[System]
Tag: A scarred man robbed of his life and language.

About: Perhaps the story of a man is interesting to some, but never so much important. Clifford's is no impossible shell to crack, but given time and patience, he might. Course, such a ravaged face as his is no proper tool to regale things gone by. Pen and paper, he could make do. Tell you where he came from, what he did, how meaningful it was to him. The life he lost. Wants back.

Wakes a man from one world within another, grief and confusion's bound to set in quick. Clifford is no exception, but someone of his strength, stature, and endurance can do well to survive in such a situation. And he does intend to survive. Find a way back, even. No sane being would truly, sincerely want to stay.

[User]
-0h
 Luce struggled awake from her unfruitful sleep. She always had trouble sleeping. It was never enough and her sleep was never deep.
  Get used to it Luce. You have too much on your mind to ever have a good nights sleep.  she thought. As Luce opened her eyes and expected to find her completely black room and her body under the covers of her bed, instead she awoke to fog. Fog for miles. Her mind was suddenly in a whirl of confusion. She was on the ground with no covers and her room was gone. She looked around her to try and gauge her surroundings but couldn't. The fog was so thick she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face.
 She began to panic. WHERE WAS SHE? HOW THE HELL did someone manage to get her out of her bed and into the woods? Or wherever she was right now. . . Was she just kidnapped? Drugged? She had no idea. She was even too afraid to stand up and wander around. For all she knew, she could take one step and fall over the edge of a cliff.
 Luce decided to just stay curled up on the ground and play dead for a while. After all, there was no better plan of action she could see right now.

[Assistant]
Robyn and Valencia

The man looked down at Valencia with a raised eyebrow, silent during her tirade. Then the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

"Feisty," he said, voice laced with what might've been respect. He looked between the two women in front of him, much less exasperated than he'd been upon arriving. "Also, that was rhetorical. Obviously you don't know how you got here. I do, I just have no clue why." His expression sobered as his eyebrows drew back together and he looked down at the two of them like they were an odd puzzle he couldn't figure out. He seemed to give up, shaking his head to himself. "Cináed," the man introduced. His easy smile was back and he dipped into a low bow that seemed just a bit too exaggerated to be sincere. "And I would never dare harm ones so fearsome as you two" That had definitely not been sincere. When he straightened up again, he leaned on his staff and glanced around.

"As for where you are… I don't think this field in particular has a name, but the town over there," he nodded in the direction of the rising sun, "I'm pretty sure is Nocklin. I dunno. I don't really keep up with all the little settlements." Cináed scratched at his neck and opened his mouth to speak again, before closing it and looking back at the women.

"You two got names?"

@ariplotter

---

Bishop, Caleb, Cronus, and Morgan

As the con artist made his lumbering escape back towards the town, and the men discussed their next move, the river rushed and babbled before them. And if they listened closely, a soft, keening cry could be heard from the water.

At first glance, the river was empty, save for the stones and algae resting along the bottom. The current kept the visibility low, but upon careful examination, life could be found. The creatures seemed almost translucent as they flitted through the water. The only clue to their existence was the way shadows danced over the rocks, obscuring them from view. Then, one of them breached the water in an elegant dive, its call like a song.

It wasn't a very attractive thing – with a vulture's face and thin, antennae-like hairs protruding every which way. But its body made elegant arcs, shimmering fins trailing behind it as it dove. More and more jumped from the water in a flowing display. And then one noticed the strangers. It glanced their way, diving one last time into the water. When it rose again, it flew in a smooth arc over the river and to the men, its song ringing through the air.

One by one, more of the creatures gathered around the men, dipping and swimming through the air. They grew less cautious, getting closer until fins were brushing against their clothes and skin. One flew up and paused in front of Morgan's face. It tilted its head to the side for a moment, taking him in.

Then it opened its mouth and sprayed a stream of water at him. It darted away, its song sounding more like a bubbling laugh, and its companions followed its lead. Soon enough, the men were all being sprayed by the flying creatures, herding them towards the bridge.

@FateWeaver@Bishop@jordy0403

---

Clifford

As Clifford crept towards the horses, sounds of eating around a campfire could be heard. The voices of the bandits could easily be picked out around mouthfuls of food, but higher, more feminine voices rang through the night as well.

"Aww, c'mon babe, you know–"

"Don't babe me, Jost," a woman cut him off, "The last ones you sold me didn't last a week. Consider it insurance." She spoke in a sharp, exacting voice, her words cutting through the air. Jost replied in a more subdued tone, too low to clearly make out among the other night sounds. The horses snorted a bit and stamped their hooves as Clifford approached, but otherwise made no move.

Then a knife sang through the air and embedded itself in Clifford's left foot.

"Well, you're an ugly thing," a higher, smoother voice said. Ten yards to his left there was a woman – more of a girl, really – leaning against a tree, shrouded in shadow, but every now and then the firelight flicked against her skin. A silver bracelet, same as the one the woman in the tent wore glinted in the light. "Got yourself a runner, Jost," she called. Muffled curses could be heard, as the bandits scrambled up to investigate.

---

Charles and Luce

In a foggy wood, two more forms flashed into existence. As they slowly awakened, the only thing clear to them would be that they didn't know where they were. Like so many before them, they'd been stolen from their lives and dropped in a world of strangers. It was impossible to tell how long they laid there after being transported. But eventually the snapping of twigs and rustling of clothes could be heard, along with an awkward, uneven gait.

The footsteps paused for a moment between the two bodies. Then a wooden staff nudged both of them in their sides.

"C'mon, sprouts," an old woman's gravely voice said. "No use pretending you're still in bed at home. Best to get a move on."

@Alina13

[User]
"You ugly fucker!" One of the bandits called out, running up and nailing his fist into Clifford's face, knocking him back onto the ground as he attempted to get up. But the pain from the knife lodged in his foot wasn't having any of it. So he just lied there, on the ground, gritting what teeth he had left.

"Un-fucking-believable. How'd she let him get free?" The bandit Jost called out.

"Forget how." The younger woman replied, "Just tie him up again. Triple this time, and not just the joints."

Two of the bandits walked over and grabbed Clifford by his shoulders. The woman walked over and stood before him. "Probably could've made it if you were just a little better." She said, "Though honestly, you shouldn't have bothered trying in the first place."

"Oh, look at his fucking foot!" Jost said, "He's bleeding all over! Why'd you have to damage the goods, Diana? Now he's not worth as much!"

The woman, Diana, rolled her eyes some and turned to the man. "Jost, if I hear anymore stupid shit out of you, I'm going to-"

She was cut off by the sound of Clifford brandishing the dagger he'd taken earlier, jabbing it into one of the bandit's throats, and pulling it right back out. As he fell back, the other one attempted to draw his sword, but Clifford did his best to ignore the pain in his foot and lunged forward, repeatedly plunging the dagger into the second bandit's face.

Even with that blast injury of his, it was easy to tell Clifford was royally pissed off at this point.

Diana drew another knife herself and ran forward, only for Clifford to turn and charge forth, tackling the woman by her waist and pinning her on the ground. He beat her armed hand with the handle of the dagger, causing her to drop her knife, and then picked her up off the ground as Jost and the other bandits rushed forth. Cliff was still trying to ignore the pain in his foot, but it was starting to come back. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and held the knife up to her jugular.

"Stop!" Diana called out. And the bandits did, swords out and ready.

Now, it was a standoff.

[Assistant]
Cronus' questions initially caused Morgan to look at him with an eyebrow raised, questioning his character. Moments later, however, he decided that he had no call to judge this unfamiliar man who had come from a world unknown. In the mean time, he studies the water while one of the other men among them, Bishop, begins to fret and consider another path. It was then that the swirling shadows first caught Morgan's attention, and he stepped closer to the water.

Barely noticing what appeared to be an invisible bridge, he watched the creatures jumping from the water with mild fascination. That fascination turned to anxiety when the strange things gained the air, displaying a versatility the knight had never seen. The curiosity of the creature that approached him was reflected on Morgan's own face. Until the damn thing spat in his face. Angered like he hadn't been in a long time, he takes steel to hand and in one swift motion, cuts at the retreating creature. It proves to fast, however, and Morgan staggers as another spray of water hits him from one side.

-0h@Bishop@Billsomething

[User]
Clifford

Diana was a small, slight thing. Clifford was older, taller, heavier, stronger, and downright scarier than her. And this man who towered over her was currently holding a knife to her throat. And yet, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

"That actually wasn't half bad," she said to him in a patronizing tone.

"Oh my god, Diana don't –" Jost started, sounding defeated. But he was cut off with a look by a woman who sauntered up next to him. She looked completely out of place – silver haired and steely eyed, dressed too finely amongst these dirty brigands – and wore a large-brimmed hat with three long feathers coming out of it. The other bandits looked at each other, unsure, while the Madame just smirked at the scene.

All the while, the knife held to her throat had slowly been melting.

Diana's smile grew and she clenched her fist at her side. A metal shard that had broken off against the bone in Clifford's foot twisted.

[Assistant] Caleb was about to step onto the invisible bridge when the weird creatures came out from, the water. So, there was this vegetation stuff, and someone was pouring water down a trench? What use was that? He thought to himself. Then of course, there was the person who tried to get some kind of currency from them, and these weird creatures jumping from the water. This place is weird, he thought. So, trying to get away, he stumbled back as they started spitting water at them. "You people go, I'm not going to risk those... things." Then, he turned back. At least the fire thing hadn't done anything to them, Caleb thought, with water all other his clothes. Rushing back to the clearing, he saw a fancily dressed man with the two woman from before. Sliding behind one of the vegetation, he watched, suspicious.

[User]
The pain shot through Clifford's foot like fire. He dropped the melting dagger and keeled over, Diana releasing herself from his grip. She turned and delivered a swift kick to his abdomen, sending him back down onto the ground. She walked forward and planted her foot on his chest, a smirk etched across both her face, and Madame's.

"Not half bad at all..." She said, looking down at the subdued Clifford, fist still clenched. She was just about ready to twist the knife some more, until-

"THIEVES."

A booming, gruff voice sounded from the darkness surrounding the camp. All the smiles immediately disappeared.

"ROBBING HIS LIFEBLOOD, FROM HIS FIELDS."

All of the bandits turned towards the campfire. A tall, lumbering, gaunt figure dressed in torn formal wear stood over the glow of the flames, wielding a long, serrated knife. His bloodshot eyes and ragged hair were illuminated by the flames, as were those of his several companions, all of a similar physical nature as him.

"SLAUGHTER THEM."

The figures charged, towering over the bandits, all raising their weapons. Diana forgot entirely about Clifford and rushed to Madame's side, both holding their own against the fiendish abominations.

Clifford wasted no time crawling towards the horses, all very much spooked by the encounter. He brushed by one of the bandits he'd killed, grabbing the sword at his side as he got up on one foot, and one knee. He neared the closest horse, which was thankfully already saddled with plenty of equipment that he'd go through later. As one of the attacking figures rushed past him with a bandit in his hands, he hauled himself up the worried horse's side, clinging as best as he could to the saddle. It took some doing, but he managed to lift his foot over in relatively safe time.

The horse was still kicking, but as it turned, Clifford managed to take the sword and swipe at the rope connecting it to the wooden fence. The horse was free, and off it rushed into the surrounding darkness with Clifford riding atop it, away from the conflict that had ensued.

Clifford leaned his head forward, doing his best to keep stable and ride through the pain. He was indeed a tougher man than most, but these weren't the mundane conditions he was used to. Every time he thought he was within a safe interval, this place just pulled the rug out from under his feet.

But now wasn't the time to make sense of it. Now was the time to escape.

-0h


[System]
With faded brown green scales, and clad in flexible leather armour and cloth, Kij strikes a formidable figure even standing only at 5'3.
Race: Slith (Lizardperson)

Personality: Kij'hara is, suffice to say, more comfortable in the company of shadows and thieves than the more socially acceptable kinds, finding they often tend to talk less than others. She prefers the quiet people, the people who don't need to say much to convey what they want or need, and she will often lapse into a 'comfortable' silence that can be misconstrued – by the louder types – as uncomfortable, or even expectant. She is unusually lacking in her ability to judge what would be appropriate to say and what would not, resulting in her often saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and getting herself in trouble. However, over time she has learnt to know when to not say anything at all, so as to limit the amount of fights she finds herself in due to her lack of judgement. Staying silent also causes anger, she has found, but it is often less physical. She is distrusting and fearful of Orcs in particular, and views each and every one as lowly mercenary scum.

Background: Kij'hara was born on the far outskirts of a small village in the west of Ruritania. She grew up with five other siblings, but would spend more time exploring the forest than playing with her sisters and brothers, preferring to be alone. Her parents were hunters who supplied meat for the village, and – knowing the local forests – let their children roam freely once they were able to look after themselves. Kij learnt how to climb trees, forage, and handle a knife, all well before the age of ten. On her thirteenth birthday, when most of her other siblings had left home to become apprentices (or were too young to do so yet), she asked to be taught how to hunt, and, in time, continue the family business. Her parents were glad to take her on as an apprentice and over the course of two years she learnt the job; how to shoot a bow, and how to move quickly and quietly, unseen by deer or a boar. At the age of seventeen, secure in her apprenticeship and almost fully trained, she decided to make her first overnight trip on her own, hunting larger prey. She set out at dawn, and returned with the carcass of her fallen prey at dusk of the following day. Welcoming faces did not greet her when she returned home, as expected, but instead she watched from afar as the corpses of her parents were cremated in the fire that ate through their house. Bandits, primarily Orcish, had raided her house, murdered her parents, and burned what they could not steal. She did not wait for them to find her, and turned back into the forest.
For the next few years she lived off the land and, although she departed the forests where she had been born after only a few months, did not go back to civilization unless the winter was particularly harsh and she was driven to buy food or clothing. However she began to grow tired of the constant restlessness of her life and sought to settle down, finally venturing into the city to find somewhere to live. She stayed for three months with her younger sister, but after many subtle hints (and being directly told to her face that she was no longer welcome to stay), she began to look for a job to earn money with. By a chance of fate, she heard the rumours regarding the Old Country, and – deciding that it was a sign that she was doing the wrong thing – set about finding more information...

Abilities: She is deft at using a knife and bow, and when she is unable to catch anything to eat herself can set traps that do the job for her. Although unused to climbing stone or buildings, she is nimble and can use her claws to find small pits and dents to hold on to, making her capable of climbing most structures, natural or unnatural. Her training and skill in hunting also result in her being light on her feet, able to blend in with the shadows and go undetected.

Equipment:
A flatbow and a knife. Though used primarily for hunting, they are also suitable for combat.
A water pouch and a basic medicine kit (which also contains rations of dried meat, etc).
Leather armour, worn and patched but still usable.

[User]
Caractacus took two steps back from the table. He had only assumed this armored individual was his contact, and made neutral contact. Suddenly he found himself joined by two others. The jester, and another newcomer, a Koraim. Today truly was a day of oddities. Despite his wish to study the horned human closer, he was worried he may have set the both of them on a complete stranger who had nothing to do with the contract. Caractacus did not want to stick around if he turned out to be wrong in his initial assumption, and he may have caused offense to the sitting elf.

Still, he couldn't give up after a moment of doubt. He'd have to make an inquiry. "I'm uh, s-sorry, you are M-Morro Aramat-to, correct? I d-don't have the, aheh, wrong person, right?" A wave of regret washed over him after Caractacus spoke. Know that he was aware of it, he could feel he was making a poor impression. He took another step back in apprehension.

[Assistant]
Morro was counting the cracks in the table when she heard the nervous greeting. She glanced up with a raised eye brow, to observe the person addressing her. Suffice to say, she wasn't pleased with what she saw. As a true warrior at heart, she had a certain... dislike of magicians, and she didn't intend to waste much time with this one. Probably begging for money. "Yes, I'm Knight Morro Aramato, messenger of the Three Nations. My time is precious, what do you want?" She spat out the word and glared up at the wizard.

While she was waiting for her answer, something caught her eye. Something big, and purple. Her gaze was drawn, and she blinked several times before she believed what she was seeing; a man, dressed in a white and purple jesters outfit, was moving her way. She should have slept for longer - was she hallucinating? In a backwater little tavern such as this... He had to be here for a purpose, and there was only one reason to come here if you weren't a local. Her suspicions, and hopes, were roused. Perhaps they wouldn't have to send troops into the mountain after all... And they were confirmed, as he asked about the Lich job. She doubted they would last long, but if people like these were interested, then surely others would be to. Her heart lifted, at least as much as a heart of iron could.

She was ready to answer when her attention was called on by another stranger. As much as she was happy about this, she regretted that she hadn't had time to have breakfast or fully wake up before dealing with a group of strangers. And they truly were a strange bunch, it seemed. She turned to the Koraim and found her eyes lingering on the horns, before she retook control of herself. Though she was good, she wasn't good enough to talk to three separate people all at once. She addressed them as one. "I assume you're all here about the Lich job?" She didn't wait for a response before beckoning at a large table in the corner of the room, and taking a seat there.

Kij'hara noticed the knight coming downstairs, but didn't move from her seat. She watched with keen eyes as the clown and the wizard descended on her, and scanned the Koraim that joined them. Were all these people truly interested in protecting the Three countries? What were their true motives, and were they all good? The table where the knight was sat was just in earshot, despite the already drunken shouts, but when she moved to the corner table it was well away from where Kij was sitting. With annoyance - she had been hoping to simply sit and listen - she twisted her way through the maze of fallen bar stools, broken tables and still intact seating to take a place at the table. She didn't say anything to the knight, but the elf registered no shock. Knight Aramato was good at hiding her emotions, Kij could already see that, but as she stared into the woman's eyes she could detect an underlying hate. She ignored it, for what did she care that this woman had something against her, and turned to see what the others were doing.

[User] Masrith walked through the swamp land heading for a place he saw on a poster called "The Mountain Tavern". He held out a sheet of paper and looked down at it. It was the paper the info was written on. He had no actual idea what language it was in. Just that his eye patch aloud him to read it in his language. The entire idea of the situation was an uncomfortable thought in his mind. He was in a 'world' he knew nothing about. His 'world' was the underdark. A place in the depths of the world. On top of that, he was an Illithid...or to be more specific..an Ulitharid. His race was seen as vile and despicable creatures that should be avoided. He had no friends or allies ever since he was split up from his group during the ambush. He knew they were alive. They were powerful individuals that were also intelligent. They had each other. Masrith had no one. Without even a trace idea of where home was except below the earth, he had no generalization of directions. He looked down at the paper again. "Morro Aramato". His voice was deep and menacing and was the only physical trait that rivaled his stature. Maybe his eyes. They were pitch white after all. That name was one of the only two directives he could conceive. Find the tavern and find her. A quest to stop the curse was something they had in common. The only thing really. It didn't take long to find the tavern. He had seen the location in someone's mind a few days back and it was firmly planted in his memory. The tavern didn't look good. Masrith hesitated to approach. It looked like a place blooming with trouble... maybe. He didn't know. The above world was strange to him. He also was a muscular nine foot tall purple octopus thing. If that didn't stand out then nothing else probably would. Despite his hesitant thoughts he approached the tavern. It was logically his best option. The only clear way to obtain any kind of solid ground on the surface. He entered the tavern to see some heads turn at him immediately. Seeing a muscular nine foot tall purple octopus monster was sure to turn some heads after all. He approached the counter the tavern keeper was standing at and put the paper on the counter. He pointed to it and said one name out loud. "Morro Aramato?" His voice was equally disturbing as his stature. He made it quite evident he was looking for whoever Morro was. He was hoping for any kind of physical gesture to the person's location as he did not understand human language. A mental link might also cause a form of hostility and trouble was the last thing he was looking for.

[Assistant]
Caractacus recoiled at the knight's rebuke. He took another step back, his free hand held out in surrender. "I'm h-here about the j-job. To fight th-the undead, yes?" After rifling through his robe a moment, Caractacus produced the notice he had found. "B-but if you do not wish my c-company, I underst-stand, and ap-p-pologize for wasting your time."

"I assume you're all here about the Lich job?" Morro addressed everyone at the table. She gestured towards a larger table, which Caractacus followed her to, stumbling over the strewn detritus of the tavern all the way. Choosing not to take a seat just yet, Caractacus stood near the table, hopefully not too close. Or too far. He didn't want to seem even more rude. He noted he was joined by the Slith from outside the bar. He hoped he didn't still seem like a coward. Maybe it'd be better if he sat down at the table?

Just as he sat down, Caractacus saw it. The Illithid. Nine feet tall, with a squid face, and eyes whiter than bone. Caractacus's eyes bulged, his stomach dropped through his feet, and his knuckles whitened with the force he gripped his staff. He stared as the Illithid approached the bar, and it practically shouted at the bartender, "Morro Aramato?" That did not bode well. He had heard tales from his master of the cruelty and destructive nature of the Illithid. If one was here, it could not be for a good reason. Maybe it worked for the lich!

Caractacus made a snap decision. He stood, and stepped away from the table. Bringing his staff to bear, Caractacus slammed it down onto the ground. Death magic swirled into the ground, and sought the nearest dead bodies. He was lucky he was under a half destroyed building. Two zombies punched and clawed their way through the floorboards and out of the ground. Caractacus pointed at the Illithid and shouted a command. "Illithid! Kill!"

[User]
Morro Aramato had no time to gawp at the Illithid, nor process what was happening. First silence filled the room, then uproar. She stared at the undead clawing their way up through the floor, and then at the mage. What the hell was going on? And... had the Illithid said her name? Morro pushed herself to her feet and reached for her sword. It wasn't there; she realised with a sinking heart that she had left it up in her room, not expecting to need it during her quiet, peaceful breakfast. There was no way she was going without a weapon, and her knife would never be good enough in a fight such as this. She ducked down and grabbed a broken leg from a stool, and felt her fingers fit around the heavy wooden support comfortably. With unease, she straightened herself up again and took on a defensive stance. Though the undead minions of the mage... no, necromancer - surged forwards, the knight hung back and watched the fight unfold. She would not choose the wrong side - her actions represented the Three Nations, and she knew that they would be greatly if the Illithid empire went to war with them. With those thoughts in her mind, she crossed her fingers and prayed to the God of Peace that the Illithid was peaceful.

Kij'hara slid under the table as the undead broke through the floorboards and the innkeeper began to shout in both distress and anger. Safely under cover, she set her course for the opposite side of the tavern - where the undead sat and watched the spectacle with amusement. If she could just get over there, she would have an easy way to escape or a good place to help with the fight, depending on what she judged best. The job was not worth the trouble it had caused, she decided, as she darted from table to table. The mage passed by, then the Illithid. Though she tried her best to focus on her path, it was hard not to stare at the events unfolding, and the interesting characters they involved. Not focusing was a mistake. She tripped over the leg of a table and went flying into the murky waters of the swamp, into the undead side of the tavern. The waters seeped into her mouth with the taste of rot and mould. At least she was safe and, for now, out of sight. With clothes that were heavy with water, she dragged herself up onto the platform of the tavern and armed herself with her bow. If she wanted to take a side, at least she could help. She waited and watched to see how things would unfold.


[System]
Roulette Co.
TBA

Black Dragons

Status: Active
A lieutenant of the Black Dragons with a determined, somewhat boisterous personality. Always partnered with Pacho, he tends to be the one who does all the talking. Loves a good challenge more than anything.
Fighting Style: Muay Thai
Special Techniques: Shadow Glide - The user maintains their stance and becomes lighter than air, propelled forward by the power of their chi.
K̄hīpnāwuṭh phin: Translation "Pin Missile" - O-Chul forms a powerful, piercing spear of chi from his knees for a crippling, piercing blow.
Super Arts: Thæng bx lbīch (Translation: Beachball Spike) - The user generates a large ball of chi with amplified kinetic properties and spikes it at an opponent. It carries enough kinetic force to smash cars, and uses the opposing directional force of impact to bounce around, making it a largely unpredictable pinball of doom.

Status: Active
One of the lieutenants of the Black Dragons, and always partnered up with O-Chul. A very silent man, not even his partner knows what he's thinking most of the time, though he seems to enjoy a good fight just like O-Chul.
Fighting Style: Okichitaw - A relatively modern martial art that combines traditions and movements from multiple native tribes of the Americas. Most movements use weapon-based stances and strike with the forearms, and the style draws upon tribal wisdom of the 4 cardinal directions. Pacho himself has altered the style to include quick chi-based strikes to manifest weapons.
Special Techniques: Falcon Dive - The user manifests a large axe or tomahawk made of chi with an electrical element and hurls it toward the opponent.
Super Arts: Thunderbird Clash - Pacho envelops himself in a cloak of chi so thick he appears to become a golden bird made of living lightning, then streaks toward the opponent in a display of power and speed. His body is invulnerable to harm from all but the largest, most powerful attacks in this state, making dodging far more practical. It comes with a dangerous recovery time afterward.

Titans
None discovered yet

Iron Maidens
None discovered yet

Phoenix Kings
None discovered yet

Brujah
None discovered yet

Street Sharks
None discovered yet

[User]
Naja, dressed in a white tank-top and simple black shorts, was walking into the building with her mechanical augmentations visible for all to see. She didn't look much at her fellow fighters, she didn't have much reason to as of yet. The bottom of her mechanic legs still wore shoes, so she didn't make more sound than regular as she walked. For a team of fighters all across the world, only one of them really looked as she had expected them to, which was the giant among them. However, Naja knew not to underestimate the amount of weird that could amount to power in this world. After all, she thought as she flexed her metallic fingers, she was one of the weird ones. Could it actually be that the weird outpowered the classic look? … Naja would be very disappointed if so.

So this was Eve Roulette. Indeed, knowing her age Naja found herself remarkably impressed by the woman's appearance, instantly earning some level of respect from the cyborg. Very well. Naja sat down in one of the couches, put one leg over the other and placed her hands together, listening to the woman. She had expected the nature of their mission, ever since she'd heard she'd be heading for New Carona. 5000$... While a lot to a citizen, it wasn't much compared to the cost of the metal limbs which Naja fought with. Add that to the money she regularly earned through missions and how big her "allowance" from her father was, and it was pocket money. Still, it proved the point. There was more where that came from, and Naja had reasons beyond money to fight.

Heh. No caring about paying for tables, apparently. … Huh. Big guy was clapping at the table being kicked apart. Or perhaps he was clapping because of her determination to clean up the city. In any case. Naja heard the plea, and intended to answer it. She just let a few others answer first.

'I stand with you. Just let me know, who are the stronger known foes we'll have to deal with? Are we just talking numbers, or will they be a real challenge?' Naja leaned forward, placing her legs back straight as she did. Because she was indeed curious, who was there out there that could challenge them? What information could Eve give them? … Of course, Eve may have been getting there eventually, but Naja wanted to ask, anyway.

[Assistant]
He had entered the place and took a quick glance at the people inside. The luxurious office was contrasting with the lawless inferno he had just travelled to.

Witnessing the display of raw power, he knew who he was dealing with. He had done something similar for quite a time, beating mooks to a crawl and enforcing vigilante justice with his bare feet, reclaiming the honor that was lost from his dojo. His family. His life.

Behind his past in Brazil, lied a history of using his martial prowess to provide spectacle for the masses on the World Wide Web. A thing that he liked to do, not for the sake of internet popularity, nor for the sake of being a millionaire. Evelyn's demonstration of skill may have been a thing to see, but he knew that he was dealing with a warrior with a burning heart. A similar sensation overcame him when she started to speak, causing his heart to sink down as his mind went back to his days at the Dojo...

"And by this moment on, I hereby swear, in the name of our ancestors, to reclaim the honor of our house. To always follow the path of Justice and truth, and to be a shield for the weak."

... however, as soon as he was pulling the oath he made to his mentors back then from the depths of his mind, the woman was mentioning the nickname he earned during the days of livestream. He smiled, the idea of beating up bad guys always made him happy.

He then looked at the other fighters in the room, and looked at Evelyn back. "I'm thankful for the opportunity to fight for such a noble cause. Protecting the weak is the reason for why I follow the way of the ninja, and I am more than glad to help you on your quest. I just hope you don't mind if I end up having some fun putting the trash where it belongs."

That said, he kept waiting for instructions.

[User]
As it turned out, passing a 180cm-long nodachi through airport security was shockingly difficult. It could, however, be done, as long as it was disguised as a suburitō and your flight was paid for privately. So too was hiding a weapon of that size difficult, even when it couldn't legally be called a sword, but not impossible when one wore items that flowed as loosely as, say, a kimono. And so it was that Hikari Kiyoshi entered the building and ultimately the head office of Roulette Co.'s New Carona branch, armed not to the teeth per se, but more than sufficiently to suit his purpose in being there.

The contrast between the sheen of this building and the grime of New Carona in general made it all the clearer to Kiyoshi that the city really needed some help. And help their disparate party would, apparently - though they could not appeal to authorities to fix matters, they could forcefully defeat the crime lords and gangsters that had taken the place over, displayed most adroitly by a kick whose precise severing of the company leader's desk made the swordsman instantly self-conscious. Cleanly severing objects with a blade was one thing, but with one's own limbs was quite another. Either way, Kiyoshi's internal sigh went unheard, but... he knew how people worked. Defeating crime lords left power vacuums, after all. Did Miss Roulette intend to fill those vacuums herself, with her company's tender blessings? He wondered what sort of city that would create in the end.

Still, it fell to the gathered group's largest member to speak first, outwardly impressed as he was. Whilst his body was disguised, his voice was strained simply to utter two words, and Kiyoshi couldn't help but wonder what sort of stress he was under. After him, the similarly-disguised woman spoke; he'd seen her teeth between drinks, and the reveal of her strangely-coloured hair indicated that perhaps she wasn't entirely human. Peppy, however. Next to speak was the so-called Red-Hot Riot - so-called, Kiyoshi considered, because she showed her anger toward the name immediately. She seemed rather irritable in general, actually. But, she too was actionable toward the cause if only half-heartedly, as was the woman with cybernetic limbs and a build that was... actually somewhat concerning to witness. Kiyoshi wasn't sure how well her waist supported her intensely-muscled upper body, admittedly, though she was clearly not hampered. Perhaps another ki user such as himself? In any case, last to declare allegiance was the Street Samurai of Brazil, though she- ah, the voice indicated masculinity, so good thing that was made clear before Kiyoshi made a huge error of courtesy- though he self-described as a ninja with a good cause.

It seemed all and sundry had said their piece, save himself. Standing up and clearing his throat gently, he spoke out, politely, professionally if one would, addressing the group as much as the woman who had brought them together: 'I pledge my sword toward the goal of excising New Carona's criminal element, for as long as the task will take. And if it would be simpler for you, Miss Roulette, you are free to refer to me as just Kiyoshi. Likewise to you all.' Alongside this final greeting, he offered a formal thirty-degree bow lasting about two seconds - again, polite, though he knew that to some he would not have been anywhere near formal enough. On the one hand, his parents would have insisted that he refer to Eve as Sensei, or at the very least Roulette-sama, and likewise that he'd ask her to call him Hikari-kun and his companions to call him Hikari-san, all to show proper respect. On the other hand, he'd learned very quickly that nobody native to the United Kingdom nor the United States talked like that, and that doing so outside of friend and family groups led to getting picked on very quickly. Not that he couldn't defend himself from bullying of that sort... rather, certain people also frowned on doing so, ironically enough, especially his parents. What a paradox.

[Assistant]
Roulette smiled as each of the six fighters summoned before her gave, in their own ways, their approval of the mission. Somewhat relieved that none had declined the offer, she elected to address the questions brought up by the cyborg in their midst. "I see you have a strong desire to get into the thick of things and waste no time. I will oblige. While there are numerous smaller gangs in the city, I doubt they will offer much in the way of challenge or contest. Easy fodder for seasoned fighters as you all are. But of course, never underestimate the advantage of sheer numbers, even if the individual fighters are rather pitiful. It could prove a fatal mistake." Idly, almost subconsciously, she rubbed a small scar on her arm, almost invisible thanks to the tattoo placed over it. "The real trouble will come from the six largest gangs in New Carona, commonly referred to as Six Disasters. The media loves to sell a story, but when you give such titles, you legitimize them. Gives them the sort of respect they desire. I just call them what they really arm. Thugs and scum."

She spat out those last words, before recomposing herself and continuing on. "The gangs collectively known as the Six Disasters are individually made up of the Black Dragons, the Iron Maidens, the Titans, the Brujah, the Phoenix Kings, and the Street Sharks. Their leaders are difficult to locate and get an accurate assessment of, but these sorts of people only rally around strength, so they must be at least of some merit. They have numerous lieutenants also judged to be dangerous, as well as thousands of followers between them all."

She took a moment to close the curtains, sealing up the outside view once again. The knife fight on the beach had concluded, leaving one young man to stain the sand red while the other walked away, carrying his opponent's shoes."Since you will be working as a team, please take this opportunity to make some introductions. Getting to know one another will help ensure you are able to work together in the field, and could very well save someone's life." She turned back to face them as a lightbulb went off over her head. "Before I forget, it is imperative that you avoid dropping bodies at all cost. Remember, the police are working for these gangs. Their ability to get involved will be limited, but if people begin to die, they will be able to launch a full investigation, and ruin our efforts."


[System]
Color: Regular red
Age: 28

Gender: Man

Description:

With tanned, rough skin and thick brown hair, Gabe certainly looks the part of a desert wanderer. His leather clothes only enhance the look. He's not unhandsome, but not remarkable good looking either. With a strong jaw and piercing amber eyes, he's distinguishable among a crowd alright, though he often has his head covered by his drifter hat. He carries a lean but fit frame, holding himself up at 6 foot even. He only has a Knife to shave with, so his chin is constantly covered in a 5 O'clock shadow.

Occupation: Drifter/Gun for Hire

Personality/Bio: Gabe is tough and no nonsense. He has a dry and dark sense of humor, but he's grim and quick on the draw. He has a code of honor however, and he is anything but heartless. He's just grown used to the harshness of the world, thinking the endless desert is fair mirror for others to look in. It reflects how harsh they can be themselves. He has a soft spot for young folk and women, though if either try to kill him, he won't hold back.

Gabriel grew up in an upper class family, which was nice he supposed until age 8 when his family was killed over some dispute or other. He couldn't remember now if he wanted to. He does remember the fear, and the awakening of his hard self when he snuck out of his house when it happened with his father's gun. He went down to the dusty streets and lived on his own, joining a gang and carving a name for himself. He was 19 when he'd finally had enough of being a scumbag, even if he was well respected for his dangerous nature. He decided to become a Gunslinger for hire, and an explorer if need be.

He made a few expeditions into the desert, but none that took him very far. Just farther than most others, he reckons. He's had to do a few nasty jobs here and there, but none of this magnitude. But he's being paid to keep them safe, and the prospect of new treasures beyond is too much for him to pass up.

Possessions:
Lever Action Rifle
2 Flintlock Pistols
1 Hunting Knife
2 Jugs of water.
4 pounds of beef jerky.
30 feet of rope
Flint and Tinder
Bedroll.

[User]
Io Murkveld

Io sat on the front of a wagon, updating his notes on the people who were participating in the expedition alongside him. Since he already had the names of everyone who was participating, it was just a matter of confirming what had changed about them since the last time he'd gotten study them. There was a certain… joy that Io felt watching others grow and change. Io would be able to see everyone, everyday, and that reason alone made him ecstatic.

Externally, Io seemed bored out of his mind, glancing about with dead eyes that were searching for something interesting. His actual thoughts were completely different.

"Uwa~ there are so many people coming along!" he raved to himself, his heart racing from being so close to his study material. "Hannibal Bartleby Hughes. 35 years old. His height from 27 days ago doesn't seem to have changed, but he seems to have gained about three pounds of weight. He seemed a little wistful lately. There was a rumor that he suggested the expedition, so he might be searching for more story material. It's really fun finding out which parts are exaggerated, and--"

Io spent the rest of the parade reviewing his notes on every person like this, speculating his theories on why they were going on this "fool's errand". However, there was one person who stood out.

"Opal Lennox. Previous data on her… does not exist. She's at least… 20 years old, if not more." Io smiled at the "no data" part. It'd be impossible to go that many years without your name being mentioned. "She seems to be from an affluent family, so not from those Lennox… so it's a fake name, huh?" The other options were either ruled out or extremely unlikely and, regardless, it was far more fun this way.

"Well," Io said, finally hopping off the wagon after daylight was long gone, startling the guards settled there. "Let's see what secrets I can dig up before we leave." He could sleep on the caravan, while they were leaving. There was something far more interesting to do that night.
_____

Io was sound asleep in the wagon for his usual five hours, exhausted from his search last night. But, he'd gotten what he wanted. There were three particularly "loud" events that had happened that day: the supposed abduction of "Ophelia Harrington", the only things left being a note and some of her hair; the search for the swindler "Clarabelle Chetwynde", who was forced to flee after a failed scam and, the person whose sudden appearance made Io investigate in the first place, "Opal Lennox".

Eavesdropping on the conversations between the guards, he learned that Clarabelle had a very similar appearance to Ophelia, who went missing shortly after the search order went out. The next day, Io saw Opal, who had similar specs to Ophelia's latest, 16 days old data. Io had also found that the hair that was left with the ransom note matched the difference between the length Opal's bangs and Ophelia's. It was a short period of time between the escape of Clarabelle and Opal's boarding of the caravan wagons; it'd be faster to cut the bangs than reaching around to cut the hair in the back, and she was probably panicking and moving quickly at the time.

The conclusion that all three of them were the same person was still just a guess, however, and Io would have to find some way to confirm it. That, he decided to figure out after he slept, while they were traveling.

Io woke to quite the rambunctious crew, Hannibal probably drunk and spinning around Aurelia, Seena downing a bottle of fairly expensive alcohol, Gabriel... flirting with Naahdira? and Ava, almost definitely flirting with Urs.

Opal was on the side, seemingly studying the others. "I wonder if she likes watching others too," Io thought to himself, immediately dismissing the foolish notion. Though Io rarely ignored other's hobbies, he'd learned that there was almost no one else that shared his interest, and they always seemed to get creeped out when he mentioned it to anyone that did.

Disregarding that, Io figured it would be best to pull her away from the group before he confronted her about the truth behind her identity. Stretching out as he walked over, Io put on a childish visage and gently tugged on Opal's sleeve. "Miss Opal!" Io said to her in a loud whisper.

"I wanna tell you a secret. Could you follow me?"

[Assistant]
Ishar the Bard

---

Ishar listened to everyone at once, finding slight solace that he was among people that got along, seemingly, well. It was all very, very satisfying and he couldn't help but keep a slight smile on his face. Casually, he began strumming the lute that he had brought with him, hoping to aid in a bit of a calming tone for everyone. He did not plan to speak, just to play for everyone and hope they would continue on their merry way. Absolutely fantastic.

The bard loved to listen in on the various conversations, he loved the little speech that the inventor had done, everything. The sand was shifting as he walked over it, the desert opening up fully as they got further and further from the city. Ishar let out a sigh, not a sad one, but a happy one. His mood was too good to be truely saddened by anyone right now, unless they broke his flute. Though, no one wanted to fight among one another and he knew that one well.

His fingers continued to strum the lute, enchanting the air with the luxurious sound of calming music. Ishar did not wish to spoil the mood either, so he made no pause to the sounds he was making. Finding himself being slightly taken away in it as he looked around at the scenery. There was nothing but sand, however, it was the sand that everyone had known for their lives. With another happy with he went back to playing his music.

[User]
---

---

Aurelia Nekroz

I'm not so open like the window you are.

---

---

Aurelia was hardly expecting to be touched by the eccentric Hannibal, let alone twirled around by him, yet the unforeseen became a reality. Her mouth was hanging open to reply to him when, all of a sudden, their great leader's arm tugged the woman from her camel. Panic gripped her, forcing her ebony orbs wide, as she was inhaled into Hannibal's spiraling maelstrom. A single person hadn't dared to touch the former noblewoman since 6 years ago, and the shock of something like this happening so rapidly left the poor Nekroz shaken and confused. Her fight or flight response activated, instinct flying to decide her actions rather than rational thought.

Unfortunately for the man, instinct determined the best course of action to be a violent one. As Senna began speaking about the proper time to drink, Aurelia spun herself about and used that momentum to bury a heavy hand into Hannibal's gut. However, Aurelia's face went beet red when she realized what she did and instantly regretted it. They had only just begun their journey and she was already attacking their leader! How was she going to redeem her family's name when she could add "mutiny" to their list of crimes?! Not to mention this happened in front of everybody, so this definitely was going to reinforce all the rumors about the Nekroz clan! It didn't help that she felt like a halfling next to nearly everyone presently nearby, considering the shield maiden's short stature.

"I-I am so sorry!" she stammered out. Her hands, clad in leather gloves, covered her mouth in shame, and her legs backed away from the scene to give the head of the caravan some space to recover. On the bright side of things, Aurelia was glad she hadn't pulled out her gladius and stuck him like a pig. That would have been awful. As luck would have it, one of the wine suppliers thought it would be a great time to toss a bottle to the shield maiden. Unable to catch the bottle in time, divine retribution struck her in the chest in the form of Scipio's and sent the blonde straight onto her bottom. Aurelia's face went a shade of red darker, feeling utterly humiliated.

To avoid being trampled by a brunette's camel, the woman quickly stood up from the hot sand, an expression upon her visage that spoke a thousand words of indignity. "...Sorry..." she meekly apologized for being an inconvenience to the lady upon the camel. There was laughter from behind her, only worsening how she felt. For the first time in ages, people were actually talking to her, but Aurelia was just making a mess of things! Bowing her head and hiding her countenance behind a wall of blonde hair, she held the bottle of Scipio's to her sore chest and began to stride back to her camel. The best course of action was just to remain silent and still until she was needed. Otherwise, someone else might get hurt. Or worse.

@Rune_Alchemist@The Muse@Fabricant451

[Assistant]
The Wanderer: Gabriel Del'Tannon

Gabe's keen vision and steely eyed gaze caught all that transpired up ahead. He let out a whistle when he saw her gut punch Hannibal, and despite his pity at what was happening, it was the most amusing thing he'd seen in awhile. Served Hannibal right, he thought to himself, tearing that poor Nekroz girl straight off her camel. He'd have shot someone if they did that to him, after all. Then again, people only touched him when they meant to do him harm, mainly because it was a last resort before he killed them himself. But despite all the killings and all the lonesome days, somehow he still had a bit of heart left.

"Scuse me" he said to Naahdira, giving her a tip of his hat. He led his camel forward at a quicker pace, guiding it by the reigns until he made his way up to the fore of the column. He sighed, as he usually did before he spoke to someone in conversation. It made him uncomfortable doing this, but so did many things he had to do. Stoic, he walked over towards Aurelia and gave her a tip of his hat as well, before catching the reins of her mount along the way for her. "Are you alright?" he inquired, giving her as warm of a tone as he could manage. His gruff voice carrying over the sand just loud enough for her and anyone extremely close could hear. He peeked out from under his hat, and his dark eyes met hers as he spoke.

Judging by how she had been acting previously, this girl was uncomfortable around people. Rightly so, he'd reckon. He saw the kind of reception she had gotten from the crowd back in Oasis. He wasn't usually the charitable type, but he'd always had a soft spot for women and children, and especially for other orphans. He pulled forward the reins of her camel, and held them out for her to grab herself. Actions spoke louder than words, and he wasn't planning on speaking anymore than he had to.


[System]
Gender: Male

Age: 38

Race: Formerly Canopian human, now effectively undead with living weapon

Death Day: February 26th

Blood Type: B-

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 292 lbs

Likes: Desperation, not dying, karmic justice, underdogs, getting points across, and using the wild part of his brain

Dislikes: Pride, envy, wrath, greed, lust, sloth, gluttony, and having to use the human part of his brain

Living Weapon: Tick Tock – a clockwork heart of dizzying complexity, built to function like a parasite. Tick Tock has no mind of its own, performing an autonomous function. When Grumm's body is damaged, it goes into overdrive with tiny clockwork drones and chemical cocktails to repair the damage as quickly as possible. If part of Grumm is irreparably destroyed or separated from the whole, it uses scrap metal that Grumm has ingested to create new clockwork body parts.

Blockbusters:
Level One – Rot Wrecker - Grumm springs forward, spewing bile, and delivers a crushing hydraulic punch with his clockwork arm that will often cause a wallbounce.

Level Two – Clockwork Carnage – All seven tentacles erupt from Grumm's belly, weaving through the air in search of a target. Upon contact, they chomp down on the victim repeatedly before flinging it away.

Level Two – Grave Filler – Grumm hurls his axe ahead, and when it embeds itself in the target, he rushes across the ground, grabs the axe's handle, and then punches the enemy off of it with his clockwork arm.

Level Four – Vigilante Justice – Reaching out with his clockwork arm, Grumm grabs a close-by opponent. He forces it to its knees, spewing disease-ridden bile over their head as he does so. Finally, Grumm performs an inside-out cut with his axe, dealing both incredible damage and a DoT to boot.

Bio:
The esoteric Gurghamstead Revolt failed almost as soon as it was started. The Canopy armed forces overran the small but petulant cluster of farming villages, crushing their one uniting factor -political conservatism- by taking out the ringleaders and then extinguishing any fire that remained. One noteworthy thing did result of the Revolt, however; Percival Botley. The cold-eyed man because a vigilant, taking justice into his own hands when the hard-handed government failed to serve the people that it claimed to. Cloaked in black, he sought out and brought unnecessarily merciful ends to the cruel underlings of corrupt officers, executives, and politicians; soon, he targeted the string-pullers themselves. Canopy Kingdom was better served for his illegal but morally justified activity, however bloody and unlawful.

Still, Percy deeply regretted what he had done. However just his actions, he had still killed people—which flew in the face of his own moral code and religion, making him a glorified hypocrite. In the early days, after leaving his wife and child behind for their own safety and pledging to return, he had told himself that he was doing what needed to be done, and that nobody else had the courage necessary...but now, the veil grew ever thinner. Percy developed a consuming fear of death and judgment, fearing he'd be sent to hell despite all the good resulting from his vigilante campaigns. Terrified, he sought out what some might term a mad scientist and begged of him a means to cheat death. The man he pleaded with turned a sympathetic ear to his claims; the corrupt officials Percy strove to remove had confiscated his medical degree (For what ultimately proved to be good reasons) and subsequently ruined his life, turning him from an esteemed doctor into a crazed tinkerer. At Percy's behest, the scientist created one of the first living weapons, a clockwork heart which he dubbed Tick Tock, and installed the device in Percy's body. The incredible machine was designed to sustain him from the inside out, replacing Percy's organs from the inside as they failed.

At first, it seemed lucrative. Thanks to Tick Tock, Percy redoubled his efforts, finding death would always ellude him. Poison was ineffective; being shot a minor inconvenience. Even when Percy was seized by a crooked police squad, tortured, and robbed of his left arm, bronze mechanisms replaced what was lost. Suddenly, no mission was too dangerous and Percy could cast out for the biggest fish to fry. Justice, though, awaited the vigilante too. As time wore on, Percy found himself changing. Tick Tock was malfunctioning. It made more and more errors, failing to keep him healthy. Percy's skin turned pale and bloated, his blood clotted and green, and when his intestines were torn out by a particularly vicious street gang they were replaced were clockwork tentacles tipped with fearsome mechanical maws. All this, however, failed to alarm him. His mind was withering too, leaving only feral, killer instincts where a brilliant psyche had been. And yet, Grumm could not die. Finally, the Black Egrets captured the monster and, unable to kill him, made him into a secret weapon—a loose cannon able to be thrown at an enemy as a last resort. This was achieved by tapping into the part of Grumm's brain that was still human, and helping it to forget what it was fighting for.

[User] "No," Ash responds, simply enough "We might dump him in a dumpster and go flower shopping." she continues with a dreamy smile, already hoisting Liam over her shoulder. Ash turns around, and scans the crowd for Gale, until she finds her feral companion standing in front of a tall man in a onyx tuxedo, how strange. Ash begins to walk forward, but pauses when she senses Rorschach's attention shifting from that Jane girl, to a little girl standing at the large man's feet 'What is that?' Ash asks Rorschach, who says nothing. Nervously, Ash tip toes through the crowd, until she's standing behind Gale, looking down at the trio, as disgruntled Ferals and Dagonians press past the trio "Come on Gale, we're going to dump our Egret friends in a dumpster somewhere in the Meridian, then get more flowers!"

[Assistant]
Morgann

After walking around for hours now, Morgann's heels were killing her. It was not a good idea to go out for a stroll in these golden stilettos, but there weren't any other shoes that would quite match the entire outfit, and she always wore at least some part of Magnolia. Not only were all of her weapons in there, but her wallet, her money, and all kinds of goodies. It was easier having all of the necessities conveniently stored within your suit's never-ending "body", and that was exactly how she liked it. In past incidents, those who had attempted to mug Morgann and threaten her through physical contact found their bodies full of either holes for her tommy gun or wound up as a snack for the suit. She had no problem with causing physical harm to thieves or, to be honest, anyone that even looked at her wrong. She simply didn't.

As she waltzed herself closer and closer to the circus, she also became closer to the country's coast. Walking along the bay and adjusting her mask each time the wind moved it even an inch, she noticed a commotion going on a far distance away from her. It was quite a scene to take in form such a long ways away, and to be honest, she wasn't quite keen on what was going on. "What the hell?" she breathed through clenched teeth, shoving her hand into her coat and pulling a pair of opera glasses from within her coat. After fiddling with its burgundy handle for a few moments, she finally had it adjusted so that it would lock in place and took a look. It looked like some sort of ginormous figure holding up another...pedestrian, she was assuming, and to top it off, some other girl was running away. "Now why would she be running away?" the magician wondered while tossing the tool back into the coat, tapping on her chin as she thought of the possibilities. She narrowed her leafy green eyes as she stared out through the mask's white fabric before thinking, "No one runs like that unless they've got something to hide..." Her attention shifted from the fleeing passerby to the woman being held upside down. "But damn, no one gets held up by some big lug like that for no reason, either."

"Hold on tight," she murmured to her hat, whose multiple hands held onto her light brown hair from the inside. "From now on, I wear some sort of flats when I go out," she growled, dashing as fast as she could in these heels that she could towards the situation. Skidding to an abrupt halt, she stared up at what seemed to be a man who was a few inches shorter than her. She looked at his black cloak that covered him to the axe in one of his hands, grimacing. "What drab attire," she thought in a disgusted tone, clearing her throat loudly. "Excuse me," she announced loudly, tapping her shoe's tip against the ground. "What are you doing to this woman?"

Gale

Turning his attention from Pharona to Ash, Brandy nodded and relinquished Gale's body back into its rightful owner's control, her entire body shuddering visibly from the abrupt transition. "Just going to toss him into a dumpster?" she whispered to her roommate, scuttling back up her tall form to rest on her shoulder. "Are you sure that this is the right thing?" she asked, before shaking her head, "No, you're right. The bosses wouldn't like us throwing this trash at their feet." Curling up on the Gigan's shoulder, she yawned and stretched her small wings before uttering a small, "Let's go."

[User]
Upset that some random stranger had dared to break the normal order and intrude upon his doings, Grumm whirled around. The clockwork arm flashed by, easily forty pounds of solid metal thrown in a vigorous slap that could have dislocated Morgann's jaw had it connected. Fortunately, the savage blow fell short, and when he saw that it had, Grumm spewed forth a spray of bile that created a miniature miasma between the monster and the magician. While he didn't speak, punctuating his attack with an angry sputtering noise instead, the message was clear: back off.

Grumm then turned away, with no reason to believe that a simple civilian would persist in the suicidal act of provoking an undead armed with a Living Weapon. A flick of the mechanical tentacle whose maw was holding Halte aloft flung the former pirate in the ghoul's direction. With practiced efficiency not completely offset by the sorry state of his body, Grumm brought his axe up in a cruel diagonal arc meant to cleave the incoming Halte in two. At the last moment, however, Halte brought her boots around so that they were facing Grumm, and from their soles twin blasts of water gushed forth. They splashed against Grumm's face, disorienting the creature and slowing down Halte's fall enough to avoid the headsman's weapon completely. Immediately after, Halte landed with both feet planting on Grumm's face, causing him to grumble in protest. Before he could grab her, however, Halte kicked off, flipping through the air to land twenty feet away in a spray of mist.

The next second, Grumm leaped into the air, hissing like a sick cat. More noxious bile spewed from his face as he sailed toward his target. Halte steadied herself before raising a leg and slamming her boot into the ground, causing a jet of water to erupt from the marble beneath Grumm as he landed a yard away from her. Beneath her mouthpiece, Halte smiled grimly, only to cry out in pain as her foe dealt her a crushing hydraulic punch. She staggered away and collapsed to the ground, holding her stomach as if her guts had been liquified, her vehement curses lost in a wave of furious static from her mouthpiece. Though sopping wet and even more flustered than normal, Grumm had executed his Rot Wrecker without more than a split-second's delay. Only a few seconds had passed, but it already seemed that the duel had been decided.


[System]
Age: 17

Heritage: The son of Hatter Madrail. Ghent's mother was murdered a few years after he was born.

Adoptive parents: Frederick and Elise Preston. Elise was the first to find Hatter's son; she was astonished to discover him in the woods near their home, disoriented and impossibly lost.

Appearance: Thick, medium length black hair. The style is unpredictable, but the layers sometimes give it an unruly appearance. His bangs fall in front of his eyes, which are blue in color and have a sharp, piercing quality to them. The rest of his features are dark and seem to contrast against his paler-than-should-be skin. He has a lithe build and currently stands at 5'9", but has about a year left to grow.

Distinguishing Marks: A few light freckles running across the bridge of his nose. A more noticeable one is underneath his left eye. He has a small scar underneath his jaw.

Clothes Wear: Whatever's comfortable. He usually wears hoodies, jeans, worn out sneakers, and three quarter/graphic t-shirts.

Abilities: Strength and magic, both inherited from his race. As far as magic goes, Ghent was completely unaware of the ability until Drust and Elayra came to earth. Understandably, he is inexperienced but has the potential to become better with practice.

Weapons: A staff, given to him on page 13.

Personality: It's no secret that Ghent can be a pain. He isn't malicious, but he enjoys pushing the buttons of others in order to get a reaction out of them. His sarcasm usually lands him in trouble, but his past experiences haven't been enough for him to keep his mouth shut. Despite his immaturity, he has a good heart. Ghent has lazy tendencies, but can be hard working with proper motivation.

Major Positive Traits: Compassionate. Empathetic. Hardworking (sometimes).

Major Negative Traits: Sarcastic. Cocky. Klutz. Impulsive. Awkward.

Weaknesses: At times, Ghent doubts himself and his abilities. The fear of failure usually prevents him from achieving success. Having lived in two worlds, he struggles with deciding where he belongs and where his loyalties lie.

Ticks and Tags: Ticks: Fidgets a lot, often with the drawstrings of his hoodies. When he's faced with a situation he can't wrap his mind around, he will pace and/or mumble to himself until he can make sense of what's happening.  Tags: "Cut me some slack!" "Great." "Wait, what?"

Fears: Ghosts. Failure. Being unable to return home. Wonderland in general.

Short Bio: Ghent's story could have been a tragic one, had he not been found. He was discovered in a forest as a toddler, and later adopted by the very family that took him in.
 For much of his childhood, Ghent lived in the comforts of a small farmhouse in the country. Life was serene, quiet, and good. He grew up happy and healthy, with a mother who doted on him and a dedicated, hardworking father.
 Things changed when they moved. Seeking better employment, Mr. Preston uprooted his family to the city, which is where they remained for the years that followed.
 The city posed many differences and challenges, but Ghent learned to adapt and knew his way around. Unfortunately, street smarts didn't help much in school.
 As Ghent grew older, the nightmares and flashbacks became more frequent. Different events or images would trigger a memory, many of which involved Elayra and Drust. The memories confused and frightened Ghent. He never forgot Wonderland, but he learned to stop talking about it after his parents sought him professional help. It was something his mother made the mistake of telling her longtime friend, Mrs. Saxon.
 News spread and rumors started. High school proved to be Ghent's biggest obstacle. He became an easy target for jokes and ridicule, and his grades began to suffer for it.
 Motivated by money and the desire to help his family financially, he began to take on odd jobs. His fifth job turned out to be his favorite: a part-time shift at Frank's Book Barn.
 Even there, Ghent wasn't free from Wonderland. Flashbacks would hit him at the most inconvenient times…and they didn't cease until became reunited with two important faces from his past.

Other Important Characters

Name: Henry

Age: 14

Appearance:  Henry is thin, wiry, with no muscle tone whatsoever. He makes an effort to look neat, but his untamed shock of ginger hair betrays him by looking a mess and his freckles are out of control. When reading, he wears thick black glasses over his large, brown eyes that give him an owlish appearance.

Clothes wear: Henry wears an odd mix of clothing. Most of his clothes are hand-me-downs from previous cousins, including Ghent. When his options are limited, he can be found wearing faded graphic t-shirts (he favors Disney ones) and jeans that have been rolled up at the cuffs in order to fit.

Personality: Despite a rocky home life, Henry remains optimistic, but he has a sensitive side that results in him crying at the drop of a hat. Although he has a sweet, childlike innocence about him, he isn't foolish. He's remarkably intelligent and has a great love for reading and learning. Because of his OCD, Henry is always cleaning and organizing, and likes to keep busy in order to make himself useful. His desire for perfect order can be a little overwhelming at times, but he means no ill intent and has great respect for his family and friends.

Bio: Henry is an only child who never longed for the company of a sibling. Growing up in the country, he had plenty of family and cousins to spend his time with. The families all lived quite close in the rural area, including the Preston family.
 Even as a toddler, Henry was fascinated by Ghent and seemed to gravitate towards him, viewing him as an older brother figure. To the delight of their parents, the three year age gap and a difference in personality didn't prevent the two boys from getting along.
 After the Preston family moved to the city, Henry was heartbroken. The families kept in touch when possible, making multiple visits during the holidays. The visits lessened over the years, but Henry took it upon himself to keep in touch through any means possible. To Elise's delight (and to Frederick and Ghent's dismay) Henry has been known to leave long rambling phone messages, sends more texts than a teenage girl, and writes letters so long, they need to be mailed in multiple envelopes.
 Henry is the only one Ghent continued to trust with his few memories of Wonderland. Their efforts to uncover the mystery were admirable, but brought nothing but disappointment and wild theories. Eventually, a disgruntled Ghent gave up, but Henry continued to search for the truth behind his cousin's past.

[User]
Ghent squinted at her. He considered teasing her, saying that she must have wanted to watch him change, but she turned before he had the chance to dig his own grave.
 After a pause, he returned his attention to his new-old clothes and started to dress.
 Selecting the shirt first, Ghent worked his arms through the long sleeves. The fabric was somewhat coarse, thin in some spots, and itchy in others. He found that the neckline was cut in a V shape, which could be pulled closed thanks to two leather cords laced between the fabric. The back of the shirt was plain, save for a hood he hadn't noticed before. The shirt was something he could see Henry wearing at a Renaissance Festival, except that Henry refused to wear anything blue, for some unknown reason.
 "Earth bag..." Ghent snorted lightly at Elayra's name for the backpack. His smirk dissolved at the order. He wasn't attached to the backpack itself, but what it represented. It was the last thing he bought before leaving Earth.
 Ghent sighed, silently chiding himself. A secondhand backpack was the least of his problems.
 Before Ghent could work on his pants, he stiffened, a sharp itch between his shoulder blades demanding his attention. Scratching with one hand, he tugged at the shirt with the other to keep the source of the itch away from his skin, the sensation agitating him. It seemed that even the clothes in Wonderland were against him.
 "At least it's warm. And dry," Ghent mumbled to himself. He dropped his hand to his side and scowled. The same couldn't be said for his boxers, but he didn't exactly have anywhere to change out of them. So, they remained.
 Quietly fuming at the injustice of it all, Ghent worked both feet through the legs and pulled up the charcoal-colored pants. To his relief, the pants fit around the waist, but they were a little long. Not as long as Drust's pants, though.
 Ghent moved over to his backpack and crouched down in front of it. He found that the fabric was less coarse than the shirt, something he was immensely grateful for. He hoped that the length of his shirt would help hide the fact that his underclothes weren't fully dry.
 "Giving what more control?" Ghent caught the end of Elayra's statement. He peered over his shoulder at her, brows raised. He couldn't tell if she was talking to him, or to herself, but he didn't have time to question her. Drust was heading their way.
 Hurriedly, Ghent emptied the contents of his backpack and shoved everything into the bag as instructed. He gripped the empty backpack as he stood, stiff as a board, like a cadet facing a sergeant. His eyes flickered between the Wonderlanders, a too-familiar feeling of panic settling in. The feeling urged him to say something.
 "The..." Ghent blanched. Drust had sheathed his weapon, but he didn't exactly seem calm. His fingers were curled into a fist. "The clothes fit," he stammered, a weak attempt to pacify him -- and the Curse.

[Assistant]
Unthinkingly, Elayra glanced toward Ghent when he addressed her discovery. She cringed, ready to look away, but thankfully, he'd dressed. Alas, she didn't have time to answer before Drust neared.
 She watched, begrudgingly impressed, at how quickly Ghent dumped the contents of his old pack into the stolen one. She turned her attention to Drust. He stopped about two sword-lengths from the teens. The Knight gave Ghent a quick once-over as the boy stammered over his words.
 Drust nodded jerkily—or perhaps it was just a twitch. Elayra wasn't certain. The dark lines snaking from the corners of his eyes spread outward like roots, reaching and pulling back as Drust fought to keep the Curse manageable.
 He grunted his approval. He jerked his chin toward the thicker line of trees. "In town, stay close," he began, his voice clipped and strained. "If we're lucky—" He cut himself off with a sneering humorless chuckle at the concept of them being 'lucky.' Gritting his teeth, he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other at his temple, and took a deep breath.
 Elayra rested her hand on her saber's hilt, making the action look as unthreatening as she could. "We don't need luck. We have our skills," she offered.
 Drust snorted. "No matter what,"—his neck twitched violently—"Get. To. The. Rabbit Hole. Understood?" He raised his head, his eerie eyes shifting from Ghent to Elayra.
 Elayra met his gaze. The black-webbed red of his irises had turned his pupils nearly to pinpricks, the colors at war.
 "Understood," she echoed. She nodded slowly, trying to convey that that applied to more than just his order.
 He snorted, his lips curling into a sneer. Not waiting for any other answer from either of them, he strode toward the trees.
 Not wanting to keep Drust waiting, Elayra deftly attached her quiver to her belt. Abandoning the idea of taking the necessary time to pull out her bow, she closed her pack and shouldered it.
 She hurried to Ghent, grabbing his wrist to get his attention. "He's giving the Curse more control," she whispered, at last answering his earlier question. "If it's stronger in him, it's more likely we'll have extra time before the Curse-ridden realize we're Omitten." She glanced uneasily after Drust, then looked back to Ghent. "You need to be careful." She looked away with a quiet huff. "We both do," she admitted.
 She released him, and quickened her pace after the White Knight.

[User]
Ghent held his breath as he waited for Drust's evaluation. The sight of the Knight's eyes up close sent a sharp, unpleasant shock through his entire being. His throat tightened at the memory of being lifted in the air by him. Drust, he decided, was more terrifying than a shadowmire and terraflame combined.
 Drust's chuckle made Ghent's skin crawl. He imagined the Knight might give a similar-sounding laugh if he decided to brandish his sword, finally giving in to the Curse...finally ridding himself of the two teenagers he must have felt entrapped with.
 Ghent shivered. He wished his intrusive thoughts and overactive imagination would take a hike.
 "Uh...understood," Ghent coughed lightly, his lungs disagreeing with the lack of oxygen. He bit his own tongue as he dropped his chin, too unnerved to maintain eye contact for longer than he already had. His foolishness meant he would have to wonder about the Rabbit Hole in silence, the workings of Wonderland and its means of travel still very foreign to him.
 Finally, Drust stalked off. Ghent exhaled, shouldering his new bag as Elayra approached him.
 "Huh?" Ghent turned his head toward the princess. His eyes fell to her hand gripping his wrist, and he flushed slightly, still embarrassed after all that had transpired. He met her eyes again and blinked, waiting for her explanation.
 "Like...on purpose? Or..." Ghent trailed off, allowing Elayra to supply an answer herself. He bit the inner pocket of his cheek, his expression unusually contemplative. He wondered about their odds, their chances of traveling through the town undetected.
 "I'll be careful," Ghent answered, strangely agreeable despite his track record. "I know I messed up back there, but don't worry..." he rubbed at his neck, careful not to disturb the bandaging. "I have no desire to stand out, or mingle with the townsfolk around here...not after what I've seen of this heck hole."
 After collecting and checking his belongings -- his bag, his father's book, and his staff -- Ghent hurried after Drust and Elayra, scratching at an occasional itch courtesy of his new shirt.


[System]
Hero Archetype: Original
Alias: The Mighty St William
Age: 28
Team: JL
Powers: Finns abilities stem from God and commands powerful divine powers. When he makes a prayer to God asking to become St William, Finn is engulfed in holy light and is transformed into the armored warrior and thus has several abilities. His power comes from both God and prayer so when he is in a holy place then his body absorbs the holy energy created by prayers to fill his reserves of divine power.

Master Swordsmen: Finn is superb swordsmen and is a master in the German school of longsword fencing. He has also developed a longsword fighting style of his own to fit with his incredible powers.

God's strength: St William is strong enough to lift fifteen tons.

God's speed: His reaction time is quick enough to deflect bullets with his longsword and he can run up to 300 mph.

God's Wrath: St William channels divine energy within to create bolts of white lightning. This power is both harmful to both natural and supernatural beings. The power of this attack is determined by how much divine energy he puts into it.

Hand of God: By focusing his mind St William can move stuff in a way very similar to telekinesis through the use of manipulating divine energy.

God's Mercy: This power allows Finn's body to heal at a slow pace and while it won't save him from death, it can heal fatal wounds after a long rest. Resting on holy ground will speed up the process and rejuvenate him.

Judgement: This is his most dangerous power and it causes him to unleash a large blast of divine energy that burns whatever is in its path. This ability uses up the most divine energy and its destructive power makes it dangerous to use populated areas so this is a last resort technique.

Equipment: His armor is made from divine metals and is tough enough to withstand gunfire and allows him to endure large amounts of punishment. His sword was crafted in heaven and thanks to its divine properties it is very deadly to both the living and the dead. It can cut through all earthly metals except silver. It is especially effective against demons and it is his main method of combat. The blade also has the capability of not killing an opponent by Finn simply willing the blade to not cut too deep into his opponent's flesh.

Weaknesses: Silver is like kryptonite to him and it will slowly drain him of his powers. Pure iron can also get past his divine defenses, and while his well of divine power is large it is not endless and he will run out of energy if he uses too much of it for too powerful of attacks.

Personality: Finn for as long as he could remember has always been a devout Catholic and had cynical view of the modern world ever since he was a young man. He has a deep dislike for artificial life thinking that it is unnatural and an abomination against God. His views became more negative after the technovirus enslaved several heroes and innocents. His powers that he attained from God were a sign to him that it was time to purify this wicked world of the sins of science and all abominations.

For too long has good people sat by and let the minions of the devil bring the world to ruin, these were his views on the current state of things. Finn will not let others insult his faith without some very heated words. Because of his special powers Finn has developed a holier than thou attitude and will look down upon non believers as being misguided.
Appearance:

Brief Bio: Growing up religious in the twenty first century was not easy for Finn do to changing opinions on organized religion and the arguments of the scientific community. Ever since he was a little boy Finn faced ridicule for his Catholic beliefs and school was a hard time for him thanks to bad education system and rampant spread of toxic neo progressive ideologies. He hated having to defend himself and his beliefs from the constant bullies, but it was a harsh reality.

One of the first things that his parents taught him was that the world was cruel and that it was important to never expect society to do you many favors. He was one of the luckier members of the millennial generation because his parents never babied him and they made sure he had good work skills unlike so many of his generation. He also didn't fall into the trap that was collage and took a cheaper route to save him unneeded debt.

So while his childhood had been ruff and full of challenges to his faith, Finn still pulled through with his devout belief in the Catholic church. Carpentry was his chosen career and he moved to Metropolis when he started his job. For a good while he was satisfied with life, that was until Brainiac took possession of Superman and brought the city's villains under his control. In his most desperate hour, Finn prayed to God for aid and he was answered by transforming into a mighty warrior of God.

With his new powers and his hatred of Brainiac and all synthetic life forms reaching new levels, Finn is ready to bring back virtue and faith into this sinful world.
Notes:

[User]
Wally was panting, but noticed Dr. Light was covering him while. Maybe Light isn't such a douche, then again he's only doing it to keep the world alive so he can rob banks and stalk women. Wally looked up, "I'll distract Stone. Light, can you hit him from behind?" Wally asked. He then pulled his red goggles back on, and streaked off. A red blur and yellow lightning flew around Cyborg like a tornado. Wally knew most of his attacks wouldn't do much to 'Chrome Dome'. Cyborg went flying up, but then turned on his jetpack. Flying into the sky, out of Wally's vortex reach.

"Crap...!" Wally said, as the former Justice League member fired at Wally. "Could use a freaking EMP right now!" Wally went tumbling, trying to dodge the blast radius of Cyborg's white sound blaster. A techno-zombie walked slowly to Wally, Wally got up and scooted back and back. He then got up in a instant and phased his hand through the grotesque bot's head, and pulled it out. It's green eyes dying out.

Luckily, Cyborg wasn't paying much attention to Wally anymore. Since Dr. Light was blasting at him, Wally punched a techno-zombie multiple times, too fast for an eye to see. It sparked and stumbled, then went down. Another monstrous drone came at Wally. He took it down easily with a quick and strong right hook to it's ugly, ugly face.

Wally was getting drained pretty quick, he couldn't keep up with these things. They didn't need stamina, they didn't need air, they didn't need anything. Wally coughed, panting.

[Assistant]
The Flash did what he could to gather his team, but most of them had already stumbled upon the action. Somehow the techno-zombie drones of Brainiac couldn't get close enough to the KO'ed Raven to enslave her. It could have been the mighty sword of Saint William. Possibly the speed of Kid Flash, or even the light blasts of the resident ex-con. But the heroes fought hard. Dr. Light even managed to find a few survivors and it was no surprise there were more females than males. Flash hit eight hundred miles per hour breaking the speed of sound and clotheslined the head of Cyborg clean off his robotic body. The rest of the machine man dropped to the ground and the head began constructing legs or something underneath itself to get back to the body.

"I'm gonna clear a path for us and start getting the civilians out one by one. With Raven down I may need to get the rest of you guys out of here too so stay close..." instructed the Flash as he bolted back and forth with the half dozen or so civilians the team rescued.

Across town....

Batman was in and out of the cracks of the machine city like a bug. The dark knight got the info he needed. Not all of the survivors still in the city were scattered, Brainiac's forces have several hundred in a prison below the surface, just under what was left of the Daily Planet building. The detective dipped out of his present location and began making his way back to Wonder Woman and the others. The founding Justice Leaguer was impressed, a drone generator was completely fried and there were less than fifty techno-zombies in the general vicinity.

"Wonder Woman, I think I may have found where they're keeping some of the survivors..." Batman commented swinging down beside the Amazon and wielding three batarangs between his fingers like claws and attacking a nearby drone.

"Static made quick work of the turrets, but we need to get out of here soon. I could keep going but the rest of the team is starting to show signs of fatigue." Wonder Woman said in response slicing at several drones with her sword.

As the drone generator melted from the top down after Captain Marvel cracked it's exterior, the building itself began to give.

"C'mon Marvel! We'd better get off of this thing quick!" Superbeast shouted now shifting into the bone serpent and slithering down the side of the tower.

"Get ready to fall back team!" Batman screamed from the ground, "Wonder Woman is clearing a path!" he continued as the Amazon warrior flew at top speed taking down any remaining drones in her path.

~KL~

[User]
Taking a moment to admire Marvel's handiwork, Virgil was quite glad he wasn't land bound.

However, among his group, he did start to wonder about those who were. Batman was probably fine, of course. It was Batman.

Bluebird on the other hand...

Glancing over, the horde he'd pinned had been mostly thinned between her and Wonder Woman, but there were still more than a few dozen.

Taking advantage of the gap in her fire, Static flew back down, hands flaring with lightning, striking the two closest with two bolts, stunning them momentarily. As the continued to move, however, Virgil blinked. Guess it would take more than a taser to take them down.

Not really in possession of the time to experiment a bit with the power of his attacks, instead he shot a few small bolts, electrically charging the ones closest, before giving himself a matching charge, though it only slowed their walk slightly. He'd have to expunge more charge to full on repel them. Instead, he shifted to one side of his saucer before extending a hand to Bluebird, asking, "Join me? I promise, no thirty year old movie referen-" The drone generator gave another groan, Virgil wincing at the echoing noise.

Draugr

[Assistant]
With a great many creaks and rumbles, the drone generator and the attached office building buckled under their own weight, and began lurching and leaning directly over the group of heroes. The thought, and imagined sensation, of being buried in rubble occurred to Bluebird quite quickly. She shoved her pistol back inside her jacket, and began looking around for the quickest route away from the oncoming catastrophe. After a quick glance around, the dreadful realization hit her, that she wouldn't be able to outrun the collapse, no matter the direction.

 Just then, Static, standing proudly on his shining metallic platform, swept through the air toward her. Lurching to a halt just in front of Bluebird, with a juvenile grin, he extended his hand.

 "Join me? I promise, no thirty year old movie referen-"

 The drone generator gave a tremendous roar, as its outer shell stretched and compressed under the weight of several stories of concrete, forcing themselves onto the compromised facility. The shadow of oncoming death grew, as the great structure swung itself forward with a titanic lurch. Xiu swung her arm forward, and clasped Virgil's hand with a frantic determination. With his help, she hoisted herself up onto the small disk.

 "Go!" she exclaimed, wrapping her hands around the young hero's torso, and doing her best to maintain balance.

 With the continued collapse of the skyscraper, the shrill shriek of a hundred broken windows filled the air. Large shards of glass filled the air above them, and began their terrible dissent toward the Justice League members below.

[User]
Finn felt his adrenaline boiling as he hacked away at the zombies and his attention was brought to Kid and Dr Light. The two of them appeared to have combined their efforts. He moved closer to them deciding that staying closer together would increase their chances for success. St William had to slice his way through several techno-zombies to get to his teammates. He performed a sweeping motion with his blade and slew three of Brainiac's minions in one swing by beheading them.

What William found surprising was seeing Flash take off Cyborg's head with a high-speed blow. He had thought that the Scarlet Speedster would not do such a thing to a former comrade. Maybe it was because in the end there was no real hope for freeing their fallen teammates and they would have to destroy them. He then saw that the enslaved league member's head begin it's process to try and reattach itself to its body. St William wondered if it would be a smart move to put down Cyborg before he caused any more trouble. His thoughts were interrupted by Flash telling them that he was going to create a path for them to keep moving and help find more survivors. He didn't like the idea of having to get out of here if it meant they would no longer be able to fight against these mechanical monstrosities.

"I think that all of us should stick together since we now don't have a means of an instant getaway. Also someone needs to get Raven out of harms way so that she doesn't become a slave to these mechanical demons" he said to the three of them as he bisected a techno-zombie coming right at him. These horrible creatures didn't seem like much of a challenge and St William wondered how the other team was doing with those towers. Surely this wasn't the extent of Brainiac's power, it didn't even seem like much of a challenge for the power of the Justice League and it made him wonder just the villain was able to gain control of Superman and the others if these things were so easily repelled.

"If this is the full power of Brainiac then I wonder how he could have enslaved so many metahumans, he doesn't seem like much pf a threat" William said to them curious to hear their impute into this whole idea.