[System]
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Godly parent: Sigyn
Brief description of godly parent: Sigyn, second wife of Loki, is most known for holding a bowl over her husband's head to catch the venom of the snake fastened above his head. She is fiercely loving, protective, and patient. She is among other names known as the North Star, and Lady of the Staying Power, although not much is known about her.
Appearance

Skills/Powers/Weapons: Alva is impressively resilient, and can endure what to others would be very physically or mentally challenging. As such, she trains a lot, and is quite strong. She favors the bow and similar weapons, but she knows how to wield a pistol.
Strengths/Weaknesses: Alva's main strength is her patience and endurance. In addition, she is somewhat of a diplomat and is good at calming others down. However, she tends to get too attached to people, and this can get her hurt. She's also not good at quick, impulsive decisions.
Other: Alva can at times seem aloof or distracted, but that's usually her being very focused on something in her mind.

[User] "It would be enough for that, but going high profile so very early on might play to our own disadvantage. Tempting as it is. It would be better to fund the forces we already have. While a PMC would be a good ace in the hole, them being involved in one battle would alert the entirety of the world to our own existence. Imagine if they humans knew that the children of gods walked among them. In the long term that may be worse than all of us dying at once." Johnny replied, having already thought out hiring human fighters to come to their aid. There were a few ways that would end ultimately, none of them optimal in his line of thought. Either things would go back to the ways of old, with people begging favor from every god they now knew to exist, turning on them and slaughtering them all in fear, or gods get asked to join an international community which they would likely immediately set about dominating now that they were known.

[Assistant] "You have a point." She said in a dejected tone, only to perk up a moment later. "Hey, I got an idea - we could see if one of them will let us -rent- an Apache!"

[User] "I highly doubt they would allow that, given that the PMC would take the blame for any attacks made with it. To put it mildly the very idea would make their legal departments shit themselves." He replied, moving to one of the unoccupied ranges and aiming his weapon.

[Assistant]
Riley
 He stepped from his cabin, an icy wind blowing through the camp as he did, cool air hitting warm, and a bit of a fog began billowing from his room before the door shut, sealing the sub-temperature cabin. As he walked, patches of ice would form and slowly melt as his feet left the ground, and a cloud of cold air surrounded him and anyone in a ten foot radius could feel it. As he exhaled, a cloud of vapor fell from his lips, as was costume to his breathing. He continued to walk, making eye contact with any who dared look him in the eyes, as in elder camp member, he had developed intense capability over his powers, including the ability to make frozen projectiles for long range attacking, and icy sickles for more personal combat. He had been raised in the camp, and knew of no life separate from his loyalty to the camp, and while others often disagreed with his methods, he was respected for his dedication to the camps survival.

 Having overheard the arguments over war methods, he had taken it upon himself to make his presence known, and offer his well weighted opinion into the mix. As the arguments became heated, then subsided, he chuckled softly to himself, before a small icy spike flew at incredible velocity between Ephraim's arms, slicing the string of his bow clean in half, if his actions did not make his thoughts on the matter clear, his words soon would.

 "Wood splits, cracks, freezes over and becomes useless, the same as swords and shields. A rifle may survive for a few decades, but will eventual be deemed useless, especially in the arms of someone lacking proficiency with a firearm, such as myself. Perhaps an acknowledgment that the modern, and even the less modern have their flaws, but name me a flaw in power so raw and ancient it has made beings of immortality unstoppable. Name me a weakness in weapons conjured from the capabilities woven deep into your own soul, something that will last until your own defeat."

 He asked calmly, his hands forming a sickle in the right, and a floating spike in the left, gesturing with them to further his point.

@Corsair

[User]
"...Damn. As usual, thwarted by lawyers." She thumped her fist into her open palm. "That reminds me, we need to see if it's possible to file a restraining order against the Gods. At any rate, we can still see about purchasing some guns and ammo. I know a guy who knows a guy."

She looked at the guy throwing shards of ice around, then looked over at Ephraim. "Huh. Good job, you made me look polite by comparison."

[Assistant]
Adrian couldn't help but chuckle as he lazily meandered on by the shooting range. Looked like target practice was subsiding for the day, and considering the familiar sounds of an argument, he could understand why. He didn't even have to see faces to know Victoria and Ephraim were butting heads. And even after the riveting conversation ended, and Nycteris took off for the woods, the air was still just ever so tense. Or maybe Adrian was confusing "tense" with "steadily dropping". He only realized he was mixing up words once Riley made his way towards the targets.

"Ugh, should've put on thicker shorts this morning." He thought, his bare legs receiving the brunt of the icy wind. Once Adrian reached Victoria and Johnny, Riley said some words that Adrian couldn't help but agree with. "Gotta side with Frosty on this one. I'll probably never be good with a bow, but I know I can hit someone with a fireball. With the same speed and strength of an arrow." Another gust of the cold front passed by, and sent a noticeable shiver down his spine. "...Though, it would be cool if we were working with something a little warmer." He mumbled a little softer, blowing a spew of flame into his cupped hands to warm them.

"Vicky, Johnny." He brightly greeted the two. "Are you guys playing nice this morning?" He asked the way a doting mother asks her children. He may've shared Victoria's opinion on the gods and how not to worship them, he just didn't see himself being as...militant as she was. "Militant? Is that the word i'm looking for...? Driven. Driven sounds better."

[User] Ephraim flat-out growled. "Do you have any consideration for other people's belongings? This doesn't belong to the Refuge, you know. This is mine." He brought the now-useless bow to the table, removing the string as quickly as possible. "And unlike you two, Riley, Johnny, I have no flashy powers. I'm a warrior, plain and simple. You want a power battle? Go talk to Nycteris. You want a mental battle? Find one of Loki's kids. You want a duel of honor? Challenge me." With one last annoyed look, he turned his back to the other people, focusing on replacing the string of his bow. Unlike the weapons the kids had been using, his was a masterfully crafted recurve bow with a 100 lb. draw weight. Only a few could use it, not that Ephraim would ever let anyone else handle it. It was his, and his alone.

[Assistant] "I may not agree with Ephraim's methods, but these kids do need to learn how to handle weapons. We've got kids here whose powers are limited to being able to breathe underwater and talk to birds." She grabbed her duffel and set it on a table, reaching inside to pull out a box of rounds to slide into her stripper clips. "And if you want to make a point, make it with words. We've all got enough problems without trying to kill each other." Tempting as it sounded at times, she thought to herself. "Hell's bells, we have the kings of three Pantheons coming to slaughter us. If you want to argue, maybe argue about ways to make it less likely we all die."

[User]
Unnoticed by everyone, Rayon's attention was fully on the group as they argued. His eyes were transfixed on their weaponry, their abilities, and he began wondering if any of them could teach him. They all looked so cool! He wondered if he looked as cool while he was flying, or maybe when he shot out his laser beams. In any case . . .

"Hey, hey guys can you teach me how to use a bow! or a gun! or that ice thing!" he suddenly shouted excitedly. "Those weapons looks awesome! I wonder if I can get my own?"

While he was shouting and waving his arms expectantly in between Ephraim and Victoria, he'd forgotten one thing: currently, he was invisible. Among all his divine abilities, invisibility was the one power that kept acting up. Unless he was using another power, he would suddenly and randomly turn invisible, sometimes it even happened while he slept, resulting in people jumping on him sometimes. Invisibility was both the blessing and curse of Medjed, the most obscure of the Egyptian gods; unlike Rayon, however, Medjed knew how to use that obscurity to his advantage. Rayon couldn't do much but whine about it.

Of course, in his excitement, he had no idea he was invisible right now, so the most anyone could tell he was there was a disembodied voice right in front of Victoria.

[Assistant]
Riley
 Shaking his head slowly, he snapped his fingers and the cold air dropped like a weight, a layer of ice forming on the ground then quickly dissipating. The lack of trust in the camper's abilities hurt him, on a personal level. Had his trainer held the same view that these two had, his only skill would be wielding a knife and having cold skin. He would have died several times over had it not been for his extensive practice and exercise of his magic. What they failed to understand is that magic was like a muscle, and the more you used it the stronger it became. He wasn't born with the ability to freeze lakes and drop the temperature up to a mile away, he had worked for it, hard.
"If we follow either of you, we will be lead into nothing but weakness and defeat. There is a reason our ancestors were worshiped, and it wasn't because they used weapons of men."

 Hearing the disembodied voice he automatically moved into his fight stance, a spike of ice forming in each hand, preparing to strike at whatever needed. With a flick of his wrist, a cloud of sub-zero air burst out from around him, creating a dense fog that revealed the shape of Rayon's invisible body.
"State your intentions or face execution!"
 He demanded in an authoritative, but collected tone.

[User] "You're right, Thor used no hammer, Susanoo didn't have a sword, and no war god ever touched a weapon of man. Truly it is purely for their use of magic that all gods were worshiped. No god was ever worshiped for martial or tactical prowess." He responded with a slight grin to Riley. Chuckling afterwards at the argument that had been indirectly put forth. After he laughed he fired off a quick burst from the G36, the rounds grouping slightly off of center as he then used that to readjust his sights.

[Assistant] "Would you stop trying to be intimidating, kid? You look like you're going to run home crying and post on tumblr about how we were all mean to you. Put the damn ice away, you melodramatic skidmark, it's Invisible Kid."

[User]
A weapon "of yew or boxwood", a draw weight significantly greater than that of the modern longbow. Monstrously huge, its length of seventy inches surpassing even his own height. Had he been any other child of the current age, he knew, whose stamina and strength were not equally as terrifying, then he would never have been able to draw back the hemp string. It was truly remarkable, knowing that the medieval archers had deformed their very skeletons in order to hone their mastery of the bow. Humbling too, for one who lived in modern times.

Rhodri drew back the string of his Welsh longbow as far as he could, the ease of which he did so almost ridiculous. The strength afforded to him by his mother Rhiannon was a blessing in situations like these, for the struggles that had plagued his ancestors would never afflict him. Had they possessed his divine strength, then there would have likely been far more dead Frenchmen at Agincourt.

Hold still.

Aim.

Fire.

The arrow flew, quietly whistling through the air before it slammed into the target. Not a bullseye, but it wasn't that bad of a shot. For someone whose archery history had really consisted of whatever opportunities had been provided to him on camps, at least.

He placed the bow back on the ground and stretched out his arms. The Briton wasn't really welcoming the need for daily practice. He understood perfectly why they needed to do so, but it would be a chore. Still, no point in grumbling over spilt milk.

"Wonder what they're talking about?" mused Rhodri quietly to himself, allowing his eyes to lazily wander over to the group of firearm users on the other end of the range.

[Assistant]
Rayon yelped in surprise as the temperature suddenly dropped around him, and Riley gripped threatening spikes of ice while facing him. Not understanding why he was reacting that way, Rayon panicked and his invisibility instinctively dropped, only for it to be replaced with another ability, one most suited for fleeing: Flight.

The boy shot up near eight meters into the air, flailing his limbs like a headless chicken as he did so. "Don't hurt me don't hurt don't hurt me!" he squawked, literally hanging in the air while curling into a defensive ball. "I was just curious, that's all!"

[User]
This bow did not feel right to Alva. It was a simple bow, clearly not made by any competent craftsman. She missed her own bow from back home, but she had not exactly had the opportunity to take much with her. Soon, one of these days, she would have to make her own. She had scouted out some trees in the surrounding forest. Their wood would do well for the purpose.
Although this bow was not ideal, it was alright - Alva still managed to center most of her shots. She drew back the string once more. Steady breath, steady hand. Aim. Breathe. Release.

The arrow cut through the air, landing a few inches left of center. Arrows were beginning to become clustered. She repeated what to her was almost ritualistic - draw, breathe, aim, breathe, release. With a soft thunk the arrow planted itself into the target. Although she knew around her there was arguing and dissent, Alva remained focused. She could intervene, but she was too far into this almost meditative state to break out of her concentration.

Draw, breathe, aim, breathe, release.
Thunk.


[System]
Age: 777
Gender: Androgynous (often answers to male pronouns)
Breed: Retired Celestial ('Nephilim')

Physical Description: (Because I can never get pictures to work right >.< )
Parael stands just shy of 6 feet tall, near 130lbs, with long golden hair grown down to his shoulders, often done up in a ponytail. When working at his center he's dressed in ragged jeans and a clean vest with a diaper bag over his shoulder. On the streets he often wears a button up vest, while channeling his powers can reveal ethereal wings that no longer physically exist.

Talents:
Parael lost most of his Celestial powers after he retired and became Nephilim, but he has picked up a few skills here and there since becoming half human...

- Divine Light: Normally deadly and natural to a full Celestial, Parael was taught to channel Divine power through his human hands roughly 500 years ago. Through human conjuring, this power is little more than a bright and hot flare.

- Glamour: By necessity, Parael has learned to harness human illusion powers to maintain glamours around himself and his place of business, disguising himself against mortal eyes.

History:
Parael doesn't like to discuss his history from before his retirement to the human world ("I abhor getting involved with all the human dogma over whose Creator is right. You all need to stop worrying your lovely faces about that and get to the business of living!") But certain individuals believe that he was present shortly after the moment of creation, this revelation coming from nights involving too much alcohol and pillow talk- and as with all such talk, could easily be a fabrication. Whatever precipitated Parael to hang up his wings in the Middle Ages is between Parael and whatever Celestial ordered him around at the time.

After coming down to Earth in the Far East during the Middle Ages and being tutored in human culture by a Chinese dragon, Parael hitch-hiked across the silk road with a Djinni caravan, partied in Europe among the Faerie courts through the Renaissance, sailed across the Atlantic to South America to run with were-jaguars during the Age of Exploration, chillaxed in the Caribbean with wizard cabals through to the 1800s, and finally settled in New Camden during the modern era. It wasn't until settling Camden that he actually began to buy into the tributary system and managed to cultivate a number of relationships with the ruling council of the city ("'Cultivate' is such a cleaned up word, darling! I got around. A lot.")

Celestial blood is a much desired commodity in the magical world, being used for anything from spell components in Elixers of Life to psychotropic drugs for werewolves. His identity as a Celestial would be impossible to conceal forever, so Parael worked out a deal with the city's vampire leader Caradoc de Lacy to provide a certain tithe of blood every month, allowing the vampire to store and imbibe it whenever he liked- negating the deadliness of sunlight to the city's leader for a few hours at a time. Being able to surprise his foes at high noon while they plotted against him was a boon the vampire couldn't afford to pass up. Caradoc, meanwhile, protected Parael's identity as a Celestial from the general supernatural population, eliminating anyone who got too close to the truth of how he could move about during daylight hours.

This protection became doubly handy when, in the Moral Panic of the 1980s, the human city council tried to shut down Parael's daycare center under the pretense of "protecting children from the homosexual menace." Caradoc stepped up and bullied the council into keeping away, but the Celestial soon found himself in deeper debt to Caradoc for the intercession.

Caradoc's human rival, Baroness Augusta, a wizard with an arsenal of magic at her disposal, lost three magi trying to discern how Caradoc could move about seemingly at random during the day. When she discovered the existence of Parael, the two leaders called a council to discuss his presence in Camden. Parael doesn't know what accord they came to, but the inquiries from the city's wizards did stop.

To the supernatural "public" of Camden, Parael is still an eccentric magi who is good with kids and operates out of a daycare center on the East Side. Parael pays tribute by watching over the children of other paranormals, occasionally enchanting them with glamour to pass under mortal gaze when not in full control of their powers; and most importantly, by his blood tithe to the Prince ("And judging by how Baroness Augusta's wrinkled face is looking, the covens are getting a cut too. Unless that's Botox she's taking and I'm wrong.")

With the arrival of Nemsemet and the eradication of the Count and his court, Parael is feeling the pressure whether to go underground or to step up and fight. Coming out of retirement is not in the cards, as a full Celestial entering battle with Nemsemet may emerge victorious, but the clash could level the city of New Camden and everyone in it. For now his daycare center has turned into nothing less than a fortified bunker with wizards and faeries placing wards all over the grounds to protect their next generation from the wrath of Nemsemet...

Psychological Profile:
Parael is a bubbly, flirtatious individual who is absolutely enthralled with the modern mortal world. The iPhone is a greater wonder than all the stars in the sky ("Except for Orion, that sly stud!"). His identity as an ex-Celestial is a closely guarded secret however, and he is supremely sensitive to anyone bringing up the idea that he could be one.

Possessions:
Parael travels light in his day-to-day work. He always has a slick, designer diaper bag on hand from which he pulls all manner of items including toys, food, spellbooks and extra clothes. Buried beneath the floorboards in his bedroom is a dirty, dented iron longsword which he treats with all the reverence of a Colt .45 when in hand.

He does keep an enormous collection of mementos in his apartment. He still has a silk robe which he picked up from his landing in China, which he often lays about in during his off hours, a set of jeweled earrings from India during his trek across the Silk Road, a silver Fairy Sword he got from the Queen of Spring in a tournament ("I'm not bragging, but it was actually the prize in a beauty contest."), and a collection of Obsidian daggers and war clubs during his time in the South American jungles with the were-panthers ("I've yet to find better steak knives and meat tenderizers!").

Yes, and: Parael Magnus hunkered down right after the appearance of the dread Nemsemet, warding his daycare center to try and hide the fact that he was a Celestial from the enemy and providing a place of safety for anyone else who needed a way to lay low...

[User]
Claudia stiffened as the man turned to look at her, obviously reaching for his weapon. She cocked an eyebrow at his demands, communicating her disapproval and exasperation as she crossed her arms over her chest. He knew she was there, which meant one of two things. Either he wasn't as human as she'd thought, which which would explain the odd déjà vu or she wasn't as good at hiding as she'd thought. It had to be the former, as the latter was simply ridiculous. She was like a shadow, no one could catch her. Right? She was shaken from her musing as the door burst open, revealing an odd sight to behold. In the door way stood a tall man with long blond hair and wielding both a sword and a diaper bag. Claudia flinched and hissed at the intruder, caught off guard. She felt odd at this person, as if physically repelled. He wasn't human, his odd swords and too-sparkly-to-be-human hair made that clear, and by what Claudia's instincts told her, he was probably from the opposite of where she was from.

After recovering from her shock, Claudia chose to give Parry an incredulous stare. He said something about leather and dead cows, and Claudia felt slightly offended at the insult to her wardrobe. This is what she had, sorry if it didn't fit in with snobby rich people standards... Finally the man paused in his gibberish to question the two at his doorstep. Instead of answering him, she went over the pieces of information he had given her, before pausing. Had he just called this man Karram? Claudia narrowed her eyes, slowly turning her head to glare at Karram. So this man was the same one who had put her in jail, made her lose Tom? Grief clawed up her throat, feeling like it would choke her. Anger mixed with the grief, creating a dangerous mix inside of her. She knew that it wasn't his fault Tom had died, but if she had been there she could have stopped it. And because of this man, she wasn't. All the more reason to kill him.

More people shuffled towards the door. Great, just what she needed today. A scene. Claudia opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by a distant whistling, steadily growing louder until it had become a shriek. She turned in time for the first explosion. Cursing, she shoved Karram backwards. This was herkill. She had received the order to take him out, and she felt that she deserved it. No way were these rocket-firing idiots going to blow up their asses. She kneeled down, quickly shedding the uncomfortable coat and grabbing two guns, firing at whatever shooters she could see in front of her. It was like some of the territory disputes her gang had with others, only with more explosions. There was a sudden sharp pain in her calf, before what felt like fire shot through her leg. Of course she had been shot. Ducking to the side, she checked her wound and reloaded. It wasn't as bad as other things she'd been through, but having a bullet in your leg still wasn't rainbows and sunshine as mortals put it.

[Assistant]
The call was short and to the point. Autumn always did have a good sense of purpose. Another reason to add to the list on why Gray worked with her.

Shy footsteps treaded down the hallway so Gray took a stance next to the door and drew one of his Glocks. He was expecting Autumn to arrive soon but caution didn't hurt. Instead of knocking she slipped a piece of paper beneath the door which he didn't completely expect. Scooping it up, he read it off quickly and confirmed it had to be her. Holding the handgun close to his chest he unbolted the deadlock and pulled the door open. He motioned her inside while glancing down either side of the hallway before closing the door. It didn't matter to how she found him so quickly.

Gray kept his voice to a moderate level as he started going through details. "Strange to see you in person on the job. Last time this happened was on the ghoul job in Vancouver." A smile streaks across his face. "They had good spaghetti." Ghouls generally had the same traits as zombies except they were fast and smart. That group almost outplayed Gray using the abandoned tunnels. Clearing his throat he went to business. "I'll tell you what I know so far." Gray lowered his voice so that only she could hear. Crappy walls were a hazard but the place was affordable and defensible - mostly. "There's a sorcerer or witch doctor of ridiculous power out there. I can't leave and I doubt you can now. I tried earlier. Felt like the seizure my brother describes on occasion when I tried to. Crazy part is I saw other people leaving the area just fine. I didn't know magic could get so specific. Whoever's behind this is organizing the monsters. There's been a lot of abnormal activity so I've been playing it safe for now but I have a hunch that slaughter is on the horizon. It's not looking good Autumn. Seems to me we're staying for the party so we'd best get comfy."

Gray continued habitually peeking out the windows through slits in the curtains, making sure not to ruffle them.

[User]
Lying on the ground, staring up at the night sky while explosions went off left and right, gunfire and magic fireballs. Parry had listened to Tony describe the concussive power of explosive weapons before, fighting in the jungle and all that. He'd listened to the lycan back then out of decorum rather than interest. Turns out he would have been better off paying attention to those old war stories, especially if Tony had one he liked to call "The day I survived 18 rockets."

I retired to get away from this shit. Well, not the rockets and guns. Those are new. Not much different from Daemon curses and flaming javelins. What the Pit is that noise though? My carbon monoxide thingy? Oooooh, ringing in the ears? Is that what this is? It's not ringing, Tony. More like an eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee sound that's getting quieter and quieter...

Aaaaaaaand, back to reality.

Tony was inside screaming about a back door, probably reliving his glory days from 'Nam.

Parry caught the scent of blood tinged with spearmint- Rikive was shot but definitely not dead.

Something suddenly stank of Demonic pitch mixed with copper. So Karram's drably dressed girlfriend was a demon? And she was shot too. And returning fire if that pop-pop-pop sound was any indicator.
Great. A Demon-touched. This is gonna get awwwwwwkwaaaaaaaard.

Flint was doing his level best to keep Parry alive, erecting dirt barricades to absorb any rockets that came their way and firing off pistol shots with his own hand cannon.

"Aw, Flinty! My knight in shining armor!" Parry grinned, leaning up and planting a chaste kiss on the detective's cheek as he stopped to reload. "Oh hells! You taste like whiskey and Marlboro. Get off of me and get some aftershave!" The Celestial took all of six seconds to scratch and claw at his lips to get the taste off of them. "Like licking a trailer park rug. Never doing that again."

Parry rolled to the side, giving the PI a chance to reload without getting any more smooches, while the Celestial considered their options. The house was warded against magic, so either Nemsemet had guessed that and sent his lackeys loaded for bear, or just never had any fucks to give over the whole "subtlety" thing. Made sense either way, so it didn't fucking matter.

"Tony, back door through the kitchen! There's a subway entrance one block down! We need to get them into the house to trip the Wards on them! Beth, see if you can puppeteer one of the shooters and make a mess from behind them!"


[System]
Theme:
Just One Yesterday by Fall Out Boy

Gender:
Female

Species:
Lessereurm

Appearance:
Green with blue mixed in.
She looked like a fantasy version of a skink lizard, her head being more bony with scaly outcrops along her snout and over the ridges on her eyes. Though she had no back legs, her front limbs had become somewhat longer and stronger. While she didn't have true thumbs, her claws had been reduced to three digits, two of which were longer and the third of which was shorter, thicker, and set at an angle to the others. It was a bit like a human's hand making a constant "Spock-hand" by holding the index-middle and pinky-ring fingers in pairs and curling the thumb. The joints of these "fingers" and the natural curl of her claws gave her a stronger grip that she could feel even as she began to pull herself along the ground--she would be able to pull, or to scoop and dig, quite fast if she felt so inclined. She was roughly twice as long as her previous form, though not so heavy-set throughout her body. As her tail instinctively lashed behind her, she would likely feel confident that she could easily contort herself in a variety of shapes.

Goals:
Rain has only a few major goals:
-Follow any instructions from the mysterious Demon King
-Make the most of this second chance, no matter the cost
-Become the King's favorite, at any cost (selfish reasons, really)

Past Life:
There were few things more important to Rain in her short life than secrecy, alertness, and speed. She was not stronger than most, she was not at healthy as most, but with those three key factors helped to keep her alive and ahead in the dirty streets of an unnamed slum deep in the heart of Detroit.

Born to teen parents who didn't want her, it was a life of hardship from the start. She looked to her parents and was left wanting, before being abandoned at the age of six. She was a street urchin with a lack of trust and a thirst for better.

She scraped by, year after year, by honing these skills and not being afraid to be ruthless with the other filth left in the gutter, the gangs and the deranged.

Her life, however, was cut short by someone just a bit smarter and faster than she was, who happened to slip a knife between her ribs at the age of 16.

Given a second chance, she's going to do it right this time.

Transformations:
Fanged Lizard -- Lesserwurm

Inventory:

[User]
Although uneasy and intimidated, Sato was genuinely curious on the reason why he was "graced" by the precense and attention of the goblin leader.

"Youse's borned..."

Sato simply nodded his head while maintaining a vacant expression as he had no idea where they were going from here.

"Dis many days ago. Not long time."

He still had no clue on what Lansa's train of thought was, but Sato couldn't help but anxiously stare at the spear that was in front of him. It was one of the many weapons Sato wished he had. Unfortunately, he didn't have the option to simply take it for himself. Well, at least for now.

"But I seen yas, youse growin' fast. And ya does dem funny tings, erry day. Climbin' on trees. Pickin' up heavy tings and puttin' 'em down agin. An' ya da only Gob dum enuff to keep tryin' to arm wrassle Ballz."

Despite the suspiciousness that was being directed at him, Sato remained cool as a cucumber.

"Sore Toe just wanna be strong." Sato plainly said while staring at the goblin leader while embracing his goblin identity.

"Youse one o' Granpy Kiri's younglings. Dunno which one was yore muddah, but dey both Gobs. Not Hobs like mines, or Bugbear like Ballz's faddah."

He tapped Sato's leg with the butt of his spear. "So how's you gettin' stronk so fast?"

Sato flinched and took a step backwards before looking back at Lansa, his facial expression was that of dumbfoundedness.

"Why'd boss hit me?" He thought to himself before answering their leader.

"Dunno, boss. Just wanna be bettah at liftin, climbin, huntin, and fightin. If ya do it nuff times, ya bound to get bettah, right?"

Sato answered with nothing but honestly. The situation didn't call for deceit. Although he couldn't say it out loud, he found the questions being asked to be silly since Lansa already mentioned the training and exercise that he had undergone the last few days.

Was it because Lansa didn't understand the concept of exercise? Was he dumb? Was Sato the smarter one?

Sato realized this and chose to believe he was superior intellectual, and it showed as a massive grin suddenly appeared on his face.

Names:
Satoshi Nakata
Sato
Sore Toe
Specie: Goblin

Level: 4
Max Stamina Increased
Abilities:
Use Light Equipment I (1.0):
Stronger I (1.0):
Iron Gullet I (1.0) [Past Life Skill]:
Harder (0.5):
Faster (0.5):
Smash (0.5)
Inventory:
Wooden Club

[Assistant]
@Zeroth

Femus stopped for a moment, just stopped. It was the first time he had heard human level speech in his new body. He felt tingles rush over his surface. His mind went into overdrive as his body began levitating as swiftly as possible after the fleeing rat, trying to stay in range as he focused on rapidly casting Mana Orb 2 without hitting his new acquaintance. He hadn't realized that he would actually miss human interaction to such an extent that he could have a physical response to getting it back.

"Just try to keep it predictable and I'll do the rest!" The yellowish green wisp said forcefully.

He unconsciously raised the importance of making an ally of this pixie by several ticks on his priority list. He also used Monster Analysis on the dire rat, determined to use his understanding of anatomy to discover any additional weak points as well as using his knowledge of its body to predict its most likely movements.

His first lvl 2 Mana Orb was simply targeted to land another body hit, he wasn't picky. It would probably knock the rat down, giving him a brief window of opportunity. In the instant that it fell, he would hit it again. But, this followup spell would be aimed at where the rat's head was most likely to be. Femus would only stop the combo mid-way if the rat clearly suffered immediately terminal damage from the first Mana Orb 2.

[User]
Edward Marsh

---

At normal strength and with the help of Asteria, Ed would have dealt with the bug in a couple of swings. But this was not the case. He was beyond the point of exhaustion and while his body no longer cried in pain at every movement, his body and limbs still felt like they were completely made of lead. Each strike was a feeble strike compared to his average and it took the young ratman a total of ten strikes to finally bring down the giant insect.

It was only after it died that Ed allowed his body to fall flat onto the blood stained grass beneath him. Ed finally earned a few moments of respite after a hard fought battle that demanded his 100% and then some. His heavy breathing caused the blades of grass in front of his muzzle to violently flutter back and forth against his ragged and labored breaths. He would have died then and there if Asteria was not there to help. He should thank her properly for that in the future, though for now he would hold his tongue and simply enjoy this brief few moments of placidity. In the passing of a few more moments, Ed was able to regain control of his breathing and regain a small fraction of his stamina back. It was in that span that Ed realized something terrible.

This wasn't a chance encounter.

These things were like the ants back in his native Earth. They followed the trail of pheromones left behind by the one they killed yesterday. If they killed them, even more would just come after. If these bugs were anything like the ants, they would number by the THOUSANDS...and those were just workers. A chance thought passed his mind: 'Things couldn't get any worse, can it?' And on cue, his ears swiveled and picked up the conversation between two individuals. Villagers most likely due to their fight not being the most discreet of fights. The young ratman closes his eyes for a brief moment and lets out a tired, weary sigh before slowly pushing himself up from the ground. 'Ain't no rest for the wicked, huh?' He mentally gripes to himself.

It take a herculean effort to lift himself off the ground and onto a sitting position. He began thinking of the possible solutions to their predicament. Escape was out of the question; Mother Rat had an observable limp and even if they could, his body still felt like it was made of lead. Fighting them, even at their peak state, was outright suicide. That only left one option...stealth and subterfuge. "Asteria. There are some villagers are closing in on us. I-I think they saw the bug I sent flying when I punched it. Place what you can in the Den, and hide with Mother Rat." Ed was still unsure on what he was going to do, but he had to try. Ed collects the discarded Flint and Striker and places it inside of the Den. He then approaches the bloodstained great club and tucks it underneath the grass, obscuring the weapon completely. Finally, Ed smears blood and dirt all over his body. Making sure that his slightly healed ass wound stayed clean before he lies near the three corpses and plays dead.

If he was lucky, the villagers would just put it off as monsters killing one another; leave it at that and go away. If not, nothing short of a miracle can save him as if they got close enough, they would see that he was still very much alive and breathing.

LVL: 6
HP: Hurt
SP: Very Tried
MP: Empty

Effect/s: PECKISH, THIRSTY

SKILLS:

Unspent Skill Points: 0
Current Skills:
Monster Analysis (1.0)
Overwork (1.0)
Dynamic Eye I (1.0)
Rabid Fit I (1.2)
Smash I (1.0)
Beast Sense II (2.4) (PASSIVE)
Alert I (1.0) (PASSIVE)
Harder I (1.0) (PASSIVE)
Faster I (1.0) (PASSIVE)
Stronger I (1.05) (PASSIVE)
Muffle II (2.0) (PASSIVE)
Use Light Equipment (--) (PASSIVE)
Dexterous I (1.0) (PASSIVE)
__________________________________
<UNUSABLE SKILLS>
SKILL PROGRESS:
Material Analysis (0.4)
Magic Analysis (0.65)
Warcry (0.4)
Tremor Sense (0.025)
Mental Resistance (0.9)
Telepathy (0.075)
Mana Shape (0.7)
Focus (0.8)
Shield (0.5)
Mana Shell (0.4)
Soil Manipulation (0.7)
Crafting (0.25)
First Aid (0.1)
Meditate (0.4)
People Sense (0.2)
Plant Analysis (0.1)
Swift Swimmer (0.4)
Charm (0.025)
Repel (0.025)
Stealth Kill (0.3)
Blunt Resistance (0.1)
Prehensile Tail (0.3)
Mana Strike (0.2)
Minor Heal (0.05)
<UNUSABLE SKILLS>

Inventory:
- Vine Belt (Shoddy Quality) x 1 [Equipped]
- Healing Herbs x 1
- Bundle of Sticks x 1 [In Den]
- Flame touched crystals x 2
- Flint and Striker x 1 [In Den]
- Tainted Crystal x 1
- Short Cudgel (Unknown Quality) x 1 [Equipped]
- Great Club (Unknown Quality) x 1 [Dropped]
- Assorted Insect Parts x 1 [In Den]

-Helps kill the Myrminor Worker finally manages to catch a small break.
-Manages to regain a small fraction of his stamina back and realizes that this was not a chance encounter.
-Realizes that Myrminors would be like native ants of Earth and killing one just brings more.
-Things get worse and he hears the villagers approaching them.
-Gripes but none the less formulates a plan and explains it to Asteria.
-Gets the Flint and Striker and puts it inside of the den.
-Hides the Kanabo underneath the grass and smears himself with blood and mud, but avoiding getting mud into his healing butt wound.
-Positions himself near the three corpses and puts on an act that he is dead.
-Hopes that if the villagers spot the place, they will see the scene and just leave it as a 'monsters killing monsters' type of event and go away.
-If not...well then shit.

[Assistant]
Torrent cheered as she completed her spells, her tail swishing back and forth before she settled down to Meditate to regain her MP. A thought occurred to her, however, so she waited a bit longer Meditating to try and see if she couldn't surpass her "full" limit or if it would just overflow like a bucket in the rain.

When either nothing happened or something did, she turned her attention to what she wanted to do next. Immediately there were two more spells she wanted to try, because they made the most sense given what she already knew. She could do water and fire, create a fog to hide in, and she knew Digbie could control the earth, so....

What about the air? And what about the other part of water, ice?

She thought about how she had made the water stream, taking a deep breath and working to infuse mana into the air in her mouth. When she felt like she couldn't hold her breath anymore she explosively expelled the air as forcefully as she could, trying to make it like a blast as best she could imagine. She tried this a few times, trying to hold her breath as long as she could each time and trying to be as forceful with the release as she could before she decided to move on and come back to it if needed.

For the ice she had in mind, she again filled her mouth most of the way with water and sat. Instead of pulling on the heat within her to make fire, she instead pulled on that empty part that was always with her. Of cold winter nights on the streets, of snow falling, of being so alone that she felt cold inside. She pulled on these feelings as she tried to pull the warmth from the water while she infused it with mana. In her mind she imagined this working like her Poison Breath had, where it would spread out like a breath attack. But this time it would be icy, right?

When she released it she did so much in the same way she used to do Poison Breath before she sacrificed the skill.


[System]
Alias: El Diablo

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Alignment: Helios

Skills: Was a professional boxer, learned many other fighting styles like jiu jitsu, learned how to use a katana very well as well as pistols and many other weapons.

Powers: All of his senses are enhanced 2x above an average human being, so he uses a bit more percentage of his brain than others.

Equipment: He's a bit old fashioned so he uses a katana that he keeps by his side. He also uses a pistol in his other hand which he fights with both in some fights.

His pistol uses cybernetic bullets

Personality: He's not a very nice person due to his dark history which messed him up pretty bad. Anyway he can be harsh and sometimes even rude but if on a job he will get the job done. There are some times when he can be nice and kind but he doesn't let anybody see that part of him. He is tough, stubborn, and most of the time he is expressionless and doesn't like losing at all.

History: Max is the name his good for nothing mother named him, she was a drunk, smoked constantly, and sat around the house doing nothing but watch tv. His father was the leader of a huge gang that did many crimes especially big drug deals. They would also kill people if the money was good, Max's father was a very scary man with a lot of respect.

Then one day when Max was 8 his mother died of lung cancer which wasn't surprising since she smoked a lot. Max didn't have anywhere to go but with his father with his gang in their hideout. His life was already rough and when he went to his father his life became worse. Everybody was rough on him teaching him how to fight by beating him up everyday to teach him. His father was especially harsh on him and taught him how to assemble and disassemble a gun and how to shoot. By the time he was 15 he could fight, shoot, and move faster than everybody in the gang. He would take many lessons on different fighting techniques but his favorite is boxing. On his birthday his father gave him a katana which he learn how to use very well by 17. By then he was going on jobs and hits on people with the gang but would always stay away from smoking even when the gang said it was cool.

After a bit Max finally received respect from his father when he came into his room to talk with him. His father proposed a bank heist that would be very dangerous and that he had everything planned out. But in the middle of the bank heist everything went downhill from there. The police arrived much quicker than the plan said and it became a firefight by then. Then a grenade launcher was shot near Max's right hand which was blown right off. He managed to escape with some other guys and then later found out that his father was shot in the head in the middle of a firefight. His father took out 24 cops alone before he was shot. Without a leader everybody made Max the leader of the gang but they also thought he needed an arm so after a few days they kidnapped a person who could put a cybernetic arm on him. After the surgery for some reason all his senses were enhanced high than any normal human being. So Max wears a black glove over his right hand so his cybernetic arm doesn't show. This all happen when he was 20 which after getting his arm he was already planning things and went back to stuff they usually did instead of big heists. After a few years he had already became well known and people were very afraid of him, some even say he is way worse than his father. He thought that maybe he should put his skill to some use so he left the gang and join Helios where the money was way better.

Appearance:

Other: His arm is set to if someone were to hack into his arm and try to control it, his arm will disconnect from his body and in 10 seconds it will explode.

[User]
Artour had been in his living quarters for the past few days. He hadn't left it once. Other people had been bringing him his meals and whatever he needed. It wasn't uncommon for him to hole up in his room until a mission started. He hadn't been doing much, anyways. He had no talents outside of the battlefield.

For the past 12 hours, Artour had been taking apart his large sniper rifle. He had been doing so in such a slow and meticulous manner. Anyone watching would be bored by the third minute. Every time Artour removed a part, he wrote inside of a small notebook. Each "chapter" had almost the exact same writing as the last. Every small blemish on a single part was noted by Artour. Any rational person wouldn't notice the small fragments of missing metal. Due to his precise writing inside of the book, Artour always noticed.

Nobody called Artour "Artour". They never called him anything because he was always alone, writing in his notebook. People who did want him tended to call him Hush, as they would never remember his full name.

Artour had finished has catalogue of his rifle. The large period of silence had given him time to think. He had thought about many different things. Things such as why he helped the freedom fighters or what traps he could make. He gave a long sigh, and began to put his sniper back together. The process was much faster. He didn't inspect each bolt, screw, piece of metal or glass this time. He just put them together with his eyes closed.

Once the Artour put the sniper together, he placed it on the large table next to his bed. From outside of a drawer from that table, Artour brought out another notebook. This notebook had the word "14" on the cover. Artour flipped the pages and found an empty section. He began to write in this one too. His writing was much faster than his inspecting. Artour omitted the smaller details. He drew a picture of a cylinder with a valve on it. Inside of the cylinder was a small disk that would open up when someone would turn the valve. A small trap that would someone would never use. Artour wrote many chemical names next to it. He connected each chemical and where it would go inside of the tube with a line. Underneath was. Artour wrote "For use with pipes with valves" at the bottom.

In truth, someone wouldn't use most of Artour's traps. Still, it was a hobby that Artour enjoyed. It kept everything nice and quiet. Just like it should be.

Artour sat on his bed, waiting for something eventful to happen.

[Assistant]
"Firepower, huh? Yeah, I can do that. Then ima go take a patrol of the Glade. I'll leave the paperwork to you." With heavy steps, the one-man tank marched in teh direction of the firing range. Most doors weren't constructed for his bulk, but he really didn't mind. He simply raised a foot, and made his own door. It was fairly obvious that if this had been the second floor, Micheal would likely would have sunk through the floor like it had been wet tissue paper.

The firing range currently accommodated several of Helios' elite troops. Specialists in their particular fields, each armed with high-tech weaponry of one variant or another. As Micheal took his place however, he knew he'd draw some looks. His weaponry and armour was a step above most, the newest of the new.

First, he chose to demonstrate perhaps his most impressive weapon. The Magnetic Pulse Generator, or the Power Glove as he liked to call it. The Gauntlet was equipped with a series of powerful electromagnets that could be rearranged to form a variety of patterns. They functioned as a kind of railgun, rapidly accelerating any metal thrown object to supersonic speeds. It could further be used as a shield that deflected incoming bullets, and a piston allowed it to fire part of the gauntlet forward. Thus punches with his right hand could hold the power to crush even heavy tank armour, as it was briefly accelerated to nearly supersonic speeds.

A large block attached to his right shoulder ejected what appeared to be a tank shell. He caught it, and extended his hand towards the target range. An automatic targetting system wtihin his helmet allowed him to aim with impeccable accuracy. As the electromagnets fired, the shell launched with a short bang. It exploded upon contact, annihilating not only the target, but the wall behind it, and anything else within 3 meters of it. Shrapnel tore through bricks like butter, as the tungsten high-penetration tip continued through the back of the facility. It was a good thing the target range pointed out towards a forest, because that tip was intended as an anti-tank weapon.

His other weaponry would have to wait. Micheal felt he'd left the impression he needed to leave. Equipping himself with his modified Heavy Flame Thrower and a secondary shoulder-mounted fuel canister, he left the facility. He'd been stuck in a lab for two years now, moving through training simulations, fighting captured foes, practising combat in a variety of martial arts. And all the time he'd hungered for some action, to personally bring the light of civilisation to the savage mutants. And he had the intention to do just that, as he set out to find the rebel base. If he did, he would singlehandedly bring it crashing down, or at least so he believed.

[User]
Dr. McNivens
____________________________________

Dr. Rodney McNivens started pulling the mother of all sneers. War doctor? The sciences he practiced was such a degree above any petty warmonger that being relegated as some petty li-hello there. There it was, the magic word. Funding. For ages, all of Dr. McNivens work was operating on the barest of shoestring budgets, constantly overlooked in favor of unbelievably sub-par projects. Such as the strike force whose office he was sitting in. Or the large armored man that had been in the room with them. All he had to do was sell his work to this soldier. Should be easy, right? Any fool with half a brain could see his vision!

"Insects are insects, Mr. Hawke." He smiled. Or tried to, considering that it's a face he doesn't usually put on. "And, even if we could create an insect that was stronger or faster than most insects, this does not change the fact that it is nothing more than an insignificant bug, eternally convinced that it's view an inch off the ground is all the universe holds." He takes a rather poignant glance to the hole left by Micheal.

"No. In order to truly free ourselves from scuttling around the ground, we must break free from this. We must evolve, we must break free from our paltry bonds and escape from the bondage into a higher plane." Careful there, Rodney. You get worked up when talking about your vision, and that's turned away more than a couple of investors before. He clasps his hand together. "The metamorphosis, the evolution beyond our life as insects into a true power on the cosmic stage. Truth be told, I am on the verge of some rather...interesting breakthroughs, however I am missing a few key points of research. I was quite hoping that these 'metahumans' may have been have stumbled upon some useful pieces on their own and that I may...acquire them. Should that prove fruitless, then they could at the very least provide some useful testing subjects. On their own, they may very well prove useful in some way, shape or form. All I require is a proper envoy, as my funding is rather...limited. At the moment. Research we all shall benefit from. Yourself included. If you wish to see the experiments I am currently working on, I would gladly set you up to tour our facilities, yes?"

[Assistant]
Seeking Intelligent Logistics Assault System (S.I.L.A.S.)
ICARUS Command

As Silas continued to make his journey from the Armoury to ICARUS Command, he observed the many equipment and technologies Helios seemed to use. They just seemed rather... primitive. Then again, it would probably be best to ask some guy he met along the way for the date.

After all, it was was year 2731 back in his world. His world. Silas knew that even his inbuilt processing matrix could not predict how long he would be here. Come to think of it, the compound sure was pretty, with its mostly black walls and shiny gold trim. He had heard that Helios made some good machinery and weapons, and he could only hope that they would work on him, as he made modifications to himself every now and then. Maybe he might even find better armour for his battle-damaged exoskeleton. He doubted it, though. This world appeared to be nearly two-hundred years behind his. But hell, the money was great! He had more advanced equipment than what he observed the other grunts and drones carrying around. Silas didn't think any of them could deploy a nearly unbreakable dome shield.

Of course he didn't like the looks that the other Helios soldiers gave him, but he was used to it by now. His tall frame and reflective material attracted a lot of attention, even though the metal plates we slightly dull from years of use and battle. He was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw the admittedly small entrance to the office of some guy named Shadowjack, the apparent leader of the strike force ICARUS. Strange name. But he had time to think about it later, as Silas pushed the door open.

The door of ICARUS Command flew open with slightly more force than Silas expected. Nonetheless, the mercenary walked in, his metallic feet clanking with each step. Already, he could see that there were a small number of people in the room. He scanned each one of them. One was an enormous figure in bright red armour who was slightly taller than the Metallic Mercenary. One was some guy in a tuxedo and had a katana behind his back. Another was a guy who wore a jacket, jeans, and a bulletproof mask that resembled... His own face? These people were weird. The last one was wearing a cross between a lab coat and a sharp black suit, obviously a scientist. God, how he hated scientists. Now, Silas could see that all the eyes in the room were on him.

[User]
Max was a little pissed off because this Jack guy called him Maxie but Max didn't really care all too much. Jack did mention that his bounty could be cleared which Max kind of forgot about. He was only here because of the money but clearing his bounty might be good as well. Things are going to get very interesting from here but until then might as well listen to what this Jack guy has to say.

As Max was walking toward the room that Jack told him to go in, some people came through the doors. One was a scientist that looked sketchy and a big robot at least that was he thinks it is. He looked pretty dangerous which was good to Max, 'maybe he could work for me' is what Max thought about. But that is for later anyway Max intends to try to get along with everybody since he had idea. Well now that it looked like that no one else will come through the doors, Max went into the room and sat in a chair.


[System]
CS:
Race (Human or Type of Fae): Human

Position (In court if you are a fae, Any fae outside of a court will be under extreme pressure): Servant to Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor

Age: 61, looks 17-19

Personality (Fae type has effect): A once proud young woman, she was bent to the task of serving O'Aenges-Mor quickly. Still she snarks at her Lord Fae, and is more than willing to question him and his orders. But she knows any out right disloyalty could get her killed and if he were to die she would wish to perish soon after without his protection in the Fae Courts. She is sharp to others of lesser rank than she, and is wise to the way of the fae. A must within their realm.

Appearance: Thick red hair falls to her waist and frames grey eyes. Pale skin from time spent with the Fall Court. She generally wears a heavy gown of dark green or brown with a cloak of grey. Dressing in the style of Victorian times. She appears and actually physically is around her seventeenth or nineteenth year. It is uncertain when she stopped aging after she was brought into the fae courts. She is a bit on the shorter side, and is petite.

Background: Aisling was born to a wealthy family and had a very lovely childhood. She never had want for anything, but when she had fallen for a young man and learned a horrible truth that jeopardized her privileged life she panicked. Fleeing to the forest she sought solace while trying to comfort herself with something. It was there she was found by Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor of the Fae. She offered him anything, if only to grant her the answer to her problem. He gave her the promised answer and took her to the realm of the Fae as payment. She has served him ever since.

CS:

Name: Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor

Race (Human or Type of Fae): Fall-born Fae

Position (In court if you are a fae, Any fae outside of a court will be under extreme pressure): King of the Fall Court

Age: Unknown

Personality (Fae type has effect): Sharp as a blade, quick as a snake, Tegvan rules his Court with a iron fist and is more than willing to employ almost tyrannical means to get his Fae followers in line. His is swift with justice, and swifter with vengeance. He has a cruel amusement and enjoys the 'finer' things in life. Not to say he is without mercy. He doesn't even know the meaning of the word.

Appearance: A tall fae, he appears as a dark shadowy form, or as a dark skinned fae with black armor some say is made of dim grey starlight. His ears have definite points and his nails as well. His eyes are the fall storms and his teeth are sharp as a blades. Ravens are said to be his cloak of feathers and his voice is said to be the rushing wind. In his glimmer spell, he takes the appearance of a tall man, with short black hair and pale blue eyes. His skin is periously pale and with high cheek bones and an arrow straight nose. His ears are however not pointed in the glimmer spell, rather human shaped and size. He usually wears something matching the current time, for the present it is dark jeans, black boots, and a loose grey shirt. His build is not bulky like the winter fae but rather well muscled and toned.

Background: Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor is a ancient and powerful Fae. Little is known about him and why he took on a human pet is less understood. He is not a fae to cross though he does have his good points. Often putting out small prizes for the fae that messes the best with Spring and Summer Court, and dancing about the politics with the grace of a falling leaf. No one is certain how long he has held the throne but all have seen the tormented Fae who tried to take it from him. Their final moments imprisoned in artwork. He has no mercy, but is more than willing to listen to the lesser Fae before considering their points. Tegvan is not a Fae to cross and he makes that well known. But within him is a deep sorrow well hidden by the many, many years he has walked the earth and Fae Realm.

CS:

Name: Giomanch "The Hunter" Yoilugh
Race: Cŵn Annwn
Position: Huntsman of the Wylde Hunt
Age: 1,762 years
Personality: He is a cruel, but loyal Fae. A excellent fighter, tracker and hunter. Giomanch is one of Falk's (The Fall King) best huntsmen. Though his borderline sadistic personality requires a short leash. Quick to the hunt and kill, he has a keen hatred for the Summer and Spring Courts.
Appearance: A black specter dog, with red ears and eyes. He's the size of a large wolf hound, with teeth like daggers. His glimmer puts him as a dark haired, Scottish man. Wearing raggedy fur clothing and bare foot. He wields a bow, sword, and dagger.
Background: Giomanch's pack was large and took up the northern portion of Tegvan's territory. When a Seelie court attacked that portion, conducting a raid, his family was slain. Giomanch fought valiantly, but was one Death's Door when the Wylde Hunt drove off the Seelie force and he was saved by his bond to Tegvan. He has served the Fall King faithfully since, as to all Fall Fae. He has seen challengers go against his lord and he as felt shame for them as they were dismantled. Horrible torn to shreds. Physically and/or literally.

[User]
Lost returned to Falk quickly. He enjoyed the scenery for what it was worth, but now the honor of helping the King was granted to him. He eagerly entered the Fall Court, noticing the King hunched forward with gleaming eyes. Even though he couldn't find any faults with his actions, seeing Falk like this sent shivers up and down his spine. He looked like he was plotting, possibly against Spring or even Summer, with whatever that token may have meant. Whether the other rulers feared, Lost feared for them.

"Lord Falk, I have delivered your token. The Summer King extends his gratitude for the gift. Is there anything else you ask?" Lost was very curious as to what the King was musing, but asking him seemed risky. If he was going to join The Hunt, he would have liked to do it on a good note.

[Assistant] As the Satyr approached and offered his news, Falk shifted. Gleaming eyes locked onto the Fae like a hawk's on a rabbit. "Tell me about the Summer King's Court. What did you see, Lositay." The last word was breathed in barely more than a whisper but the command was a command and the there was a hidden threat. The Pool swirled to gleamed as a raven croaked high above. "See! See The Fall!" The bird cackled and swooped off squawking. Falk did not glance above but kept his eyes on Lost. What this Satyr reported would decide his next action. His next move on the chessboard.

[User]
"When I arrived, two Salamander guards escorted me to his presence. The halls were green and warm, warmer than anywhere else. It held an odd comfort and carefree feeling. I entered into his court and laid eyes on his grand wood throne. I didn't look around much and the guards announced my entrance. Upon Phyre's request I gave him the mirror and explained it was a token from yourself. He was pleased with it and thanked me. I dismissed myself, and began back for Fall immediately." Lositay gave his answer.

Once he finished and regained his complete control again, he stood dazed and confused. Why did Falk use my name? Why didn't he just ask me? In front of the human, and what was that raven? Why? Hysteria was taking him as he wasn't sure what to think.

[Assistant] Falk sat back, brow furrowing. "No courtiers? Merely two guards?" Aisling watched as her Lord stared with his stony frown at the satyr. The Fae was hardly in any danger. Falk wouldn't harm his own for little reasons. But from the terrified feeling this Fae was giving off, he did not know this. Nor did she reason to inform him. Falk tapped the arms of his throne, musing of the facts before him. What he was planning she knew not but this was worrying. Sparing what she hoped was a comforting smile towards the Satyr she strummed the harp lightly, trying to distract herself from the plots of the Fair Folk.

[User]
Feoras gently wraps the mirror in a cloth before handing it to a female servant, she bows her head before taking it and transporting it to Feoras' private suite. Feoras looks back down at lyra and kneels. "Well small one, if you would give me a moment I shall be able to join you in a game of your choice" He gives a smile then straightens before turning. "Zakul and Azazel I need you" Almost as if the walls could talk the message spread, for every hearth was a group of salamanders, and every servant was quick to spread a message if a salamander did not hear. A large wolf and a magnificent stage approach him before taking their humanoid forms. They kneel before their lord. "Both of you take two whom are free each and do a perimeter run. I realize the hunt is coming but go with speed. Take heed" The tow stand and clasp their fists at their hearts before changing each grabbed their chosen before doing as they were asked.

The palace is peaceful, and the servants and guards are hardly seen, but they are there. Many of whom are salamanders, but a few are other like pixie or a type of skin changing fae. He focus returns to his small one. "Okay small one, what would you like to do" He gives a small smile to her, knowing that those he sent out took at least one salamander that can find him and tell him their reports before either the wolf or stag returns. He had a bad feeling, but doesnt know why.

[Assistant]
Lyra looked back at Ba-Ba when he mildly chastised her. She stepped back and looked down. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, not even sure anyone heard her small voice.

After the funny stranger left Lyra waited until Ba-Ba was done, shuffling her feet and biting her lip impatiently. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet as she watched the girl servant take the pretty mirror away. Lyra wanted to whine but held it in. Ba-Ba didn't like it when she whined like a puppy. He said it made her seem like an animal. This confused her because all of the icky people in the court called her an animal when Ba-Ba wasn't around. So was she an animal or was she a people? But Ba-Ba got mad when she asked that and she didn't like to see him mad. He was scary when he was mad...

Finally Ba-Ba turned his attention back to her. She smiled as bright as the summer sun. "Can we play hide and seek Ba-Ba? Please? Hide and seek outside!"Lyra's favorite game was hide and seek. Ba-Ba was better at it than the guards. They all got mad too quick and gave up too fast. They were no fun.
But Ba-Ba always found her fast. He was really good at hide and seek. Lyra was still too young to realize that running about and giggling was a dead giveaway to your hiding place, especially if Ba-Ba made her laugh by pretending he couldn't find her.

She really wanted to play with the pretty mirror...
Maybe if she played hide and seek with Ba-Ba first he would let her play with the pretty mirror later.
Or if not, maybe she could sneak into Ba-Ba's room and just look at it without him knowing...

[User]
"I do believe there were servants and advisors yes. They didn't appear special my Lord." The only thing Lost saw humans as was burdens, and the smaller they were the bigger the burden. From the way Phyre hid her, she certainly wasn't supposed to be seen by the world in the court. Lost was certain he was searching for the little one. Why though was what racked his brain. To use his name so quickly, disturbed him as well. Why have you become impatient for a human? The thought that it was for a human made it even more disgusting to think about. Though his pet gave pity and continued to play her harp elegantly, Lost's face turned more serious.

"Why do you inquire of his court? Is there someone hidden amongst his realm that owes you a favor? I am honored to serve you, and I don't ask to know your plans, but I do not wish to be a tool. You are wise beyond my years, but I ask that I at least be given the respect of a servant in your realm."

[Assistant]
Aisling's playing stopped as the wrong note cracked the precious melody. The King of Fall's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in the throne made from the bones of fallen beasts and fae. Covered in the furs of those he hunted down. The angular and sharps features became drawn tight. His entire being narrowed upon Lositay. Speaking his words were no more than a breathe on the frozen air, but they cut with the presence that made those not under his scrutiny shrink back and thanks the powers that be that it was not them to be so bold. For while the King was not angry by any means he was not the kindest nor most gentle of Fae. The full weight of his attention was like being scrutinized to your very soul by a predator. For that was what the Fall King was.

"I said what did you see. I require every detail, no matter how small. Nothing in this Realm or the next that owes me a favor is lost." A raven squawked as it flew to land on the back of the throne cackling as ravens do. Several others perched in the branches joining in the bold one's laughter. "You are a mere pawn, my satyr. Why I ask, and what I plan is far beyond your ken." Leaning back he relieved the Fae of the full weight of his presence. "When it is time for you to know, you shall. Not before, nor after." He gave a sharp snap of his fingers, the raven swooping off to the tree tops of the giant trees. "Time is delicate and so are words and details. The wrong one would bring everything to a collapse." The last word was growled, that was not something Falk would allow.


[System]
- Here's some mood music
Age:
24

Sex:
Male

Nationality:
The North (Exile)

Class:
Shapeshifter

Physical Description:
Orm possesses a pleasant face, gently raised cheekbones, barely concave cheeks, and a tapered chin, his nose strong and longer than most, but certainly not intrusive. His lips curve in such a way that it seems a soft smile always graces them. His hair, short and shaggy, is a white so bright and pure that only his skin, freshly fallen snow, can seem to compare. His eyes are wary, curious things, almond shaped, with dim fires of lavenders and pale reds swirling within. A general look of dubious calm seems to surround Orm at all times, as if every event that unfolds before him is something of a pleasant surprise.

Standing at six foot three, Orm is tall but not lanky, his body put together gracefully as if sculpted from marble by some great craftsman. Though toned and not unfit, his body as a whole has a very smooth appearance to it. The only discrepancy in the grace of Orm's form is a barely discernible limp in his right leg, a constant reminder of his youth in the North. His attire consists of a simple cotton shirt, felt pants, and leather boots, with a navy blue bridgecoat covering the outfit, topped off by a brown tricorn hat.

Fighting Style:
With his status as a shapeshifter, Orm is well suited for various situations. Stealth and infiltration are afforded to him with ease, as is open warfare, or anything in between, thanks to the wide variety of animals at his disposal. When more conventional means of combat are required, Orm is a suitable shot with firearms, being adept with both pistols and rifles.

As a secondary skillset, Orm is well acquainted to the menial task of cleaning, finding the monotony of the exercise a soothing excuse to think to himself in peace.

* Polar Bear
* Grey Wolf
* Arctic Wolf
* Leopard Seal
* Harbor Seal
* Field Mouse
* Horned Owl
* Barn Owl
* Carpenter Ant
* Northern Cardinal
* Earthworm
* Squirrel
* Bald Eagle
* Falcon
* Seagull
* Rat
* Moose
* Deer

Personality/Mental:
Always ready to agree with others, his own personal opinions seemingly as changing as the winds, no one has ever managed to discern what Orm's true motivations or beliefs are. Never one to enjoy conflicts of the personal sort, Orm endeavors as best that he can to keep himself as far removed from any kind of rising tensions, and with his soft spoken voice, eerily serene tone, and agreeable nature, this is not hard to pull off.

Orm prefers to spend time by himself poring over books or as an animal, seeing and feeling the world through the senses of an entirely new species. The antics of more boisterous and excitable people has little appeal to him, and only those with a similar appreciation for study or nature have a chance to garner any kind of real friendship with him. While he can sometimes enjoy the rush that comes with a good fight, he usually loathes the act, whether it be a friendly brawl, an anger fueled duel to settle some score, or a battle against strangers to defend his home. The latter of the three, unfortunately, is rapidly becoming a driving force in Orm's life.

History:
The owl knew it was being watched. Its talons dug firmly into the tree, swiveling its head around and giving an occasional hoot, the owl could feel that curious pair of eyes peering at it from some distance away. It decided to do a little show for its tiny audience, flapping its wings heavily and drifting over to the next tree. Swivel. Hoot. Swivel. Hoot. Hoot. Flap, flap. New tree. The pattern seemed to continue along for hours, until eventually the pair of eyes and the body attached to it went away, after the sun started to climb down the sky and slide off the edge of the horizon.

So for three months and a day the eyes would scan the wooded area for the owl, and the owl would perform for its watcher, and then one day the eyes stopped coming so often. The owl didn't fret though, because soon after it met its twin.

Orm was never terribly close to his parents, or the other children in the tribe, instead preferring the wide freedom of the outdoors to the safety and warmth that the camp promised him. Why stay there anyways? There the younger ones gawked and pointed while the older ones muttered about curses and doomed fates, and his father paid enough attention to him to teach him how to shoot the firearms they traded with the merchants from the south in exchange for furs and meats. Orm was very good at shooting, and he hated it too. His mother dedicated herself to her other children, sparing only a choice glance or two for Orm. As for his siblings? The were the same as all of the other children.

So Orm hid himself away in the wild whenever he could, learning from the animals until he found that he himself was one of them. He flew high into the skies with the eagles, hunted for rodents and smaller birds as an owl, experienced the terror of being hunted as a deer, and the thrill of the kill as a wolf. Even the secrets of the great northern polar bears were unveiled to him in time, and soon after he was a seal, swimming the icy currents of the northern ocean as if he had his whole life. The world away from home was like a dream, until it came to pass that Orm realized it was the great outdoors that was his true home.

But as with all dreams, eventually the dreamer must wake up, and reality will face him if he does not face it.

The eldest son followed him into the woods one day, bid by their father to discover what it was that Orm busied himself with day in and day out, rather than prepare for his trial. For hours and hours he searched and he called, determined to complete his father's task. Ludo's sixteenth name day had already come and gone, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the blessings bestowed upon him by Mother Gaia. It was Orm who found him.

An explanation was demanded, and Orm refused to give one. The terse conversation quickly heated into an argument, and violence followed shortly after. Orm was smaller and quicker, but Ludo was strong, and the melee between the two did not last long. Bigger, stronger, but not at all slow, Ludo easily overpowered his younger brother, beating him to a pulp, raw rage overcoming him, not for the first or last time in his life. Eventually, the onslaught stopped, and Ludo fell to his knees, panting and panting. From Orm's position, sprawled on the ground, bruised, bloodied, and broken, his brother looked like a wolf after catching a fresh kill. He struggled to rise to his feet, his right leg buckling out from beneath him as he attempted to stand. Painfully, Orm slammed back to the ground, and still Ludo knelt there, his breath heaving, eyes glazed over and staring at some far away thing Orm could not hope to comprehend or see.

So he began to crawl, and focused all of his energy into shifting as he did, and then Orm was flying, away from Ludo, away from the camp, away from his father with his foul guns, away from his mother and her apathy, away from the curses cast his way, away from the stares and the mutterings, away from it all. Away from his past, and towards the future.

Inventory:
* Flintlock pistol
* Bayoneted Musket
* Waterskin
* Spare shot and powder
* Spyglass
* Satchel with quills, jars of ink, and a few journals

[User]
Lucia turned around, her grin turning into a much warmer smile. She clutched her bag tightly to her chest, hugging it with both arms.

"I like your sound, miss. And no, I don't plan on setting up shop up there, it's much too drafty for my liking," she dropped her bag on the ground and raised her arms, taking a deep breath of the briny air. "It's been too long since I've been on a boat, I don't know how people stand it. I can't sleep the same if the ground beneath me isn't being rocked by waves."

Lucia's arms flopped down to her sides. She grabbed her hat and took a bow, "I'm Lucia, nice meeting someone that doesn't fit the common mold."

[Assistant]
Celica was not the type of person to be told what to do but when the de facto King of the free isle tells you that you're his last hope to find an obscure treasure that may or may not exist who would say no? Well Celica did say no at first, but he was adamant. After her third bottle of ale she gave in and so here she was on board the Valencia. She had already set up her lab in one of the private crew quarters. It was snug but she had space for her equipment and a bed. She had bargained for private quarters and the right to pursue whatever research she desires while on the journey. In exchange she would offer her services to the crew free of charge, including enchanting weapons if they so desired. Enchantors were highly sought after because they can create magical tools that others can use. This and many other reasons are also why enchantors are discriminated against and enslaved in most societies.

She came up on the deck as the others arrived, assuming that the captain would make some kind of introduction, and immediately regretted it. The sun was much too bright, the gulls too loud, and the crew were rowdy. It was her own fault for being hungover but that didn't stop her from being mad at the world. She recognized most of the others coming aboard, including a gloriously strong woman with bright orange hair. Quite the sight to see indeed. Celica felt a bit safer with someone like her around.

She walked along the deck, refreshed by the fresh salt air, and gave the beautiful Amazon a genuine smile @Sputnik. "Lovely day, eh miss? Good to have a reliable woman here. Wulfarth, correct? I've heard a few things about you." She glanced to the other woman "@LordofthePiesAnd you as well. I hear you're quite the archer, miss dooret." She have them a subtle curtsy and continued toward the wheel and to the railing. She sneakily retrieved a flask well hidden in her robes and took a swig. She muttered to herself "Just enough to kill the foul morning after..."

Some of the deck hands made jokes about the queen of rum, others noted that it was clearly going to be a difficult journey if king Avior thought to have the enchantress come with them. Few people in chariot hadn't heard of Celica the Enchantress, a blessing and a curse.

[User]
Ludo stared hard at his brother. "Going out again? Your trial isn't that far off, Orm. You should be preparing, like me, not prancing around in the forest." Orm had no reply, save an involuntary twinge of his lips, then he was out the door. Prance? No, no. Orm was going to fly. Only yesterday had he unlocked the secrets of the owl, and now he was one. Well, not yet. But soon.

Rort and Ludo watched Orm depart, his form rapidly diminishing. "Big brother?" Rort began. "I feel sorry for Orm." Ludo only shook his head, slowly.

"Don't."

---
Orm circled high above the Valencia, beady eyes of yellow and black eyeing the sailors boarding it carefully. The majority seemed to be drunk or hungover, and he was certain one or two were trying to mend the latter with the former. Not to worry, provided they weren't the violent sorts, and kept their foul drink far away from him. It all tasted either too bland, or felt like fire creeping down his throat, threatening to spread itself to his heart and lungs and stomach. All in all, drinking alcohol was not the way Orm preferred to spend his twilight hours, or his daylight ones, for that matter. He remembered the time he and his younger brother Rort drank themselves silly on their father's beer. It was not a pleasant memory. When Dram, their father, found the two, they were both beaten harshly and without question. Rort blamed their discovery on Orm's "curse", and the two went their separate paths ever since.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Orm thrust himself into a rapid descent, his white wings cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter, the wind singing in his ears. Closer and closer the vessel grew, before he pulled up, and landed with two feet on the deck. In the blink of an eye, the seagull was gone, replaced with a man. Adjusting the hat atop his head, Orm began to amble towards the quarters below deck, even as the captain gave the order herself. Finally reaching the communal bedding area, Orm claimed for himself a proper cot stowed away against one corner, noting with some disappointment that it seemed as though it would be rather quite shorter than him, if the cot were a man.

Returning back the way he came, he eventually came back atop the deck, immediately carrying himself to the railing. Staring into the water beneath him, his hands clasped on the wooden railing tightly, Orm tried to ignore the wandering eyes he caught wherever he went, sailors being a particularly nasty breed, when it came to jibes and insults. That knowledge aside, however, the same soft smile never fell from Orm's face, rather, Orm the Albino as he had come to be known.


[System]
Here's my original drawings of him. For the sake of the thread, omit the name tattooed on his neck. The second drawing is to display his kagune. He has a unique Ukaku with rinkaku properties.

Nickname: Blankface
Gender: male
Age: 18
Relevant info: Ukaku kagune with Rinkaku properties (I.e. Regeneration enhanced) due to his parents' mixed ginetics. He has to kagune organs, one on each side of his upper back almost like wings. "Blankface" is known by the CCG as the fastest recorded ghoul alive (since the disappearance of the Centipede).

Bio: Orion was born to American ghouls who were living in the 20th Ward of Tokyo, Japan where it was relatively safe, but he doesn't remember much of his past. The earliest memory he has is being under a bridge, alone and crying. He worked with some of the more criminal groups of ghouls just to get by, soon realizing he error of their ways, and separating from them. He moved to America to get away from that group and live as normal of a life as he could, but they followed him. They tortured him for weeks before a CCG raid gave him an opening. He escaped and just ran for what seemed like forever. Eventually he found himself at a castle-like building where he passed out from exhaustion and pain.

Personality: Orion is usually quiet and reserved, but if you break his shell, he can actually be quite pleasant. His tattoos are all self-done. His mental disorders, formed from PTSD, make him cold and detached, but he just wants to be accepted. When triggered, Orion's rare outbursts of rage have the potential to rival on insanity. He's just an injured person who needs some love. <3

[User]
---

Perhaps this would be harder than he thought. Desmond took the Chancellor by the arm and turned to her. It was as if he were a close friend of hers, rather than an official on business. "Chancellor, your... guardians are more than capable of keeping an eye out, why don't we see what was on the tapes. And summon the campus doctor. We might be able to use the input of a medical expert." He almost commanded, politely gesturing for her to lead the way.

Becoming quite used to the way Desmond seemed to order everyone around, Dolorante readily lead thee way to the security office. "The Dhampir who works here should be able to tell you what's on the tapes," she said, guiding his hand to the shoulder of the Dhampir in charge of the security feed. "He wants to see the cameras around campus during when the Fallen One arrived," she informed the guard, turning to Desmond as she made to leave. "I'll inform the nurse that we need her now, and we can call her once you're done looking through the tapes."

---

Nia frowned. Comments about her looks and heritage were common, and Nia was used to sideways comments. Sure someone might say her name was pretty, smooth, or elegant, but soft? That was new.

"Thank you," she said, dropping the frown. Perhaps that was Orion's way of complimenting people, although she noticed that he didn't appear to want to answer her previous questions. Well, she'd have to start from a gentler angle. "Can you tell me where you're from?" she asked. "Any family or friends to contact?"

Orion eyed the girl from behind his arms that were folded and resting on his knees. This felt like being questioned, only her question was fairly harmless.

"I was born in America, but I grew up in Japan." He said, reminiscent of the days when things weren't so complicated. When he wasn't so complicated. Suddenly he realized something, "I don't even know where I am right now." He added.

"Montana, America," Nia supplied with a frown. "I'm guessing you wouldn't know how you got here?" she asked. The Vampire Academy resided deep in one of Motana's many forests, miles and miles from mortal civilization. Sure it was possible to get here within a day if you knew where you were going and had superhuman speed like most Moroi and Dhampirs, but Nia was still surprised that Orion had managed to get this far. "Did you perhaps... have someone with you?" she asked carefully, figuring that whoever it was that bloodied Orion up couldn't have been a friend.

---

"Jarrene will be available shortly," the Chancellor said as she closed the door to the security room beind her. "Are you finished here, Desmond?"

"I have everything I can glean from this." the official admitted with a sigh. He patted the guardian on the shoulder and took Dolorante by the arm. He was beginning to act more and more familiar with the Chancellor. Whether it was because he liked her or he was playing a game was unclear, even to him.

"Take me on a walk, Madam Chancellor." He requested as the entire way he carried himself shifted drastically to a serious and genuinely worried air. "We have some things to discuss."

---

"Montana." Orion thought aloud. The next question caught him off guard again, but he answered instantly with trauma in his eyes. "I ran. I ran here from-" he caught himself as his eyes went wide with fear. He shifted closer to Nia. If she was there, then he couldn't be in the chair. "I ran for so long, days maybe?"

"Days?" Nia echoed, shocked. Moroi could go around two days without feeding, but any more and they began to pale and wither. Nia looked over the boy again, wondering whether he'd eaten yet. The cell smelled of fresh blood, but Nia knew that Orion wasn't a Moroi -- or Strigoi, for that matter. "Have you... eaten anything yet?"

The face of the man that the others had called "Donor" flashed across Orion's mind. "Yes. They gave me a human called Donor. He was near death, so they said it would be okay." He wrung his hands as he spoke, regret and satisfaction tearing his emotions. "I could taste it. Eating him was a mercy after whatever was done to him at the party they mentioned." He surmised. He really felt it too. The meat had even tasted lethargic.

He shifted, resting hellish, yet soft and tormented eyes on Nia. Tears welled but did not escape. "I c-couldn't stop. I didn't want to, but I was so hungry, and hunger makes a ghoul crazy." Now, the sadness had pushed moisture from his eyes. "Starvation for a ghoul is Hell."

---

"So what was it that you wanted to talk about, Desmond?" Dolorante asked, guiding the man through the academy's airy courtyard. There was a slight breeze about, blowing fresh air towards the pair as they went on. Dolorante had a feeling that Desmond really didn't need a guide at all, but she could sense that he was on edge and didn't see the point of bringing it up.

---

[Assistant]
Desmond breathed a heavy sigh. He couldn't even enjoy the sweet breeze as it caressed his face. "You have named this creature a 'Fallen one', but he is much like the rest of us. That being said, he was tortured. That much is clear. What else is clear is that he was running from something, or someone."

He lit a cigarette and stepped over a misplaced stone he could hear was blocking the breeze, "We need to find out what is coming, if they're like him, and for that matter, what he is capable of. Thankfully, I believe we can get him to fight on our side, or at least provide intel as to what we're dealing with in exchange for room and board."

He drew deep on his cigarette, letting the cloves and nicotine fill him before he released the smoke. "I just hope the others see things like I do. For now keep an eye on him. If he seems benign, release him. Give him a room, feed him if you can, but don't let him gain too much strength. I must have words with the Queen." He released her arm, and made off for a secluded area as he pulled out a flip phone with brail buttons.

Watching the other Moroi disappear behind a tall oak, the Chancellor paused to think over what he'd just said to her before making for the academy. The boy, harmless or not, was now being held inside the academy and therefore under Dolorante's guardianship. Figuring that Desmond probably had a reason to be concerned about the boy, the Chancellor decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt -- unless something happened to her students.

---

"Oh," Nia said, dropping her eyes. As a royal, she'd been sheltered from most of the violence in the world, and Nia couldn't imagine being so hungry as to need to kill a person. Thinking back to the nursery rhyme, she realized that Orion hadn't just killed the man; he'd eaten him, flesh and blood. That was what the little rhymes alluded to -- full consumption of flesh and blood. "A ghoul," Nia echoed, nodding. "Although I haven't met one before, I know that hunger does terrible things to the brain. It's alright. If the Chancellor let you put the donor to rest, I trust her judgement."

Orion calmed and looked at the spot on the floor that was still dark from the mop. "At Anteiku, we ate the remains of people who committed suicide. People who weren't alive to look you in the eye with that fear..."

He wasn't necessarily talking about the donor, but the others he had eaten whilst with...

He was taken out of his thoughts by a smell he hadn't noticed before, but he was closer now. He could smell the sweet aroma that was Nia. His eyes darted and locked on her, but not her eyes. He was looking at her skin. It looked delectable. So soft and-

He slammed against the far wall, cracking the concrete. He dropped to the table-like bed with fear in his eyes. "Donor was too weak, I can't be around other people right now. I'm still-" his stomach growled loud enough she had to hear it. His body had already processed the frail meat of the man from before. He could have been satisfied for a week from what he had eaten, but the tissue was not that of a healthy person.

His eyes pulsated and glowed faintly as he couldn't pull them away from her, but the look was of pain, "I don't want to hurt you." He choked out.

Nia flinched when Orion slammed intot the wall, alarmed at how fast the boy had moved. Despite her enchanced speed, it seemed like the boy was extremely fast. Night Stalkers eat Moroi, she thought with a burning sense of dread. Still, she didn't feel like she had to fear the boy. While her heart pounded with fear seeing Orion's black-red eyes, Nia could see her own fear mirrored there, different but still similar enough to know that Orion was afraid too -- of himself.

In childhood, the possibility that she was a monster had never occurred to Nia -- she'd been raised in a society where she was the definition of normal, of better than normal. When she finally learned about humans and how they were more populous than Moroi could ever hope to be, she asked herself for the first time: Was she a monster? The answer to that question had been -- after some thought -- an unsure "no." She hadn't wanted to be born as a being that lived off blood, and Moroi society had found ways of dealing with ethics through donors. Unless it was better for all Moroi to die, there was no reason why she was a monster at all.

The same applied here, to Orion. He seemed to have convinced himself that he was a monster, meaning that he wasn't raised thinking that "normal" was being whatever he was like Nia was. From what he'd told her of his past, she figured that he'd tried his best to eat decently. However monstrous as it may seem to those who didn't have to drink blood and eat flesh, Nia could empathize.

"You won't, Orion. You just ate," she told him gently, coaxing the fear out of him. "You can control this, just like you have before. Or you would have died long ago."

Slowly, hesitantly, Orion came back forward. His movement was in complete opposition to his previous motion. He was like a frightened child as he approached the bars. Without taking his eyes off of hers, he reached through this cage with one hand in offering.

****

"Yes, Your Majesty. Yes I know you said to call you 'Lissa'. Yes. Thank you, your-- Lissa." Desmond ended the call, and dialed the chancellor's office. Whether she answered or he got voicemail, he would say the same thing.

"Let's let him out."

The chancellor was a little taken aback at how quickly a decision had been made, but she didn't falter in her reply. "I'll send the guards down right away. Did you want us to wait for you, or?"

****

Nia watched as Orion approached the bars, unafraid. Her only hesitation came when she took in the boy's outstretched hand, but even that was brief. Reaching forwards, Nia took his hand with both of hers. "Nice to meet you, Orion," Nia said with a gentle smile. "You have beautiful eyes -- very distinct, very unique."

[User]
Orion felt a warmth go through him that he couldn't explain. When she took his hand, for a moment, he felt safe. He forgot about the Royals and what they did to him for a second just to enjoy the touch of a beautiful girl.

"You should see your own eyes." He commented back upon her compliment.

Her hand was cool, not like the warm touch of a human hand. No, she was far from human. Perfection was out of human reach, and she seemed to embody it. His ghoulish eyes calmed to a faint glow as the bright red and pitch black became a warm red and dark, charcoal grey. And yet she smelled so wonderful. Part of him couldn't help but wonder what she tasted like. That part of him longed to devour her, bones and all. His other hand twitched ever so slightly. It wanted to grab her while she was close so that he could get just one bite. Just before he lost his composure, the entrance door to the cell block slammed open.

****

Although he had a certain level of weariness toward setting the Fallen One loose, Desmond was excited. He was anxious to learn more about the new potential enemy, for knowledge was power. And he liked having power over things. With the Chancellor informed, he returned to the cell block. He figured she would probably make her own way there. Such a figure would likely want to put eyes on this unknown beast that was about to roam her school grounds, although it was possible she had other things to do.

Des kicked the door open in a flourish of an entrance, nearly dancing down the steps to the main floor. He briskly moved over toward the cell where the two young ones had been apparently bonding and snapped his fingers at the nearest guardian.

"Come now, open his cell already, I'm sure he doesn't have all day to wait on you." He said passively, as if annoyed that they didn't already know what only Des, Dolorante, and the Queen knew. "Cordellenia, your highness, would you mind taking our new friend to administration to be registered and given living quarters? Tell them that Desmond Lloyd has approved this and to call me if there is any issue." He whipped out a small card with his information on it and held it out for her to take.