I apologize in advance for the overly dramatic flourishes. They're a bit pretentious for my taste, but, well, I wanted to get on with it.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">Wordless Spellcrafting:</span>Modern Mages, unlike Origin Mages, learn magic through tireless study, as opposed to instinct carefully guided through concentration and self control. The spells of Modern magic are rigidly structured and carefully learned, activated by keywords chosen well in advance. However, this does not mean that a Modern Mage cannot use magic in ways outside of their spell-book; a Modern Mage can cast a spell without using words, but at a price. When not speaking aloud, a magus will shed a full 50% of the energy they put into the spell as heat and light, effectively doubling the energy cost of the spell. Needless to say, this can be quite dangerous to do, especially when trying to do something that would already cost a lot of energy.<br/><div style="text-align: center;">------------------</div><br/>George steps down from the stand, his speech done, moving to the front of the Bandersnatch where both Oliver and the Captain of the Bandersnatch, a former member of England's navy by the name of Conrad Wallington. A few feet away there stand three humourless old men in sombre suits, each wearing a white pin with a red cross, a mark both of their allegiance to the Templars and of their pledge to remain free from the taint of magic- one would not have to be able to smell emotions to notice their displeasure- they glower at the proceedings, as if they had opened a vat of what they had thought was ice cream, only to find that the contents had been replaced with vomit. Throughout the final ceremony they mutter among themselves, a few disgruntled words said carelessly loud floating on the breeze to pass through the amplification spells and become a barely audible whisper floating through the short speech “...Bloodlance... ...damn brat...”<br/><div style="text-align: center;">------------------</div><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">Hikari:</span><br/>Hikari, so filled with light, reflects on her past, both her actions and acquaintances, and refracts through the prism of future possibilities, as of yet imaginary futures of her bringing aide to the world... her mind thus occupied, she can be forgiven for not immediately noticing the man who approached her.<br/><br/>He leans nonchalantly against the railing beside her. He is not classically handsome, but rather has the rough, weather-beaten look of a soldier, thief or similar ne'er-do-well of twenty-something; a look that is somewhat offset and somewhat enhanced by the teasing grin spread across his rugged face and mischievous glint in his light blue eyes... or eye, rather, as he keeps his left eye closed, a long thin scar running over the lid. Reaching inside his slightly tattered combat fatigues, he withdraws a thick cigar, winking in Hikari's direction as he lights it with a crackleing tap of his index finger, taking a short puff.<br/><br/>“Hikari, right? Special Exploration team? We're assigned to the same squad but I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm John- John Fitzgerald...” As he speaks little puffs of smoke spurt from his mouth, delicate wisps of air twisting the smoke to make tiny grey butterflies flap around his head. He offers his left hand to shake, eyes twinkling as the butterflies flutter past the faded silver falcon upon his chest and dance along his arm, the smoke collecting for a moment to form a ghostly replacement to his missing ring finger before dispersing with a sudden puff of air. “...at your service.”<br/><div style="text-align: center;">------------------</div><br/><span style="color: #FF0000">Kindle Brant:</span><br/>Kindle, so hasty, so anxious to get underway... As a flame flitting about in a storm lamp, her eyes and ears drink up the activity on the docks, quickly exhausting the entertainment value of the proceedings...<br/><br/>Soon her eager eyes spy an odd sight- a waif of a girl walking slowly across the deck of the Bandersnatch. She moves oddly- pausing for seconds at a time in the midst of the sailor's work, the long periods of stillness punctuated by small bursts of movement, each one weaving her artfully through the press of men and women absorbed in their preparations without causing so much as one person to change trajectories. She wears a plain white dress, two colorful mismatched socks visible on her otherwise bare feet. To Kindle, there appears to be something odd about her eyes, something disconcerting. In her movements, her eyes remain calm, blank and unfocused, almost as if she is dreaming. The girl slowly makes her way toward the general vicinity of the fire mage, her fluid movement strangely hypnotic. As she draws close, Kindle can see a delicate white patina over her pupils. Suddenly, once she is within a few strides of Kindle, one of the girl's socks snags on a bit of uneven board, and she begins to fall, her eyes widening in surprise as she reaches out blindly.<br/><div style="text-align: center;">------------------</div><br/><span style="color: #000080">Victor:</span><br/>Victor Mandrake, a shadowy figure; does he know no remorse? Does he know no sympathy? Has not the years of knowing exactly how those around him were feeling lead to a softening of the heart? Apparently not, it seems. A despicable, self serving man, many would call him. A realist, others might say.<br/><br/>Victor's behaviour  has not endeared himself especially to those who went through training with him. Oh, he may have tried to be pleasant, may have succeeded admirably in his deception, but the majority felt there was something off about him- perhaps it was simply that he did not enjoy the smell of fresh baked bread and melted chocolate, or that at times he forgot himself and chuckled at another's misfortune- and word had managed to get around, though not one dared complain about a mere feeling that someought is not right. So Victor was left alone, except, of course, for Barr.<br/><br/>Now, Barr Kounias was the mission's Archaeologist, and had gone through emergency procedure training alongside Victor. He is a small man of Indian descent that rarely speaks, seemingly content to watch the world from behind dull eyes and a mildly interested smile. The only emotion Victor picks up from him today is the same he has ever produced- one of dispassionate curiosity. He, like Victor, has not made friends among the crew, for they find his constant little smile patronizing and his eternal silence disconcerting. For some reason, he seems to have taken an interest in Victor, though Victor cannot see why; he has only had a single spoken conversation with the man, wherein he requested to examine Victor's bracelet, handing the object back after only a few seconds, with nary a change in emotion.<br/><br/>So it is surprising when Barr walks quietly over to Victor, his eyes barely clearing the ship's railing as he stares out over the crowd, and discretely hands Victor a slip of paper carefully rolled around a pen. The action is smooth, practised, and he does it without taking his eyes off of the proceedings. Unless someone was watching for it, they probably would not have seen it happen at all.<br/><br/>(I'm giving you the option of doing the proceedings through PM if you wish)<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">------------------</div><br/><span style="color: #80FF00">Niko:</span><br/>Niko, the scientist, a man set apart within his own time, cursed with long life and health... oh, and deteriorating sanity, of course. This moment both past and present, his fate decided before his time... Niko is on this voyage not entirely of his own will, but largely by the will of others, yet he goes to the alcohol beside the chair of his own accord... Is the true Niko the one on the therapist's couch so long in the future, or that walking down into the ship's depths? Poetic, flowery gibberish, you say? Perhaps so...<br/><br/>As Niko makes his way down the stairs on his way to his cabin, a woman apprehends him on the stairs, adjusting her glasses upon her nose as she steps out of the shadows and into the stairwell. Anne Lehne, head of ground ops- the woman who decides who goes ashore at each island, and what their individual missions will be. She is an organized woman, with an organized appearance- a neat simple suit without ornamentation, her brown hair tied into a tight knot, a slim leather bound notebook held against her chest.<br/><br/>"Bonjour, Docteur Light. You are not going to watch the rest of the ceremony? Sandwich cannot rest a few minutes more?" She speaks with a slight french accent, though Niko cannot be sure if it is put upon or is indeed her actual voice, as he has heard her speak with three wildly different accents on separate occasions, most notably when she attended his 'recruitment' into project Reclamation and spoke with the sophistication of Oxford.<br/><br/>(I'm kind of assuming by your post that Niko was forced into joining project Reclamation, as that is what was implied in your post...)