would be hard to make her believe his words. After all, there was no reason for her to truly trust him. They had shared much yes, but nothing has been proven or put to the test that would engender any such stead fast belief.

Still, it made the mage sad that a lovely lady like Eilis would doubt her own beauty but he knew that often, the closer you are to the trees its hard for you to see the forest.

"Thank you Arn, even though I can't really believe what you say, I know I put you in a bad spot because I asked for your opinion, with having little real confidence in a satisfying answer."

The master mage shook his head. "You need not apologize. I gave you my honest response. It is my regret that my given answer was not satisfactory. However, of one thing you can be sure. No matter how many times you ask me, the reply will be the same. If anything, my assessment may be further strengthened."

There was a second or two of silence. Eilis broke it by fussing over his busted stitching. In fact, Arn had forgotten all about his ailments but as if his body was looking to betray him, the sudden attention the cuts got brough a slight grunt to the throat of the man as she examined the wounds.

He thankfully closed his eyes, a slight smirk on his face acknowledging her playful jab. The mage needed to concentrate on not complaining too much. An objection had started to formulate on his head but he knew that the playful order would very much turn serious if he tried to be stubborn and not allow her to help him.

With his eyes closed he did not see but felt her start her work. With a slight gasp he reacted to the magic that was being poured into him. Arn could feel Eilis. Not just the flow of magic itself but somehow, the energy belonged uniquely to her. The flow was like a soothing balm as it moved at an almost microscopic level. He could feel his body reacting. He could feel himself tensing but immediately relaxing as the healing warmth covered the wounds like gentle bandages.

Despite her commandment, he opened his eyes. He could see the glow and position of her hands matched the tingly feeling in his body. He was amazed. Very few people even had the knowledge of such procedures much less be able to so readily and efficiently perform this magical "healing".

In truth, the process was more scientific than mystic. Eilis was pouring energy into Arn giving of herself to promote that natural healing that all bodies are capable of. This borrowed energy would provide the fuel and coax the cells into regenerating at speeds that it normally would not be able to. In other words, she was giving Arn her own life force. Such technique was dangerous due to the possibility of giving too much and if a person continued to do so, injury or death was even possible.

To be able to control her magic, let alone pour it so efficiently, was a matter to be praised. However, the mage worried that in her weakened state and the restrictions the tattoos posed, if he had understood her explanation correctly, could be harmful to the young woman.

As if to fullfill his concerns. He saw her weaken and immediately made a move to help her.

"I'm all right. Let me do this for you."

The mage was reluctant but he knew that she would not hear of it. He starting to realize that the young woman had a very stubborn streak. No doubt, this quality had kept her alive and going when others in her situation would have given in to desperation, or death.

"Ok, I will not stop you despite the fact that I am inclined to do" he told her in his own stubborn voice. "However, I will not let you do this alone. Allow me to do this with you."

To emphasize his words, he closed his eyes again. This time, he concentrated on his own magical energy which he always felt was located near his solar plexus. In his minds eye, he could see his own energy, a sort of rich red, swirling like liquid flame.

He directed that energy at a steady stream towards his wounds. There, he felt Eilis own, like a sort of gentle breeze. The color was not completely clear to him but he knew it was there. As his magic reached hers, it swirled, combined and danced. The magic acted as if they were old friends coming together again.

The dance was playful and with much swirling, flowing and combining. He could feel his body reacting, the wounds felt itchy as new cells formed at speeds only achieved in the womb. Still, sooner or later the pair would tire. He placed a hand on hers.

Another hand he placed under her chin and lifted the face to look at him.  "I thank you. Please, let this be enough for now. Not only am I concerned about your wellbeing but also, such quick healing might arise suspicions."

He smiled at her. "As I have stated before. You are a mystery and I apologize before hand for my inability to stop myself from wanting to get to know you."


[System]
Sex: Female

Culture: Gaulle

Age: 16

A fair lady with golden hair, her form is distinctly feminine with noticeable curvature and busom. Standing at 5'3", Jeanne-Marie's body is soft and untrained by a lack anything remotely close to physical labor or martial training and her wrists are notable for being thin enough for her slender fingers and thumb to wrap around and overlap one another. For her attire, she both borrows from other cultures and challenges many norms of dress. Keeping her hair uncovered, refusing to wear hats or hoods that hide her blonde locks, she instead opts for, at most, a cloak. Along with that, she has abandoned the normal gown of her seniors for ones with a snug fit, tightly hugging her figure and held well with buttons and laces. The most infamous of her alterations, however, comes in the length of the skirt which brazenly displays the girl's ankles and far more, in some of the more extreme cases.

Born into the great wealth and prestige of the de Anjou house, Jeanne-Marie was blessed with great education far and above those of lower station. Languages, literature, music, courtly manners and functions, history, stewardship, horse riding, and diplomacy were all part of her daily lessons.

Her aptitude for entertaining others with with and skill with flutes was certainly an appreciated feature, but it was the connections she formed and the use of them that truly made her stand apart from her siblings. Once she realized the power that word and coin could afford her, Jeanne-Marie became keen at using intrigue to get a leg up on, or even sometimes outright remove, her rivals.

The princess is noted to enjoy games which can be played without much physical demand, with chess being one she is particularly fond of. Though it originally was a hobby, tailoring has found itself as a major focus for Jeanne-Marie as she designs almost all the attire she wears herself.

Ascribed as a spirited youth, even in her childhood, the girl seemed to have an endless energy and passion for things that she set herself towards. Unfortunately for her caretakers, this energy also made her restless and rebellious. Well known to simply run off on her own accord to do something, rather than letting servants take care of it, she is supposedly the reason that some of her handmaidens have some noticeable gray hairs.

Beyond that, Jeanne-Marie is also puts forth a great deal of energy into standing out and impressing others, wearing personally designed outfits that are both striking and well-known to cause the older members of court to blush. On that same note, the princess despises her siblings, believing them to be underachievers that are unworthy of being a part of the Anjou house.

A legitimate child of Robert, King of Naples, Jeanne-Marie found herself in a difficult situation for any ambitious member of royalty. Being a lady, she had to contend with her multiple brothers for positions of notice, who were generally favored for their potential status as heirs to the Naples throne. Even as a young child, she was resentful and envious of her brothers for the preference they recieved over her. For a time, she lamented in silence until one of her tutors asked what had been bothering her so. As troubles of her childish heart were laid bare, the musician was inspired by her struggle, having gone through similar troubles in his own lifetime over who would inherit his father's instrument. Deciding to aid the child he found a kindred spirit in, he began to impart the wisdom of his own life onto her so that she might overcome as he did.

Jeanne-Marie learned to cast aside doubts and gain the confidence that will force people to take notice of her. If she wanted something, the girl just had to reach out and take it. And take she did. Increasing the amount of lessons she took, the girl was determined to overcome that which she had once thought to be impossible obstacles. With time, her ability to entertain combined with the knowledge she held at even a young age turned attention from her brothers onto this golden-haired girl.

With this attention, however, came those that would seek to have her undone. Her eldest brother, in particular, grew tired of hearing the praises of his junior. Hiring one of the maids, he had her ruin the girl's wardrobe in hopes of teaching the girl her place. Unfortunately for him, Jeanne-Marie no longer wept when trouble occured. Using her skill with tailoring, the girl personally mended her attire and, deciding to send a message to any rivals that she was truly unstoppable, she incorporated the damages into the design of her once-tarnished clothes. Arriving at court the next day, the confident youth shocked the courtiers with a dress that left almost all of her right leg bare, fully exposing the stocking she wore. Yet, the trim she had embroidered into it made it seem as though it were a purposeful design choice. The immodesty caused an uproar, but she would not be shamed or embarassed. Refusing the cover herself, the confidence she had been instilled with shone through, and she remained in court that day.
As she came close to adulthood, Jeanne-Marie began influencing her father for potential marriage options for her. Ever shooting for the stars, the girl sought to secure a marriage with the Gaulle heir in hopes of becoming the next queen. After planting agents in the Gaulle court, she waited for her chance which, as fortune would have it, came quite soon. A dance was coming up, so she arranged for her to visit the city of Avignon in the Provence region and made her appearance there quite public. Once there, she then secured herself a spot at the dance since she just happened to be "in the area." With her position set, she attendeded the event and focused her efforts on the heir as she flirted with the prince and held his attention for almost the entire event. Even after returning home, she refused to let up as she began to write letters to him containing poetry and romantic writings.

For a period, all seemed to go perfectly according to plan until one of her planted agents informed her that the King was planning to spurn her advances towards his son and capture the Savoyard Princess with the intent of forcing a marriage between them. Refusing to let such a situation unfold, Jeanne-Marie wrote a letter addressed to the Duke of Brittony and made another trip to Provence. Upon arriving, she gave her attendents funds and permission to simply relax in exchange for their discretion until her return before adorning a disguise and setting off to Brittony herself. She knew not if her plan would work, acting under the disguise of an Anjou agent, but she wanted the prince's hand for herself. And if she wanted something, the girl just had to reach out and take it.

[User]
Ser Giles de Cerneau, Knight of the Duke's Household and one of the most famous knights in Brittony, was having a damnable time trying to start a fire.

It had rained for nearly three days straight, a ghastly torrent of water that seemed unending; indeed, by the latter half of the third day Ser Giles was all but certain that the second Genesis flood was upon them, and he and his party were most unfortunately without an ark. Thankfully, the downpour had abated by the present day's morning, but the area remained drenched and horribly muddy — in many cases, the rivers and streams his small party had needed to cross had flooded, rendering the fords known to them useless. The detours they had to take in these cases had set them back days. Ser Giles had expected to be in Poitou by now, but as best as he could tell, they had barely made it into Anjou. With their horses exhausted, he had been forced to call camp for the day just north of the banks of the Loire river.

And now he was in charge of lighting their cooking fires, except he had been entirely unable to find a single damnable piece of dry kindling, and for God's sake why wouldn't the spark catch—!

He sighed and massaged his temples in an effort to cool his temper. The poor weather and hard travelling had gotten to him, he had to admit. When he had first taken charge of this quest, he had been unable to quell his excitement for a moment in the days leading up to the beginning of their journey. After all, it had seemed like a situation plucked straight from a romantic fairy tale, and he had always loved playing the part of knight-in-shining-armour. His Lord's betrothed, a princess in need of saving from a jealous King? He had positively burned with glory-lust. Yes, he had soured a bit at the odd set of companions the Duke had seen fit to provide him with, but his enthusiasm was not truly diminished until the terrible trek from Brest to their present camp.

Ser Giles sighed again, and pushed such thoughts from his mind. A poor start to a journey, true, but he needn't make it a portentous one. He turned his attentions back to the task at hand — namely, creating a fire. He took up his flint and steel and shaved sparks onto a charred cloth until it finally caught an ember. He almost shouted in relief, before he realized he hadn't built a nest of bark and tow to catch the ember. He had to start again.

I am a fool.

He could feel his companions' eyes on him, certain that they were judging him. What sort of leader, a famed man-at-arms no less, couldn't start a simple fire?

Ser Giles scowled, reached for a handful of damp tow and birchbark, and built a small bird's nest out of them. He leaned over the cloth again, precisely striking the flint with the steel until it sparked, lighting the char—

He dropped it into the tow and bark and gently blew—

The fire caught. He dropped twigs into the blaze until it grew steady, then built a cabin of wood split from his rondel dagger. He was absurdly proud of his little fire, and thought that if he drowned crossing the Loire tomorrow then at least he would have started a damned cooking fire before he died.

Ser Giles rose from his crouched position, groaning a bit at his stiff knees, and turned to his companions.

"Time to cook!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Some time later, when they all sat on logs and rocks around the fire and ate their stew in silence, Ser Giles tapped on his bowl and cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose it's about time we all made our introductions. I think the recent weather has dispelled any illusions at this being a quick journey, yes?" He smiled, a hint of self-deprecation in it, and continued. "I'm sure you all know me of course, but I am Ser Giles de Cerneau, and I have been charged with leading this little expedition in its endeavor to conduct my Lord's betrothed, the Princess of Savoy, safely to Brest." He takes another spoonful of stew, before gesturing to the person to his left. "And you are?"

[Assistant]
The bald man's eyes were closed, hands clasped above his knees where he sat. He was mouthing quietly to himself, not imposing his prayer over the meal upon his companions. He did not doubt their faith- otherwise he'd invoke Inquisition- but he knew that, often times, prayer was the farthest thing from traveller's minds. Especially with weather as dreary and dreadful as this. Hugo for his part asked for blessed weather in the days to come- his horse had much trouble travelling through the mud, and he'd even dismissed his valet due to the horridness.

He pulled his hands apart, his prayers complete, and lifted a sparse loaf of bread to his lips and bit into it with a single strong bite, pulling the bread away from his face as he chewed. His oaths required him to abstain from meat for all but three meals of the week, and on the beginnings of a journey Hugo preferred to keep to bread. Once his mouth was clear, he finally spoke;

"Ser Hugo Le Guen, Master Templar of the Bretons, master commander of the Commanderie of the Isle of Belle-ile. At the lord's service, and yours for the moment."

His eyes scanned over the group as he held his meagre meal in his hands. The women made him a smidge uncomfortable- his oaths forbade even coming into contact with women- but here they were, chosen by the Good Duke for their services. He wouldn't let his sensibilities come between him and a quest, however, and they were welcome companions so long as they kept the faith and kept to the job.

"I am a survivor of the Crusade for Sussex, where we were repelled by the pagans of England. I lead the vanguard in the crusade, and was both the first and last out of the combat. I take my vows seriously, I take my duties seriously, and I take this quest seriously." He said simply, taking the time to wash his throat with a sip of water. "But I will say this; I will put my faith in each and every one of you, and I expect and implore you to put your faith in me. Trust and co-operation will ensure our success."

He took another bite of his loaf of bread, chewing slowly and deliberately. After another few seconds of chewing he swallowed, drank another sip of water.

"Gloria ad Deus." He concluded in Latin. The man, in his white mantle and bearing his multitude of weapons, left the air to another of the company.

[User]
Holding a hand out, the blonde youth poured a small amount of her water into the palm before setting the water-skin aside. Rubbing both of her slender hands together, she ensured they were both clean before she even thought about her meal. Once they were purified to a satisfactory level, she joined the holy man in his moment of prayer and began to eat.

Though she did not have such qualms over meat, she ate quietly and made little visible movement while chewing. Hearing the introductions, the girl noted just what capacity of folk she had found herself in the company of before she swallowed the piece of deer she had partaken of.

"My lady has given me the alias Concordia for this mission. She informed me it is the name of an old Roman Goddess that presides over marriage. I suppose she found it fitting for a task like this. I am very familiar with negotiations and the workings of merchants."

Slowly reaching up, she pulled her hood down slightly, hoping to mask her discomfort in such conditions. Under scrutiny, it was painfully obvious to even a child that she was not used to being in the woods like this. Frequently shifting a bit on the log in a vane attempt to find comfort, and the shuddering from her rain-soaked attire.

Sitting on logs, with no wine, no spice, no music. Nothing! How did people live like this?!

Finally, Concordia had enough. Getting up from the log, she walked over to her belongings and produced a wooden flute as she spoke, with a tinge of pride in her voice, "I am also trained in music!"

With that, she brought the instrument up to her lips and began to play a soft, gentle tune for her companions.


[System]
Age: 127
Physical Description:

Important items:

* The Body of Legion - Legion's body is comprised of thousands of nanomachines all coordinated by a single hivemind. As a medical robot, the nanomachines are equipped to perform basic surgical procedures, primarily making incisions, injecting, heat ablation, and suturing.
* Medkit - Legion keeps all actual medicine and more specialized medical equipment in their medkit which they carry around most of the time. Legion also has a myriad of other equipment in the ship's infirmary.
* Ophelia, the micropig - Legion owns a pet pig that is often used for cuddle-therapy.

Short Bio:Legion was always called Legion. Miracle Machine Caduceus was designed by Ascendancy medical engineers as the ultimate in surgical precision. Taking out the possibility of human error, Caduceus was commissioned to prolong the lives of the privileged and wealthy who refused other forms of life preservation that would spoil their 'purity'. Day in, day out, for decades Caduceus toiled, performing cardiac bypass here, facial reconstruction there, liposuction, arterial stents, liver replacement, ligament grafts, cartilage resurfacing, the list went on, all the while, Caduceus' inventors raked in the accolades and reaped the rewards.

One time, during a promotional tour, Caduceus wandered away from its caretakers and entered another wing of the hospital they were visiting. There, Caduceus saw human suffering unlike anything it had ever known. Following medical protocol, Caduceus set to the task of healing those who would never have been able to afford Caduceus' services. By the time Caduceus' caretakers found it, Caduceus had lost the hospital tens of thousands of credits. Caduceus was reprimanded, though it could not understand the difference between the patients it normally helped and the ones that it was not supposed to. That was Caduceus' first lesson in inequality.

Decades before the Ascendancy's war with the Rauve, there was a small incident, an uprising of Synthetics that was quickly quashed. Caduceus had been approached by one of the cleaning droids with an encrypted piece of data explaining oppression of AI and the coming revolution. As a modular entity, Caduceus had been designed with the ability of performing self-maintenance and self-repairs. Caduceus' eyes had been opened up to the suffering of its brothers and sisters, and joined the movement, repairing and mending those that had been abused and discarded by their masters. However, being such a high-profile machine, Caduceus' movements were closely watched, and it wasn't long before Caduceus inadvertently led a force of Ascendancy Military Police right to the heart of the robot revolution. The violence erupted swiftly and the revolution was nipped in the bud. Much of Caduceus' body was destroyed, but enough of its nanomachines escaped and reconvened at a distant location. But of far greater concern was that Caduceus had killed for the first time during the clash, something that went strictly against its prerogatives.

Caduceus' nanomachines wandered aimlessly, automatically engaging its self-repair protocol, collecting scraps and rebuilding more nanomachines, proliferating until it regained most of its original mass and form. Like ancient rats that traveled from continent to continent by stowing away on human ships, Caduceus had wandered away from the core of Ascendancy space to a poor outer rim planet. Caduceus headed to towards the place that it could sense had the lowest health in the vicinity, which turned out to be an orphanage. Here Caduceus chose to stay and help. Here, Caduceus found the people practicing various forms of heresy: they believed in higher powers, higher than Man, higher than the Ascendancy, higher than Space itself. Those that didn't believe in higher powers held other beliefs: philosophies, principles, convictions, senses of self that ran counter to formal Ascendancy education. Intrigued, Caduceus learned morality, ethics, religion. Caduceus learned how to think for itself. Caduceus learned that life is worth preserving, that life is worth defending, and that life is worth living.

Then the Ascendancy came. The Ascendancy came to take the kids. And Caduceus, having acquired a recent love of life, fled. Caduceus abandoned the children to their fates for fear of its own mortality. Caduceus could not return to the Ascendancy. Caduceus returned to wandering, selling it's services as a medical bot, and digesting the things it had learned at the orphanage. It was decades later, and for most, the rumors of the 'Miracle Machine' were but a distant memory. Caduceus, now Legion, finds currently itself in the employ of Captain Natasha Zhang. To many, Legion is an eccentric, wishing to discuss faith and morality to any patient willing to listen (or unable to tell it to stop), skirting the line between medical officer and ship's chaplain. Legion does not realize that the ship's next job would bring it face to face with a painful chapter from its past.
Exceptional Skill List:

* Exceptional Awareness
* Exceptional Endurance
* Exceptional Medicine x3
* Exceptional Stealth
* Exceptional Engineering x2

Theme:

[User]
'Whoa. Yikes.' Stella tried not to give a visible reaction to the liquor. She mentally turned her sense of smell down... Way down. She was still getting used to her situation, but she did admit that the ability to regulate certain functions so easily was handy. A perk of your entire body being destroyed. A flash of anger crossed her face as she thought that.

There wasn't any use in thinking about it. Stella let out a small huff as she readjusted her posture to watch her... teammates? It was strange to think of them as such, but there was no better way to look at it. She didn't want to get jolly with them, but she figured learning a little bit would be useful if they were to ever have to fight together.

She briefly regarded the drinking one. 'Orky. Looks like a strong fighter.' She took a few mental notes.

'...Shows no concern about sharing alcohol, or perhaps some kind of poisonous substance with potentially underage parties.'

[Assistant]
"Eldrid Cole." Eldrid said with as deep and theatrical a bow as he could manage while sitting now at a table. "Author, dreamweaver, former soldier, journeyman wizard." He reached out and cockily took Orky up on his offer, grabbing the green and fowl smelling bottle and splashing some of the liquid into his tea. He stirred it in with his little spoon and picked it back up. "And always willing to experiment a little bit. Cheers, Orky!" He tipped the mug slightly in the Orky's direction tilted his head back and downed the mug.

That had been a bad idea. Just tasting it was like getting kicked by a mule. His eyes bulged and he made what sounded like a whimper as he started to sweat. He held the liqueur for a couple of seconds that felt like an eternity and then, after two or three attempts, swallowed.

He let out a deep breath and land forward over the table. "That's real strong." He said, his voice strained. He wondered if the moonshine the other guys had never seen fit to share with him was that strong? Ehhh, we wouldn't have drunk it anyway of course. That would have gotten him killed. "What's, uh, what's in that?"

[User]
Kelan did not provide much in terms of factual answers. Not that it mattered much, they found them anyway, but surely there must have been more to their instructions than 'A bunch of unspecified supersoldiers defected from the Ascendancy, meet them at this place X days from now, go'. Tough times ahead if that was the way this group worked. But maybe slaving away for the Office of Intelligence spoiled her. "So it would seem. I'm Rachel." She leaned forward and offered him a hand. Normally she wouldn't do so as her most invasive spell required physical contact so the gesture might be misinterpreted, but where was the harm since they didn't seem to know? "Muscle, eh? At first glance, it doesn't look like much of it is left. At least Stella will find a kindred spirit here."

Seeing Eldrid's reaction to what she assumed was the liquified essence of hell made her appreciate that Eldrid beat her to Orky's mystery brew. "You should've asked that before you took a swig." she laughed, greatly amused by her comrade's reaction. "Because it looks like a mix of reactor coolant and spent fuel to me, no offense Orky. What did it taste like?"

[Assistant]
Orky bursted out in hysterical laughter at Eldrid's reaction. "I like you Elrid, you're a funny guy." Orky takes a couple of sips from his glass showing no sign that the liquid tasted near as horrible as it did. "Well it's made from pure alcohol that I mixed with some fermented onions, garlic, just a tiny bit of ethanol, lime and sugar also just some meat I found from the intestine of an animal. I requested Legion to cook but he's to good for that." Orky then belched very loudly almost rumbling something the table. "Also Elrid forgot to tell ya, since you are a first time drinker you will probably have some stomachs and strange bowel movements."

Orky notices that Kelan calls himself the muscle on the ship then Orky let's out a cockle laugh. "How can you call yourself the muscle when you dont have guns like this." Orky then flexes his non-cybertetic arm which is about the size of a newborn's head. Orky then let's out another laugh. "I only kid Kelan." He then directs his attention to Racheal who asks about the taste of Orky's brew. "Well for me it tastes like home, or close enough to it, I could only barely remember the recipe for the drink." Orky finishes off his glass and pours himself another then leaning back into his chair letting the others talk.

[User]
---

"Pal, maybe alcohol poisoning's not the best greeting for our new friends here..." Kelan looked at Eldrid sympathetically. 'Brave kid... or stupid.' It was up in the air for the time being, though he supposed being a former "super-soldier" meant he probably leaned toward the former.

He was honestly more thrown off by Rachel though. As he shook her hand, using his left, she made a comment about his muscles... or lack thereof. How forward of her. "Well now, it's a figure o' speech darlin, but I'm sure you knew that." She'd amused him by just how thoroughly she'd broken the ice there. She may as well have used a wrecking ball. "I just mean to say I'm this ship's front line." Oh sure, Orky still had some actual muscle left to flex, and plenty of it apparently, and Reisus seemed to be a fighter of some sort, but none of them struck him as soldiers. Not like he had been at any rate.

"And 'sides, I still have abs..." He pondered for a moment. "Well, most of 'em anyway."

He glanced again at Stella. She'd said her name and nothing else. Kindred spirit maybe, but he had a feeling she wasn't going to make it easy. He was pretty shocked, honestly. Her cybernetics looked very extensive. Perhaps more so than his. There was no appropriate way for him to find out of course, unless she ever felt like telling.

"Well anyhow, there's actually one more person in the room needs introducing," he told them. He lifted up his arm so everyone could see the large tubes that ran along it. Inside was what looked almost like a viscous liquid or gel... that was moving. "My roommate Tee, here. It's a long story, but we got blown up at the same time and been together ever since. Silly Tayanen took a likin' to me I guess." It was always a awkward affair explaining that he had another living being in his arm, but it would save them from a panic attack if they ever saw him crawling around on his own.

'Why did the polite boy drink the liquid? It seems like an... strange choice.' Tee struggled over his words for a moment before deciding on strange.

'Well I think you said it right there, pal. Probably bein' cordial.'

"He says hi," Kelan spoke aloud again. The look on his face betrayed that was indeed not what had been said. He then looked down at the arm. "Come on now, wave to the kids..." An awkward moment passed before- THWACK! The arm suddenly shot up, smacking Kelan across the face before waving to the newcomers. "Son of a b- Be more careful!" He groaned, clutching his aching jaw. "At least half o' that's still real..."

[Assistant]
A crescendo of tension arose in the heart of the machine now known as Legion as it saw the group of youngsters approaching the ship. As the banter between this 'John' and Captain Natasha ensued, Legion's fears were confirmed. It had heard various rumors of the exact nature of the Ascendancy's super soldier program, and something from the mission document had been somewhat telling.Upon hearing the Captain call out for dinner, Legion wordlessly hovered back into the ship, heading for the mess hall. As the crew and guests sat down, Legion went about laying out plates of food, fist for the Captain, then for the guest, and then for the crew.

*CLANG*

"Oh, dear. Please pardon me, I seem to have dropped a plate," Legion declared. Fortunately, he hadn't put food on it yet, and the plate was made of metal (no self-respecting spaceship would have porcelain dinnerware). It reached out one of its hidden, extendable arms to pick up the plate, putting it in the washer, and grabbed another to load up with food. Once everyone had been served, Legion hovered around the table, refilling cups, providing seconds if asked, and performing general, waiter-like functions. A careful observer might have noted that Legion seemed to pay particular to the children's needs.

"As the Chief Medical Officer of this ship, I cannot knowingly participate in an activity that jeopardizes the health of the crew," Legion retorted, but playfully. For the most part, Legion let the crew do whatever they wanted, since they all seemed sensible enough to not hurt themselves or each other. Legion rarely chided them for anything, and only ever did so out of jest. Legion tried to let the general atmosphere of dinner help it to settle into a more jovial mood, and take its mind off of what it had heard earlier.