[System]
Shiyami's Voice
Appearance: (Another Image)
Nicknames/Titles: Harbinger, Reaper, Immortal Vampire
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality: If you were to meet Shiyami on a normal day, you would not be able to discern anything about him. He is kind, with a chivalrous attitude, and has a way with words. Not a single piece of information would be leaked. You can't tell whether he's nervous, impatient, or even bored! However, take your eyes off him in a crowd, and you will never find him again, easily blending in by acting similar to the locals.

However, when he is dealing with his contracts, he would do it without remorse, and with brutal efficiency. His skills, combined with his accumulated experience in his occupation, has allowed for some ridiculous tricks and aces hidden. For one, he weapons. Versatile, effective in many situations, and easily hidden and carried. Another would be his combat capabilities. Those lucky enough to witness his battles and live, mention reloading all twelve rounds by throwing rounds into the air, emptying the revolvers, and swinging them out, collecting the airborne paper cartridges in the now empty chambers, before closing it up, all in a short time span. Another mentions his opponent's bullets being shot right out of the air, and any bullet that haven't been deflected by another bullet, is diverted by blade.

Even moreso, is that he doesn't always use his own weapons. Half the time he utilizes his opponents weapons. He seems to also specialize in group combat. Meaning in a 1v10, he, as the lone fighter, has the advantage over the ten.

There is one thing very, very, very dangerous regarding him. If it ever so happens that someone manages to draw blood, or harm him...well.......good luck. There has been only one witness report. Every single person within the vicinity was slaughtered, with utter brutality, as some in extremely horrifying and inhumane methods.
Weapon of Choice: Dual Apache Revolvers. Specially designed, and completely custom made of a weapon, they are one reason why Shiyami is feared. Unafraid to let loose with heavy punches, before utilizing the revolver's six round chamber to its fullest.

Even during more stealthier operations, he can casually go by his target, suddenly slice through the artery at the neck, and be on his way while his victim is thrashing on the ground drowning in their own blood.

However, one thing should be noted is that Shiyami is extremely proficient with a multitude of weapons. He is known for disarming his opponent, before using their own weapon against them.
Other: Apache revolvers are an actual thing. The link is to wikipedia(and image). It really fired black powder rounds.

The nickname 'Immortal Vampire' refers to being utterly drenched in blood, with dismembered corpses in the surroundings.

Stats:
Strength: 5
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 5
Social: 4
Crafting: 1
Fighting: 9

[User]
Winter
Winter was content as she ate, listening to the sounds of her crew. Meals were the one time no one was rambling on, and yet they still managed to cause a ruckus with all their slurping and munching. Winter just smiled to herself. Taran finished his meal earlier than usual and started running his mouth about something or other. Winter didn't pay it any mind though. At least Taran was cleaning up after himself this time.

Then he turned back to the group and she saw him pull out a necklace. It was a delicate thing with a silver chain meant to look like tree branches and bronze flowers set in different intervals. It was beautiful.

But then Taran walked over to Winter's side and picked up her hand to gently curl her fingers around it. The cold bite of the metal was a hard contrast with the warmth of his hand, seeping into her own. She was frozen as Taran shifted his weight, clearly awkward. He made some poor excuse to leave and fled the room.

Winter's mind was blank save for a long string of curses in every language she knew. She jumped when the sounds of Winston enter the room and her mind snapped back to reality. Which meant she was thinking again. Winter felt her skin begin to heat and suddenly all she wanted was to get away.

"Clean up when you're done," she told the others in clipped tones. At the same time she pushed herself up, her chair scraping along the floor. Winter walked quickly out the door, not looking at anyone. She didn't slow her pace until she reached her room, the door slamming shut behind her. The entire time, the necklace she'd thought was beautiful only a few moments before lay heavy in her hand.

[Assistant]
It had been roughly 32 hours since the Leviathan had departed from Ballard. It was a relief to have that place behind them. Dexter hoped they wouldn't have to dock there again, because the whole place made him twitch. He liked things neat, clean, orderly... and Ballard was the exact opposite of all those things. Although that kind of place was common, he was very careful to stay on the ship when they visited those types of places.

 Now he sat around the mapping table with his crew. It was a little before noon, after the crew had cleaned up from breakfast and everyone gathered in the navigation room, where most of their plans were discussed. The sat around the circular table, everyone facing inwards to make it easier to converse. Dexter spread his charts in front of his crew, letting them examine them on their own.

 The crew looked well-fed, and some of them had even taken the time to bathe. With the exception of Aubrey, who Dexter noticed was wearing a bandage on his neck, everyone appeared to be in good health. When everyone had taken their seat, Dexter spoke.

 "In about three hours, we will be arriving at the location of our next raid." He said, "It's a remote island, and I only heard of it through a special connection. Gathering info on it has proven difficult, so there is a lot we might not have on the place." He gestured to the papers on the table. "This is everything I have. Although the name of the place isn't officially documented, it had been referred to as The Crumbling Keep."

 Aubrey opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but Dexter cut him off by raising a hand. "No, Aubrey, I don't know why they call it that." The boy pouted and sat back, and Dexter continued. "We can expect high security. This place is meant to hold some very advanced... inventions. Large, robotic weapons are housed there, though it's hard to say if they are just being stored or if they are active and being put to use. Either way, this is going to be a tough one. We will not only be worrying about the possibility of these machines coming after us, but there is also a large amount of human guards. Ideally, we would get in without being noticed, take a few things, and then get out. However, you have all proven over and over that you are not good at keeping things low-key. That, and the added problem of that we have a huge ass mothafuckin' ship trying to sneak up on a small island, there is about a 90% chance of a confrontation."

 He paused to scan the faces of his comrades, judging their reactions thus far.

[User]
Jax

She had spent the last day or so working on enhancing her eye piece so it could read heat signatures. But for some reason she just couldn't get it to work and it was terribly frustrating. However, she refused to give up and kept trying. Jax took a deep breath, her hat was off, her hair a mess and her arms and face covered in sweat and grime from working on different things. "I need to bathe. badly, I smell like a military dog" Te pirate took off toward the lavatory and stripped, setting her nice gloves aside carefully to get in the tub she had filled prior to removing all her clothes. It wasn't necessarily warm water, but it wasn't freezing either, she and a few other mechanics on the ship had designed a system to make it so the water wasn't icy cold when you had to wash off.

Once she was finished, dried off and put her clothes back on, she was notified that the captain had called a meeting... and she was late for it. Crap, why me? Not only had she missed breakfast that morning, but she wasted time bathing and now had to go face the captain, after being late for the meeting. Jax ran to where she knew everyone would be and crept in and took her place beside Aubrey who she smiled at and started to listen to what the captain had to say.

Curiously she examined the charts and maps the captain had laid out on the table, what the heck were the charts for? Then he mentioned their raid in about 3 hours in a place called The Crumbling Keep and she knew it would be the perfect place to test her Hand Cannon. She also couldn't wait to take a lot at the "advanced" machinery that the place supposedly held. Once he was finished, Jax broke out into laughter over the fact that he had said huge as mothafuckin' ship, that didn't seem like something her captain would say, it didn't match his usual tone or expressions at all.

[Assistant]
Winter
Winter was completely focused on the captain's explanation. Or at least, that's how she looked on the outside. In reality she was trying very hard to look anywhere but at Taran. She'd holed herself up in her room for the remainder of the previous evening, only leaving this morning to make the crew breakfast. As soon as that was done, she left the food in the kitchen for the others to find, instead of waiting for them to arrive as she normally would. It was cowardly but Winter honestly had no idea what to do with this situation. Taran… he…

Winter tightened her fists behind her back, nails nearly cutting into her palms. The necklace was hidden in her desk drawer, and her mind kept on wandering back to it.

The captain stopped talking and it took a moment for Winter's attention to snap back to reality. The raid. Weapons. High security. She contemplated the situation as all of his words finally registered.

"Captain," she started, "what exactly are we after?" It must've been something of exceptional value for him to risk such security.

[User]
Winter and Taran probably would have had a better time of avoiding each other if they hadn't tried to avoid each other in the same way. His arms still ached from the half hour in which he hid under one of the tables while Winter cooked breakfast. Usually, he'd send one of the others in to do a look out before he would enter the kitchen, before denying that that was what he was doing. But, on that morning, Taran thought he was up early enough that he wouldn't risk seeing the girl. He was wrong. When he dared enter the hallway, he'd usually end up climbing something because he thought it was Winter coming around the corner, usually it wasn't.

He spent the last thirty-two hours kicking himself. Why did he feel the urge to give her that stupid necklace? No only was it the most valuable piece of jewelry that he took that night, but it made things weird. He glanced over at Winter, who was almost pointedly not looking at him. It was dumb, and he wondered if the problem could be fixed by simply asking for it back? Or would that make it worse? 'She isn't that great anyway' he thought to himself ' With her face, and her hair that always smells nice and her eyes that --' he thought was cut off as she spoke and he promptly looked at the Captain, his face flushing slightly having zero idea about what the conversation had been about up til this point. He'd just have to ask Aubrey before they got there...

The sound of a meeting was what drew her. After watching the 'Pirates' she decided that she should probably make herself known, help where she could, and hopefully keep them from killing her. Both straight out and by their own incompetence. Kara Saun situated herself in a vent with a clear line of sight towards the man who must have been the captain. If she was being fair, he didn't look nearly old enough, but...on the other hand, this Peter Pan man seemed to have a whole ship of lost little children.

[Assistant]
Shiyami
Shiyami couldn't help but to mentally sigh as he stared out the triple-layered tempered glass in the captain's quarters. He glanced down at the table in front of him, with multiple papers scattered everywhere on it. There were written reports of all variety mixed in with what appeared to be multiple blueprints of different ships of the government fleet. The first and foremost on was the blueprint of the warship Sovereign, the one he was residing in.

Towards the corner of the desk however, was a small, weathered envelope, containing two parchments. One was a rather childish drawing, of three people. The other, was a more well-done drawing, of the same three people. Looking at it, Shiyami couldn't help but to smile faintly. "I wonder what those two little rascals are up to?" Muttering these words to himself, he was reaching over to pick up the envelope, when a knock at his door interrupted him.

Quickly pocketing it, she called out, "Enter." A soldier came in, clicked his heels, and saluted. "The first mate requests your presence on the bridge, sir!". Shiyami sighed aloud this time, before rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. "There's no need to call me sir." un-energetically speaking these words that sounds like they have been spoken once to often, Shiyami stood up, before walking towards the bridge.

Walking down the corridor, Shiyami kept his eyes shifting, making sure to keep every detail memorized. However, no matter how times he seen it, he still felt amazed that this metal behemoth of an airship actually flew. Thing should be heavy as hell. When he arrived, the crew onboard all saluted, with the commander calling out, "Officer on deck!".

"At ease that shit..." Annoyed, Shiyami muttered the usual lines, with the response of, "I see you still dislike formalities." coming from the right. Glancing over, his eyes stopping at his observer, the merc shrugged. "Formalities are a tool to be used only when required." Tossing back his words, he walked up, before looking at the map, before checking the ship's status report. "Alright, we need to refuel and resupply the Sovereign. Take us to The Crumbling Keep." Calling out his order, the Sovereign started to move, slowly getting up to speed.


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 21

Career/Class: Courtesan/Duelist

Physical Description: Camilla is a medium sized woman around 5'5. She possess the slightly bronzed skin, angular features and dark hair common among Tileans. She has the smooth clean lines of a classical statue and the lean musculature of a dancer. Every part of her seems artfully contrived, as though she stepped from the canvas of a master painter. Camilla moves with deliberate grace which is appropriate to her profession.

Mental Description/Personality: Camilla is a fiery impetuous young woman. As a child she was selected from among orphan's for her physical beauty and raised to fill the role of Courtesan in the decadent courts of her native Tilea. Among her studies were poetry, dance, repartee, song, politics, literature, art and sword play.

Camilla is out of place in rough and dangerous situations, and although naturally adventurous and curious about the world she is no heroine. She has a fiery temper and has a tendency to act rather than to wait if given the chance. While technically trained with the sword, Camilla's education is that of the stylized art of the sword rather than the rough and brutal style of real combat, while she is perfectly comfortable fighting a duel to the tough for the entertainment of a crowd, she had little experience with real killing.

Camilla has a passing devotion to Randald and Shyalla, although she tends to focus on the world in front of her rather than the world beyond.

[User]
The night was cold, colder than even Cyrdic was used to. But crisp. His senses were keen as a knife's edge, much like he often felt when he was in danger. He did not know exactly why, though the Chaos-wrought stone gargoyles mounted at various intervals of the balcony he had stepped on could have been a factor. The snow had stopped falling for now, leaving the outside an almost impenetrable void of darkness beyond the torches on the balcony.

"Leave us," Rishnekov said to the Royal Hussars who framed the doorway. They only hesitated for a moment, and then gave a curt bow before exiting into the Palace, closing the curtains behind them. Cyrdic tried not to think too much on it for his sake. He felt Rishnekov was a brave man, meeting Cyrdic alone without supervision. His voice caught the Ostlander's attention.

"So, Herr Richter, from where do you hail in the Empire?" he inquired, though his eyes were on the gem that was attached to the head of his cane, polishing it idly as he stared into it. The silence after he spoke was near deafening. The wind howled a moment later. It sounded uncomfortably similar to wailing. He tugged his furs closer to his muscled form, recalling he felt the familiar press of his dagger sheath against the side of his leg.

"Nordland."

"Truly? I heard there was an unfortunate incursion as recently as a few scant months ago."

"I was there at the battle." Cyrdic replied. He was lucky Ostlanders and Nordlanders were both terse in their wording. He doubt he could pretend to be a Reiklander unless he was speaking to someone from Cathay. "The barbarians were tough as always, but they were sent back to the realm of Chaos where they were spawned."

"Chaos is never truly defeated." the dark man replied. He spoke to Cyrdic as if he was talking to a hound that had done something ignorantly wrong. "I had thought someone from a region such as Nordland would have understood that."

"Let us not argue semantics, my lord. The Norscans were slaughtered save a paltry few, and I believe we can do the same to the force outside. They have little in the way of provisions for a long campaign, yet they continue to sit there. Would that not suggest they know help is coming?" Cyrdic reasoned. "Better to strike at them now. We need only 7,000 good Lancers and archery support from the walls and they will be routed in a day."

Rishnekov finally halted his inspection of the gem and turned to regard Cyrdic. Somehow, he felt as if a weight had landed upon his body merely by the man's look. His cloak opened with a small sway of his shoulders, and Cyrdic thought he could see a drop of red. "Herr Richter, how long have you been in Praag, may I ask?" The question was rhetorical, he could discern. "You are of noble blood, if I recall correctly. Yes? I have only been to Nordland a few times in my life, but I familiarized myself with the courts there well enough. You know, as I do, that certain politics plague those in charge and threaten to topple what we hold so dear... If Enrik were to attack tomorrow, then he would be overthrown the next day. He has more enemies than you can imagine. And if Praag was without a ruler, we would not be able to hold off what is coming."

"If it is not already here." Cyrdic replied.

"There is always evil in Praag. I suggest you come to terms with that, Herr Richter."

There was something very off, but Cyrdic could not quite understand what. He felt him needing to keep himself from baring his teeth in front of the man, though he made no move to threaten Cyrdic. "Have you eaten yet, Lord Rishnekov? Shall we call for a servant to provide some food as we speak? I had just eaten at a place of very high esteem, the Hussar's Hooves. But I could still eat a bit more." Cyrdic saw all he needed to see when Rishnekov looked at him, the barest whisper of a nameless recognition. "I always grow famished when speaking of killing Chaos worshipers."

Cyrdic flexed his hands behind his furs, gazing at Rishnekov's every move as the man regarded him.
"That is very kind of you..."

[Assistant]
The band struck up a tune and the couples began the dance. It was a staid Imperial tune with which Camilla was familiar from her time as lover to the Count of Ostland's son. It seemed strange to be taken back to a time before she had met Cydric and embarked on her present life as a sellsword. It really wasn't that long ago, perhaps a year and a half, though with all the travel they had done her sense of time was far from certain. It seemed a distant time now and it was hard to imagine that she had been that person, she had been convinced that she would only need spend a few months in the 'court' of Ostland before she would attract a lover who would whisk her off to Altdorf or Marienburg and house her in a palace with every comfort. It was hard to imagine that she had gone from that to working as hired help at a besieged city at the edge of the world.

"Does something amuse you," Indendre's cultured voice cut in on her reverie. Camilla executed the required spin and moved into the promenade, allowing the elf to lift her hand in his own.

"Lo how the mighty have fallen," she quoted with an ironic grin. If the elf were confused by the reference he gave no sign of it, gliding through the steps of the dance with grace that was literally inhuman. It seemed strange to her that an elf would be so familiar with Imperial culture as to know a dance by heart but it would have been rude to enquire. She was receiving a number of hostile stares from the other women of the court, clearly envying her the elegant elf as a dance partner. Several of the men were already trying to appear casual in their jostling for the next dance with her.

"Why are you interested in me?" she asked the elf as they made a series of graceful turns and moved from the promenade into the waltz. The other elves were watching Indendre with unreadable expressions as he laughed lightly.

"Well because you are interesting of course," the elf said easily, avoiding the thrust of the question with grace.

"And why is that?" she pressed, even though she knew it was pressing the bounds of propriety.

"How many famous Tilean sellswords come noblewomen do you see at this dance m'lady," Indendre replied ironically. Camilla arched any eyebrow but didn't miss a step of the complicated crescendo of the dance, turning against the elf with hands raised palm to palm without every quite touching. Clearly the elf recognized the pair of them though she couldn't for the life of her imagine how. Perhaps Dietricha had told him, her eyes sought for the wizard but didn't find the woman on a casual glance.

"That isn't it," she said, sensing the elf wasn't speaking the whole truth, but before she could press the matter the song concluded with a bow from the men and a curtsey from the women. Before the note finished reverberating people swept in on them. Camilla found herself facing a young hussar who was a little more aggressive than his fellows, but Indendre, despite being besieged by the ladies of the court seemed to glide gracefully out of their reach to rejoin his fellows.

[User]
The two men stared at one another, their senses on a knife's edge. If this was a normal circumstance, Cyrdic would be wary but confindent that he could overpower the man. But his Ulric honed instincts made him realize the way he moved, the easy grace in which he smiled, the controlled grip of the man's hand. He was far more dangerous than he appeared. He seemed to be studying Cyrdic as well, though the Ostlander could tell he seemed far too at ease for what was about to occur.

Maybe if Cyrdic could head inside and beat him to the party. No, that wouldn't work. Perhaps if he could-

The music started.

They looked at one another one more time, and then moved. Cyrdic and Rishnekov stepped forward simultaneously. Cyrdic had the feeling that the man wouldn't fall for an easy punch, so he moved forward with his weight but kept his guard up, feinting high then kneeing low. Somehow with a serpent-like grace, the dark man knocked aside Cyrdic's leg with a mere sweep of his hand, his other hand shooting forward faster than the eye could see, grabbing Cyrdic's shoulder. Sigmar he was strong!

The mercenary pushed forward, grabbing the expensive cloak of his adversary and pulling upwards to lift him off the ground, though Rishnekov snarled and slapped Cyrdic so hard across the face, he dropped him and stumbled backward. It was only on instinct that he punched forward, somehow landing a solid blow on Rishnekov's abdomen, though it seemed to faze the man little. As they traded punches, Camilla and Indendre were the object of the court's eye, the music echoing off the chambers as they watched the two dance. Outside, Cyrdic felt nail-like claws puncture his skin beneath his furs. He only just barely caught the wrist, muscling the hand out of his lower stomach before he was eviscerated.

"What the hell are you?" Cyrdic growled.

"You're strong for a human." Rishnekov replied back venomously. "Even stronger than you appear." As if he was savoring the moment of his triumph, Rishnekov opened his mouth to reveal predatory fangs. Horrible realization flooded Cyrdic, and the reason he was fighting an uphill battle became frighteningly clear. They found themselves grappling in a contest of strength. Wolfish ferocity against Unholy might as they each tried to break the other.

Slowly, all too slowly, Rishnekov's unlimited stamina began to win. Cyrdic felt his grip on the Vampire's wrists slipping, and even the strength Ulric had granted him was waning in the face of this monster's will to feed. The dark regent opened his mouth once more, fangs protruding as his face inched toward's Cyrdic's exposed neck. Until Cyrdic felt the warmth of one of the balcony brazier's behind him. He did what Rishnekov did not expect, buckling under the force and using his weight against him, going under and then pressing up with his massive shoulders, sending Rishnekov end over end to fall into the flame.

Rishnekov shrieked, his skin instantly catching fire as if he was laced with black powder, his dark suit lighting up in a parody of oil on water. Cyrdic did not have time, he grabbed the Vampire's kicking feet and pushed them upward, sending him falling to a fire death into the darkness below. Behind Cyrdic the curtains opened a moment later, and the Servant walked out with drinks. "Herr Reiner I..." he began, looking about. "Where is Regent Rishnekov?"

"He went back inside." Cyrdic said, trying not to appear too out of breath, holding a hand on his disheveled mane of hair. "Could you fetch my wife?"

[Assistant]
The dance was just ending and another crowd of would be partners was jostling for position when a servant, very politely, but very forcefully pushed his way to the front of the group.

"Gravina, your husband requests your company on the balcony," the servant said with the satisfaction of one whos station allows him to ride roughshod over the group of other wise important dancers. Camilla nodded and stepped clear of the pack heading for the balcony where she had seen Cydric and the Regent repair for there conversation.

With a suddenness that made her jump iron strong fingers grabbed her wrist, squeezing with a painful strength. Dietricha's eyes were wide and paniced though Camilla could see no cause for such alarm.

"I didn't see this!" she hissed in a whisper sharp enough to cut glass.

"I didn't see this!" the wizard repeated as though it were the most important piece of information in the world. Camilla pried her fingers free with some difficultly. It was easily the most animated she had seen the wizard in their short aquaintence.

"Calm down, didn't see what?" she pressed, half guiding, half dragging the other woman behind one of the large carven columns.

"He was supposed to die!" Dietricha all but wailed. Camilla felt her blood run cold.

"How was supposed to die? Cydric?" Camilla's own voice began to climb as Dietricha's panic played upon her own fear for Cydric. Dietricha clasped her hands to her face.

"The architecht! The architect!" she all but sobbed and then turned and fled without another word, leaving a trail of confused party goers as she fled and trailing blue silk from her dress. Camilla hurried to the balcony where she found Cydric. His eyes were wide and his breath rapid, she could see his muscles clenching and unclenching.

"Have you been in a fight?" she asked, partially startled and partially relieved to find him alright after Dietricha's theatrics. For the hundredth time her hand went to her belt where her sword would normally have hung only to come away empty.

"What happened to Rishnekov?" she asked looking around for the reagent. There didn't seem to be any other obvious way to leave the balcony.

"I may have set him on fire and thrown him from the castle," Cydric said leaning forward and placing his palms on his thighs to catch his breath. It took her a moment to realise he wasn't joking and then they heard it. A scream of rage and pain made by no human thing somewhere far below them, the sound dopplered away faster than a horse should have been able to move.

"What in Ranalds name is…"

Alarm horns began to sound on the walls drawing their attentions to the east. A score of burning fireballs rose in graceful ballistic arcs before plunging down onto the walls and into the city. Smoke began to rise immediately and the screams of wounded men sounded faint on the wind. It seemed that the siege had officially begun.


[System]
myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2537265
Appearance: Tamzen stands at about 3 foot 5. They have sandy skin, dark grey eyes and very short black hair that looks like they may have tried to cut it themself to... mixed results. They almost always where a wooden mask resembling horned owl, which hides the fact that their face is badly scarred with three deep claw marks, one narrowly missing their left eye. Their left ear also appears to have a small tear in it, while the right one has two piercings that resemble very large thorns. Their clothes are monk robes that use very warm, autumnal colours, though not in the best condition as they are all tattered and stained with dirt.

Race: Ghostwise Halfling

Occupation: Wanderer, healer and acolyte

Memories: Tamzen heralds from a small, secluded village and all of their memories prior to leaving are actually quite vivid. They were the second of two children and in contrast to their responsible older brother - and the person they themself would eventually become - they were a something of a wild child. They were constantly disobeying the rules laid down by their parents and the village elders, and essentially bullying the other village children into going along with their various schemes. Eventually, this lead to an incident involving in which, on dare to see who was brave enough to enter a nearby cave, Tamzen and another young halfling were attacked by some kind of creature the likes of which neither had ever seen. Tamzen received a nasty claw to their face and their friend was almost killed, when a stranger wearing a goat mask fended on the creature and brought the two halflings back to their village. Tamzen had passed out during the journey but when they awoke, they found the wound on their face was healed - albeit leaving a rather nasty scar - and their friend in stable condition. The stranger, who they later found out was called Alda, had apparently used some kind of power to heal both of them in a way that none of the village healers could.

Now, Tamzen's village was very wary of outsiders, and this particular stranger seemed to make them very uncomfortable. Alda was about the same height as a halfling but had a greenish tint to her skin, with oversized ears and hands that more resembled claws. However, she had saved two of their own, so she was permitted to stay in the village for a couple of days, though most of the people kept their distance from her and warned their young not to associate with her. Obviously, Tamzen didn't listen. They wanted to thank Alda for saving them and their friend - who they felt extremely guilty for putting in danger - and they rarely got the chance to speak to someone outside their village. So they managed to sneak into the small hut Alda was staying in and, over the next few days, the two started to form a friendship. Alda wasn't like the other adults in the village. She always answered their questions and told them about things they'd never heard of.

For example, Alda explained she was part of an order dedicated to the restoration of the land. She told Tamzen that the land 'very, very sick', that this 'sickness' was responsible for creatures like the one that had attacked them, and if nothing was done, this sickness may cause this land - or even the entire world - to become uninhabitable. All members of this order wore animal masks in order to connect them to nature and remind them of their duty to the land. While Tamzen didn't entirely understand everything she said, they felt the urgency and importance of what Alda was doing, and felt a strong desire to help her, unlike anything they had ever felt. While they loved their village and the people in it, they'd always felt restless here, like they didn't quite belong. Compared to their peers and their older brother, they'd never felt like they had a place, never sure what they wanted to do with their life, which was probably part of the reason for their mischief. In Alda, they suddenly saw some sense of purpose, so when the day come that Alda was set to leave the village, Tamzen said they wanted to with them.

Some of the village immediately took against this, obviously, as it had been a long time since one of them had left and saw it as a disturbance in the status quo. After all, if Tamzen left, what would stop others from following their example? On the other hand, not everyone felt that way. Some argued that Tamzen was coming to the age when they would be considered an adult, and still very reckless and bold. Perhaps this journey was what would be needed to calm their wild spirit and make them into an upstanding citizen. After much deliberating, the elders eventually decided to let Tamzen go, but before they left, as was tradition, they were given a small vial of water from the neighbouring river to be worn around their neck as a reminder of where they had come from.

After that, Tamzen's memories become very patchwork. They spent a lot of time traveling, saw a lot of people and places, all the while learning from Alda. Alda taught Tamzen many things about both the order and the world in general, such as about various gods including a obscure nature deity that she and the other members of the order worshiped - though Tamzen can no longer recall the name of this deity - how to use one's life force to both heal AND hurt others, and how to speak and understand Terran and Primordial, both languages used by the order and the former of which used in all their scripture. During that time, Tamzen matured a great deal, losing their wilder nature and becoming entirely dedicated to their duty. Eventually, Alda gave Tamzen their own mask, which she had made herself, and resembled an owl in honour of Tamzen's surname 'Silentflight'. Tamzen also remembers that Alda did say after giving this mask that she was going to take them to meet the other members of their order to get fully inducted, though they can't remember if she ever got round to this. They also don't remember what happened to Alda, whether she died or left, only that at some point, Tamzen found themself traveling alone, though still fulfilling the teachings of their mentor.

As for Tamzen's death, they don't remember how or when they died, nor do they seem to care much. In fact, they seem to find their new state merely a way for them to better fulfill their responsibilities, even seeing it as being in some way advantageous as they no longer feel burdened by the weaknesses of the living. They also have gotten it into their heads that the Gestalt is some sort of saviour figure, that they are the answer to saving this land that their order was trying so desperately to find, and that the spirits that are bound to the Gestalt are key to aiding this cause.

Other:
- Goes by they/them pronouns.

- Despite claiming that the past is past and that their fellow spirits should forget about their past lives to focus fully on helping the Gestalt, Tamzen is very protective of the vial of water given to them by the village and will become very anxious if it is endangered.

- Tamzen almost never removes their mask in the presence of others, partly due to their loyalty to their order but also because they don't want people to see their scars. This isn't so much because they hate the look of the scars themselves but because they are a reminder of their recklessness during youth, which they feel a great deal of shame towards.

[User]
The sun never sets in the Brighted Lands. More a curse than a blessing. Despite the sun's constant presence, it provided no warmth. The land was cold, dry, and desperate for life. What exists are ruins and shadows, dust and decay. In a nameless coastal village, Yin was searching for food. Sometimes she could find something that wasn't too rotten that she could eat, or if she was really lucky she would find a plant she could eat. She thought about hunting before, but most creatures she encountered were monsters. Even the birds looked scary and almost as big as her. Yet despite how bleak things were, she's always kept a smile on her face. A skip in her step. Something about her was... Hopeful, despite how desolate these lands were.

Even now as her stomach growled and her body was so thin. She hasn't had much to eat except a strange root she had dug up yesterday. It tasted like dirt, but it didn't make her puke, so it was delicious. But it wasn't enough. She searched through the ruins of a building covered in sand. Long chairs had been broken down due to sand and time, but somehow the stone altar remained. Though dirty it didn't show too much signs of decay, though whatever was written on it was on sort of language Yin doesn't understand. Or maybe her eyes were just playing tricks on her due to her hunger. Still... This alter felt nice. Smooth and oddly warm. Yin sat on it to get a moment of rest. "Suppose I could try and see if there's anything to eat in the water. Even if it's far away... I could try. I could... Try..."

Yin was tired. She had been walking for as long as she had been awake. Sometimes she would run. When she stopped, she simply sat down, closing her eyes for a bit before running off again. Day and night. She was so tired... So lonely. She laid down on the altar for a moment. It was comfortable. Warm, even in the shadow of this dilapidated building. It would be the first time she's truly had rest. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She took in the senses of her surroundings. The sound of the waves. The smell of the sea. The dryness of her skin. The bitter taste on her tongue. "Yeah... This is a good place to rest..."

---

It has been forever since you had died. And it also felt like it was only a moment ago you breathed your last breath. Death. Even for the most stalwart of martyrs, no one can escape the burden of death on one's soul. For many, the experience is enough to drive a man to insanity. A quite whimper would be the best he could muster. But for some... Craven, courageous, wise, or witless, they can find the strength of self to go beyond death. You awaken in a destroyed temple. You don't truly feel like yourself, yet at the same time you feel as though you're alive again. Yet when you try to move, even as you lift your foot and put it in front of the other, you don't move from your spot. You see three other figures near you. Strangers yet somehow there's a sense of kinship with these people. And at the center, a young woman sleeping on an altar. She looks gaunt and hungry, yet somehow sleeping peacefully on this stone bed.

But something is coming. How far or how many, it's hard to tell. But you know danger will arrive. Something threatens you, yet at the same time you hardly feel fear. Or anything for that matter. There is no heart beat, no breath. You couldn't move because your feet are not touching the floor. Even if you tried to touch your hand or your chest, it's as if there's nothing there at all. You are a spirit, bound to a mortal. How or why, you do not know. But you have the instinctive feeling of protecting this person, if only out of self-preservation. You know your life is linked to hers. For better or for worse, because you had the will to live you are here. Now you must use that will to fight for your life.

There is some time before this profane feeling approaches. You should speak to these fellow spirits, and learn who you're accompanying. The girl doesn't seem to stir, though she still lives. For now.

[Assistant]
Eyelids flutter open to reveal green eyes with slit pupils. The woman with black hair looks around curiously as she tries to recuperate. A low serpentine like hiss comes from her, "What...? By Moradin'ssss Beard, What isssss thissss placcce?"

She quickly takes stock of her memories, her surroundings, and the others nearby. Many questions arose at the fact that she is dead and is currently a spirit. She noticed the sense of kinship between the other three spirits, and the girl sleeping on the altar.

"How sssstrange. I may need to take notessss on thisss later..."

Her head snaps warily towards the sense of profane danger that approaches. She wanted to speak with the others and get to know them more, but she knows that they need to get the girl in front of them ready for a fight.

While she may not fear death anymore, she still is aware that they shouldn't waste any time if they want to be able to make it through the fight. Preparation ahead of time can do wonders for the girl's survival after all.

She looks to the group and quickly introduces herself, "I fear we might not have much time, sssso, I'll quickly introduccce myssssself. My name issss Alssssei Cogsssspeaker. It issss niccce to meet you. Now then..."

After introducing herself, she looks around quickly and speaks to herself, "Now....where isss PAL? He sssshhhould be...Ah! There you are!"

Her eyes land on the steel defender that lied nearby covered in sand. She noted the sand and figured that a lot of time had passed. PAL clearly needs maintenance, but at a glance, it seems like PAL should still be functional.

She clears her throat and with her attention directed to the steel defender, she speaks with authority, "Voiccce Authentication: Eight Two Ssssixxx Five. Risssse and Sssshhhine PAL. It isss time for a new day, and time to fulfill your duty as Guardian!"

---

After Alsei gave the voice authentication, the steel defender's eyes shine with a blue light. The steel defender moves to stand up and turns to face Yin, unmoving and waiting for commands or any sign of threats. It stands vigilantly as it speaks, "Voice Authentication confirmed. Ally registered. Awaiting commands,

[User]
When the shortest of the four spirits awoke, their first instinct upon finding themself among these spectral strangers was to get into a defensive stance. While their expression was hidden behind a mask, the distrusting glint in their eyes as their gaze swept over each member of the group was unmistakable. Eventually, their sight rest on the woman asleep on the altar. At the sight of her, the masked spirit felt themselves relax slightly, though they weren't sure why. She was just as unknown to them as the others. However, unlike them, she seemed to be tangible, alive, and not in the best condition due to hunger. A strange feeling of... protectiveness passed over the small spirit and they attempted to approach the woman, only to find they couldn't move. Frustrated, they muttered something under their breath. It sounded like it was in halfling, but even if the other spirits couldn't understand it, they could probably tell it was some kind of curse.

It was at this point one of the other spirits, a (seemingly) human woman with an unusual green eyes spoke up, introducing herself to the rest of them as Alsei. The masked halfling glanced at her, scrutinizing her once again. She didn't seem hostile, at least not towards current company. In fact, her sense of urgency and her willingness to be the first to speak up meant that the halfling couldn't help but respect her, even if they still weren't sure if they could trust her.

"Tamzen," they grunted in response. "Tamzen Silentflight." They watched as Alsei then started scanning the surroundings in search of something she referred to as 'PAL'. Tamzen followed the woman's gaze towards a shape sitting submerged in the sand that, on closer inspection, appear vaguely humanoid in shape. How had Tamzen not noticed that before? They'd have to be much more alert going forward if they wanted to figure out what was going on.


[System]
free image host
Age: Looks 9, is 11
Description: Ivan is a small boy, only a little over four feet tall. His messy golden brown hair falls to just below his chin in unkempt layers, framing his pale face. He has a pair of sharp dark brown eyes, that always make him look alert and watchful. His build is frail and skinny, with long slender limbs and childish facial features. His posture leans a bit to the left and he walks with a limp.
He dresses in whatever rags he can get his fragile thin-fingered little hands on. Right now, this means a worn out orange waistcoat at least three sizes too large for him, a white button down shirt that's surprisingly unstained, torn black dress pants and no shoes for his little feet.
Gender: Male
Personality: Ivan is quiet, mostly because his English isn't very good but also because he's extremely shy. When interacting with others, he seems stiff and unfriendly, speaking in a hushed and hurried voice and stammering. He's very sensitive and is easily made upset, especially when asked about his past or his parents. He'll often go days without ever speaking to anyone. He's reluctant to try new things, preferring to stick with what he knows.
Backstory: Ivan's mother died giving birth to him, and his father, tied down with caring for sick relatives, sent Ivan off on his own to find money to help the family. Ivan, finding no work in his hometown, joined the caravan with hope of finding his fortune elsewhere.
Skills: Sneaking, hiding, marksmanship, drawing, general craftiness
Extra:
-Ivan has asthma and is allergic to cats and shellfish
-He is afraid of heights and spiders
-He carries his mother's wedding ring in his pocket at all times
-He walks with a limp because of an accident he got into when he was only eight years old. He fell off of a roof and fractured his right leg in two places.
-He suffers from chronic nightmares that cause him to sleep poorly and occasionally wet the bed. He really doesn't like to talk about this.
-He tries not to kill unless he has to, and usually only shoots non-lethally.
-Despite the above statement, he has very good marksmanship and could probably kill if he had to.
-He likes to draw and is quite good at it.

[User] "Sorry about that, got too distracted by the surroundings." said Jameson as he gave the caravan master a hand in pulling out his horse.

[Assistant]
Ivan stepped out of the caravan a bit after the others, rubbing his head with a wince. He flinched as he saw the dire straits the horse was in, but knew his tiny hands would do no good, so he stayed well back. Even standing still as he was, He was clearly favoring his right leg, leaning on his left side a bit to stay steady. Every now and then he would wobble a bit, as if about to lose his balance, but remained stable for the most part. Either way, it wasn't like he was going back inside the caravan. It smelled like the devil in there after all the time they'd spent inside, and with all their belongings thrown about it wasn't like he could sit comfortably in there. He remained silent, feeling bad for just watching them work, but he knew it would be better if he stayed out of the way and didn't spook the horse.

@xChrome @EveryoneelseIforgot

[User]
With some aching in his joints, the knight pulled himself up with muffled grunts, rousing his muscles from the torpor of an interrupted sleep. He was glad to have sat near the front, so that his dusty, armored, unclean self wouldn't have had to fall onto anyone.

He stepped outside the wagon, landing heavily, and cringed at the horse's dislocated limbs. He struggled to walk in this deep mud, and moved to the edge of the grass, where at least some roots would've held the ground together underneath him. A regular man would've carried a lighter load over swampy earth, but hell if Robart would deaden morale any further by showing his face. He probably wasn't contagious. Probably. But no one wants to travel with a leper, for completely obvious reasons.

"Two enough to hoist up that beast? I'll lend you a hand if I don't get in the way."

[Assistant] In the short minutes in which Ivan had been outside, the young boy had become drenched in rain, his messy brown hair sticking to his face and blocking his left eye. He coughed miserably; foul weather was never good for his asthmatic lungs. Still a bit sore over the fact that he couldn't offer any help, he looked back at the caravan, trying to see who had just stepped out of it. ой. Это человек в маске He thought, running a hand through his soaking wet hair.

[User]
Raven stepped outside, and looked up at the sky for a moment before heading towards the front to help the caravan master with his horse.

"Oh, you already got it then." The young fellow spoke, noting as another member had already assisted the horse. Raven's hair was messy from the banging around in the caravan, and his face had a look of annoyance. "This weather is utter s***..." he grumbled to himself. Raven immediately regretted saying this, as a younger lad was standing not too far nearby, coughing. "Hey kid, take this. It's no raincoat, but maybe it'll keep the water off you for a little while." He said, handing his chainmail-coated jacket to Ivan. "Again, I don't think the cloth under the metal layer is waterproof, but it's better then the rain splashing all over you."

Raven took another look at the horse, and realizing they may need more help then he thought. The horse's legs appeared to be injured. He took off his gauntlets, and tried to help keep the horse's hindquarters up and steady as they pulled the animal from the muck. This was to keep it's hind legs from taking too much pressure as it was dragged out, to avoid causing them worse pain then they were probably already in.

[Assistant] Bladur had been one of the lucky ones to have been sitting in the back of the Caravan so he landed on top of most of the lot. He was more than sure that he probably would have broken something had he been landed on by even one of the occupants of the caravan, save for the sickly boy who had been traveling with them. After getting his bearings back once more, Baldur got to his feet and stumbled out of the Caravan with a grim look on his face. He observed the others trying to get the now obviously lame horse out of the mud. Baldur didn't bother helping the lot that were trying to get the horse out as he knew he didn't have that much strength left in him. Instead Baldur walked into the outskirts of the forest and began picking up stick so he could hopefully set up a fire using a little bit of his magic to keep himself and the others warm until they were ready to head out "if you ask me we should just put that horse out of its misery..." Baldur said to himself as he crouched down to pick up another stick.

[User]
Ivan smiled gratefully as he was handed the coat. It was far too big on him, of course, but that just meant it kept the rain off all the better.

"I dislike to say it," Piped in Ivan when Bladur spoke, "But I agree. with Bladur. The animal will take us no further, and trust me, legs do not heal easy."

[Assistant]
Skylar groaned loudly as he picked himself up off the caravan floor and stumbled out after hastily shrugging on his coat. After a brief glance at the horse and deciding several people struggling knee deep in mud was enough, Skylar took a second to take in the surroundings and his companions. Clothes and armor abound but coats? Tsk. At this rate, everyone was going to get sick. Not exactly the best plan in this neck of the woods. The boy's coughing caught his attention and he muttered darkly as he dug through his bag.

"Oye, anyone gotta knife? I left mine back at town it seems." Skylar snapped, irritated at his own stupidity. "Gotta deal with this rain before we decide what do to. Don't want to deal with corpses on top of everything else."

[User] Jameson heard Skylar while still struggling with the horse and said, "Skylar is it? I've got a knife, but may I know what do you intend to do with it? I don't think a knife can be of help in stopping this blasted rain." He stared at the horse's hindlegs and sighed, "Gonna need someone who knows some healing magic if we wanna get him going soon." Jameson was sopping wet with sweat and rain as he looked around to catch a breather. He noticed Ivan standing outside with an oversized coat and Baldur picking up sticks further away. "In a rain like this, that coat won't do you much good, best head inside the caravan kid, no one's looking forward to taking care of a sick boy", said Jameson to Ivan. "Oye Baldur! Do you know any spells to heal this damn beast?" yelled Jameson at Baldur in the distance.

[Assistant]
Ivan sighed, but nodded, heading back into the caravan. Everything was thrown about haphazardly inside after the collision before. There wasn't much fresh air inside and it smelled somewhat of unwashed humans and their byproducts. Ivan had had quite enough of the cramped old caravan, but Jameson was right. It would only be worse for everyone if he went and got sick, which he was more than likely to given his current condition and the weather outside. Being asthmatic and very young besides, Ivan was likely a bit more prone to disease and infection than the others.
He shook the rain off himself, folding up Raven's coat and setting it gently on the floor. He then cleared a space in the clutter for himself to sit down, deeply regretting not having more sets of clothes. The ones he had on were the only ones he could afford, and they were soaking wet and sticking to his pale skin uncomfortably. He sighed miserably, squirming around a bit to try and find a comfortable position on the tilted floor.

[User] "Well what I do with the knife won't make this day anymore miserable and might help you get that horse out." Skylar replied, standing next to Jameson. He glanced down at the horse and retched sightly. Those legs didn't look particularly pleasant. He knew a few healing spells but not for animals and defiantly not for broken legs to that... degree.

[Assistant] "Ahh what the hell, just take it. But you better return it to me the way it is now or we're gonna have problems." said Jameson as he drew his knife from his overcoat and handed it to Skylar. Jameson wasn't too keen on lending a stranger his knife, but any help now would be great and Skylar seemed like a decent enough man. Besides, if Skylar decides to give one of them the ol' stabby, Jameson had no problems blowing a stranger's head off either. "Alright, there ya go. Now show me whatcha gonna do."

[User]
Ivan curled up on the floor of the caravan, clearing his sore throat as he took out a handkerchief and started cleaning the mud off his bare feet and legs. He still felt bad about being the only one unable to help. If he was just a little older and stronger, surely he could have been of some use... He sighed, cursing under his breath.
"Блядь"
"бог чертовски подери"
"Я бесполезно, не так ли?"
He got up and started pacing back and forth, still muttering words of self deprecation to himself until he started biting his knuckles, forcing himself to quiet down.

[Assistant]
Skylar winced as he drew a thin line across his palm and wiped the few droplets that smeared the knife on his coat. Blood pooled in his hand and he started whispering into it quietly. His blood swirled together into a small sphere before turning to a shimmering blue. He snapped one last word and it exploded outwards. A translucent blue dome covered the caravan and a few feet around it. The rain washed down the sides of the dome and flowed away. A blue sigil floated an inch above his palm and he stared at it intently.

"Okay that's that. How people live without magic, I'll never know. A week without it and I wanted to die." He passed the blade back to Jameson. "Won't keep out the cold but it'll keep the rain off us while we figure out what to do."

[User] The sound of the rain suddenly stopped. Ivan hadn't expected the storm to cease so soon. It seemed odd, so he walked out to check on the situation only to find the caravan and a small area around it surrounded by a faint blue glow, as though they were inside some sort of globe. "Vat happened? This is some sort of wizardry?" He asked, looking around. The storm still raged on outside the dome, and the caravan and horse were still stuck deep in the mud, but at the very least it kept the rain off.

[Assistant] "Holy shit..." those were the only words Jameson could muster as he stared at the blue dome surrounding the caravan with disbelief. One moment the rain was falling on his hat like fallen rocks, the next everything was just silent, the sound of raindrops falling onto the dome barely audible by those inside. "Uhh... yeah... thanks for returning my knife and... uh... this shelter..." said Jameson as he took his knife back while looking at Skylar wide-eyed with a smile, trying to look appreciative. He took a moment to pat most of the rain off his coat and hat and said to Skylar, "Didn't expect to see another mage in our midst, need help with that wound? Should have a bandage somewhere on me." Jameson fumbled around his coat and took out a bandage, he noticed Ivan outside again. "Hey kid, you don't happen to have any hidden talents we should know about do you?" said Jameson jokingly as he wrapped up Skylar's wound.

[User] Ivan looked down, biting his lip as he mentally went down the list of things he could do. He wasn't magic or anything, but back in his old village while he was living with his father, he used to pick pockets to help with the costs of food and medicine. He actually got quite good at that indeed. He'd never been caught, to say the least. But would it be a good idea to share that particular talent with the caravan? They might not trust him much if they found out he was a thief. No, he had to think of something else. "I can shoot a bow..." He said uncertainly. He'd gone hunting with his father a couple of times, and had been praised for his excellent aim. He wasn't sure if it was quite as impressive as magic, but it was better than admitting to his feelings of uselessness.


[System]
GENDER: Male

AGE: 32

APPEARANCE:

Talic has blonde hair, a dark beard and gray eyes. Never having had to worry about food other environmental circumstances and suffering from mild giantism in childhood he has grown to a rather hulking behemoth standing taller than seven feet and wrapped in quite thick muscle. He has not taken much of an armor with him, but dresses primarily in light leather or just simple cloth.

BACKGROUND: The Rastoch were and still are an influential noble family living in the Pigeon Citadel itself. Unlike many other so called 'nobles' they actually have a significant amount of coin to their avail, so from a materialistic point of view it is safe to say that Talic's childhood has been a pretty pampered one. The same doesn't hold true though for other aspects since the Rastoch family is also known for their pride. Talic primarily had to function, to make his parents fond of him and to live in accordance to their rather strict rules. Dealing with lower class people ? Yes, but only if it yields some usefulness and not just because Talic would really have liked to make some more friends. Just enjoying life, going out casually at all times ? No!

For years things worked out nicely, at least for the outside observer and by Rastoch standards: Talic grew up to a healthy young boy with a level of education well above average who knew how to 'behave' himself. He also became an adept fencer and even took part in a few jousting games, or rather he had to take part. Internally resistance was growing, but he failed to release it in a meaningful way that would actually bring some real change with it. It was a slowly growing disaster waiting to happen and meltdown occurred only recently.

One day Talic was finally able to connect the final dot and to confirm a suspicion that had been growing for many months by then. He had always known that politics was a harsh business full of intrigues and action behind the scenes, but never would he have dared to accuse his own family of fighting using these methods: hitmen. His parent's previous favorite had decided to retire, so they had hired a successor in order to continue operations. Unfortunately for them the new man was a rookie and they didn't realize it until he decided that it couldn't hurt to show up at his employer's very residence under the screen of night. Not having seen Talic taking a stroll the assassin believed that the vast gardens around the house were devoid of any listeners and brought up the topic of an additional charge for the current contract openly. Believing the same thing, Talic's parents joined the debate with an equally loud voice.

Talic had enough. At which point in time would they have decided to introduce him to this particularly difficult aspect of family affairs now that he was 'grown up' ? He was clever enough not to confront them openly, but instead just eavesdropped until the metting was over. Documents had been exchanged and, knowing how much everyone in politics loved documentation, he decided to get this particular one in order to have proof. He intercepted the rookie assassin on his way back and grabbed both them and any additional payment the man had received. It would be the start-up capital for a new life that would begin that night.

Talic packed as many items as he deemed necessary and could carry with him, then left the resisdence. Hopefully forever.

MOTIVATION: Talic knows that it won't take an infinite amount of time for his family to notice what most likely has happened and that he, given the parchments he is carrying with him, has become a very high priority target himself. He also knows that his family's connections in Fero Province are far too good so he can't rely on local authorities to act properly when surrendering the documents to them. However those beyond the North Road could overrule those in the south if necessary. All he has to do is to make it there, preferably in one piece.

GEAR:* Long spear (can also be thrown)
* A few pieces of cloth and a bit of alcohol intended for use as bandages
* A coil of climbing rope
* Bedroll and mess kit
* Water, breat and salt meat for half a week

[User]
Galia Guardstrike

Galia could hardly sleep. She had stayed silent, happy to let some of the others take charge for now. For the first time in a long time, she was nervous. Those woods, perhaps, were getting to her. They beckoned to her. Whatever happened in there, it was her destiny. After a bit of silent introspection, the brunette realised the cause of her newfound discomfort. When she was on her own as merc, she didn't care whether she lived or died. She could fight without fear and damn the consequences. Death by sword was all she deserved. When she found Elly, she would happily throw herself on a blade to save her lover's life. Death had never, in her life, mattered. But now, it did.

Because for the first time, she had found a cause worth dying for, but one she couldn't. Death equaled failure. The only way to truly be victorious was to slay the beast, find the cure, and return home. Fail any one of those objectives and it would be a miserable disaster. Either way, Galia and Eleanor die. Without Galia, Elly has no hope of survival. Without Eleanor, Galia has no hope of a future. At least, that's what it felt like. Eleanor would probably say something different, but the last thing she needed was for Elly's last words to be about how Galia is strong enough to find love and be happy. The very thought brought a scowl to her features and she glared even harder at the forest. Were someone to spark a match at that moment, the entire wood would burn to the ground.

Now there was this girl, a teenager, who was the black sheep of the group of black sheep. Eleanor had cursed Galia long ago with an instinct of protecting human life, and perhaps she reminded Galia of herself, when she was younger. Angry, stupid, and hungry for more.

Now, what? It would be strategically beneficial to bond with this group of strangers. Already she had learned some of their names, but if they were going to be fighting together it would only make sense for them to be acquainted.

Galia could hardly sleep, but she was good at it. Very good. If she closed her eyes, she could fall asleep upside down with an orchestra playing two feet away, and wake up with the sunrise. It was a skill she had picked up long ago, and one that could hardly be explained to people who hadn't lived the soldiers life for an extended period of time. So if she wanted too, she could stop staring up at the stars and go to sleep. It would be wise. The others wanted to camp, so she would, too. It would be foolish to charge in on the first night and hope for the best, even though that was her plan when she first arrived. Thankfully she wasn't as impulsive as she used to be. And once again...failure of any kind, was not an option.

So she did just that. Galia, with her armor laying beside her, quickly found a light, restful sleep that could be broken at a moment's notice should the need arrive.

[Assistant]
As the quiet of the night drew on, whatever was haunting the treeline had made no further sounds. Those who slept would find their rest uninterrupted, at least as far as it normally was. One could be forgiven for relaxing.

Those who were awake, however, might notice the breeze going dead.

A dark shape moved by the treeline - still in the shadows, but very much within their line of sight as they watched the trees. And then it stepped out into the moonlight, silent as the grave.

A black stag took a few slow, steady paces out of the trees, its hooves practically ghosting through the wild grass. Its tall, skeletal antlers were faintly silvered with cobwebs, as though the branches and foliage of the woods hadn't so much as touched them. The lack of proper lighting against its dark hide cast the stag's face in shadow.

Although its eyes could not be seen, Ardonne would feel it staring directly at her even while she was looking at her old mentor.

In a way nature definitely never intended, the stag's mouth peeled back into an unsettling grin. Its blunt, white teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

[User]
Mort's tense examination of the treeline did not go uninterrupted. Instead he found his senses, so attuned for the slightest disturbance amidst the silence, assailed by the voice and visage of Ardonne. She asked if he was scared, an asinine and tactically unsound course of action. He wanted nothing more than for her to be quiet and let him reconstruct his alertness, but what would get her to shut up faster? If he didn't say anything -his preferred choice of action- she might press the matter, but if he replied the foolish girl might assume that he condoned a conversation and say more.

After a couple moments of internal deliberation, he muttered, "I am no idiot. Fear keeps you alive." He did not take his eyes off the trees, convinced that something lurked in those shadows, seeking the faintest hint of monstrosity in the moonlight.

Some more time passed. Mort couldn't tell how much. He did notice, however, when the gentle, whispering breeze fell silent. With it, the world lapsed into deafness. There were no owl hoots, no opossum hisses, no crickets chirps. Only heavy, oppressive silence.

Until something moved.

The hairs on the back of Mort's neck rose, and a chill crept down his spine. He sat up straight, eyes fixed on the fragment of shadow that pulled away from the amorphous mass. Swallowing, Mort blinked twice to make sure he wasn't imagining things, but the shape did not disappear. "Something's coming," he uttered in a strangled hiss, almost as quiet as the night itself. He couldn't make out its features, but it was larger than a man, and it walked on four gangly legs. Some sort of crownlike adornment sat upon its head, atop a slender, long neck that trended upward. A deer? Not a threatening creature typically, but deer did not act like this. It moved slowly with purpose through the open, straight for the gathering of humans. Could this...could this be?

Mort's hand already lay on his bow. Now he drew an arrow, moving almost imperceptibly slowly, careful to make no sudden moves. This can't be it, this can't be it, he thought again and again, but he could not shake that deadly question: what if it was?

[Assistant]
"I am no idiot," Mort chastised Ardonne. "Fear keeps you alive."

Ardonne cocked her head slightly, chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought. She got the distinct impression that Mort wasn't too keen on having a conversation but...she had plenty to ask. Her gaze flickered away from him and back to her book. Her brow furrowed. She clenched her jaw and said nothing, and for a while left him to crane this way and that anxiously. Her fingers gently pressed into the smaller prints of her younger self left in the corners of the pages of her field guide. Her mouth formed the syllables of a two hundred page prayer that she knew cover to cover, bound tight, kept safe. For now, she settled into her comforting routine.

"Something's coming," Mort hissed.

Ardonne lacked the keenness of her companions but she felt it before she saw it. A peculiar wrongness that plucked at her nerves, made her alert. She raised her gaze beyond the scruff of a man to scan the horizon, not quite catching the shadow due to her own foolhardiness. She didn't want to come off as jumpy and...in a way, even she couldn't deny the superiority of everyone else gathered around her. When her eyes did adjust to the gloom she calmed somewhat. A goat or, more likely, a deer coming out to nibble the grasses. It had what appeared to be lace lichen across its antlers. Strange though, since that herb didn't grow anywhere near the province. "It's just a deer," Ardonne dismissed it but never took her eyes off it as it approached.

It grinned at her. She grinned back.

A whole cacophony of emotions hit Ardonne at once with such severity that her breath caught and released in a breathy chuckle of incredulity. She was elated to finally meet the murderer of her father, eager to get close, excited to toy with him long enough to be a memorable way to go...but fear overwhelmed her. She had a stubbornly powerful survival instinct and, to her credit, a sliver of common sense that she often chose to ignore unless something triggered her fight or flight response. Several theories ran through her head in tandem, a thundering mass of noise that occupied her consciousness enough to prevent her from running headlong into the beast and getting gored across the grass.

First, Ardonne didn't want to die here. In fact, it had to be somewhere beautiful and far away from the province so they can't recover her body. Second, the beast didn't attack beyond the borders of his domain - at least, she thought he didn't. He must be incredibly bored and lonely in his woods. He probably wants to play with his food. Scaring it back into the valley would be counterintuitive. But then again... maybe he didn't care. Maybe he'd go so far as to attack in the night and drag everyone into the treeline. She just didn't know - it frightened her. It made her grin. This was going to be an exciting way out of a very boring decade of imprisonment!

Ardonne carefully chose to ignore the smaller, more genuine voice - her own, rattling in the back of her head - telling her she was a fool and a hotheaded little brat trying to make a statement that nobody would care about when she passed. She was mesmerized by the beast but didn't make any move for her weapon. All she did was put away her field guide so it would rest comfortably next to her thigh when the beast decided to make a move.

[User]
Talic's sleep went on surprisingly well, but that only was until something seemed to cause general alarm to those still awake and watching. It probably was more the disturbance in the night's remaining ambient light, caused by Mort's movements, then Ardonne's humble attempt to drag the man into some kind of conversation that triggered Talic's attention. With a groan that he let go while his consciousness still lacked the power to prevent him from doing so, he woke up.

The first thing he saw were the stars, then the thin and black line between him and them that was the shaft of an arrow. As he was still lying on the ground, Talic's eyes rotated sideways in order to see more of its owner. It was Mort, but assuming that he wasn't the kind of guy to exercise his archery in the middle of the night the immediate question was obvious even to a drowsy mind: What was the threat ? He backtracked the arrow to its intented target which seemed to be some kind of animal at the rim of the forest. However it took several acts of blinking in order to get enough of the blurriness out of Talic's view to actually recognize it: a stag.

"You aren't trying to hunt a stag while everyone's asleep, are you ?" Talic asked, sounding a little disgruntled. Only then he detected the webs between the stag's antlers and the general fact that something seemed quite strange about it. Could that be the beast ? Maybe, but even if it wasn't and there was only the potential that it could be it... wasn't it a little foolish to engage it while most of the party wasn't even conscious ?

"Do you really think that's a clever move ?"


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

[User]
Iowerth Rhydderch

Iowerth's fatal slash cut through the man in front of him just as cavalry broke through the ranks around him. In one fluid motion he pivoted, and drove his sword through one of the few remaining bandits before withdrawing the blade with a grunt of disgust and taking a moment get his bearings. The battle, it seemed, was going as expected in spite of the surprises the knights had faced. The flanks had finally been secured, and it seemed most of the resistance was focused around the center of the camp, where a mob of undisciplined men were surrounded. The battle was won, more or less, and with a rare smile he allowed the thrill of victory to wash over him as he caught his breath.

"Did you need help?"

"Hardly. The odds were, what, five to one? You should have set up a betting pool instead and shared the winnings with me after we stomped them. That would have been helpful."

The man's smile faded into his usual grim sarcasm as he looked up at the knight. Iowerth already felt like he was in a constant state of I'm too old for this shit he couldn't imagine what Aethelmund felt at his age, especially being wounded. With a sigh, he pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping the blood from his blade, convinced that it's use for the day was done. He'd eventually have to find his crossbow as well somewhere in the chaos of the battlefield.

"Sir, if I may, the battle is nearly won. You should get that shoulder looked at before infection has a chance to settle in. I can take over command from here. There won't be much more resistance."

Speaking of command, he didn't have a chance to hear the old knight's reply before the sound of shouted orders reached his ear;

"Bandits! Lay down your arms and surrender immediately, those who refuse will meet the sword for your crimes against the people of this kingdom! This is your only warning!"

Juliana Silvern, the Captain-that-could-have-been. While far newer than House Rhyddarch, the influence of House Silvern had been growing at an alarmingly rapid rate since the last war. Every noble family across Thaln had taken note, especially Iolyn's own. According to rumors she had been bred all her life to be in Fanilly's position, in spite of her birth. They were, from what he'd seen of the woman so far, plausible at the very least. He came up beside her, sheathing his sword, and gripped her shoulder tightly. Speaking low so that only she could hear;

"You are not captain yet, nor are you of a leadership position within the Order or this battlefield. Do not go issuing commands as if any of these things are the case."

And then, after a brief pause.

"It would be wisest not to show your ambition too openly before you've gained more support."

Iolyn's criticisms were harsh as usual, but level heads could usually see the intent beneath. Juliana risked appearing more as a spoiled brat competing with Fanilly rather than a leader better fit to rule with the attitude he'd seen from her so far. At least, to the older knights in the order. Respect would have to come first, and more modesty would help that. These of course were only assumptions on Iowerth's part. If assumptions with a pretty hefty basis.

As for Iolyn's own thoughts on how the knights chose their captain: He had never spoken a word about it, and his opinion remained his own for now. It was clear though, whether he wanted the process changed or not, he expected the current hierarchy to be maintained, at least on the battlefield. Breaking the chain of command breeds confusion, which wastes lives.

Finally, the man raised his voice, clearly accustomed to giving orders himself:

"Obey flags of surrender! No quarter to the rest!"

No other command was needed, he wondered briefly about how the fight against the Bandit King was fairing, but considering the number of talented knights he'd seen taking part, he assumed that battle was even more well wrapped up than this one.

He hoped, anyway.

[Assistant]
Sir Garrett
Themerlinhawk

Tyeatha presented the best opportunity Sir Garrett could have ever hoped for. Her reckless assault wouldn't get her killed but it also provided an opening that he could utilize. Sult's little distraction had also helped. With two quick steps the Hill Knight was behind the Knight slayer as Tyeatha pressed the assault from in front of him Sir Garrett took advantage of the fact that the man had use of only one arm and no armor. Driving in from behind Sir Garrett aimed an arcing cut which swung smoothly up on his right side driving across under the Slayers right arm. If the strike connected it would sever the muscle holding up his sword arm. Continuing the cut Sir Garrett pulled it around in a vicious C pattern as it came low cutting across the back of the Knight Slayers knees aiming to sever the two joints or at the very least cut the tendons holding the man's calves in place.

Following the vicious cut Sir Garrett hefted the sword and flipped it so that he was gripping the blade in his gauntleted hand. One hand on the hilt and one on the blade he drove the top of the sword towards the man's unprotected back twice. One stab went high towards the base of the spine the other he drove toward the man's left kidney. If his two stabs failed to connect Sir Garret made sure that this would be the last of the Knight Slayer as he flipped his sword over so he grabbed it by the blade in two hands. With a heavy and a roar like thunder he drove a murder stroke with the cross guard of the sword towards the shoulder of the Knight slayer.

After all of it Sir Garrett did not trust that the murder stroke would do the trick. Given the state of his shoulder after the protracted fight Sir Garrett heaved the sword into the air and grabbed the hilt of it and with a single one handed cut drove the sword at the Knight Slayer's neck with only his left hand aiming to sever the head from its body.

Time to die scum you aren't taking another soul with you, you damned monster.

[User]
Even in this situation, the Knight Slayer grinned. It was a vicious, animalistic grin, filled with cold joy at the prospect of death and pain.

His enormous sword flashed, clashing against the undead knight's. With inhuman-seeming strength, he pushed the attack off-course, and whirled to deflect the blow from Garret with speed that would have seemed quite unlikely for someone with one useless arm and such a massive sword. His feet shifted, and suddenly he was further back, the massive blade raised and his eyes wild, almost sharpened teeth visible in a widening grin.

"You think you can win!?" he snarled. Even though the odds, of course, seemed to favor the knights, Jeremiah seemed to believe otherwise. How could one injured man believe that he held the advantage? "Years and years of my life have been spent spilling blood time and time again! My whole life is a song of violence! Never has a day passed where I did not kill a man! Can you say the same, knights?! Can you tell me you have done the same?!"

His enormous blade glistened with the blood of the man he had cut in half not long before he engaged in battle with Fanilly, as Jeremiah raised it towards his opponents.

"Your order will die here, by my hand! Today you-"

There are some things that no-one can expect. As wild and manic as he was, Jeremiah was focused on his opponents. He had not seen a spell cast beyond the now-frozen log. For all his experience in the act of killing, his bloody-minded rage intermixed with glee had kept him from perceiving this more distant threat. At least, until this moment.

The golden bolt of lightning tore towards him, faster then he realized. Jeremiah's eyes widened in shock, and he had no time to react. No time to dodge.

There was a crack like thunder as it hit him. The bolt exploded through his body, crackling as it burned a hole clear through him, a wide, smoking cavity that exited out his back, showing nothing but blackened, unrecognizable matter around the edges. The bolt hit the ground with another thunderclap, tossing up dirt and debris behind him.

Jeremiah took a step back.

"... Kuh... you... damn you..."

He let out a wheeze, falling to his knees.

"I... always hated... magic..."

He fell, face down into the dirt, his enormous blade clattering against the ground.

Knight's Doom Jeremiah, the Three Hundred Man-Slayer, was dead.