<span style="font-weight: bold">@ Ome (Stella):</span>There was a click, and a male voice responded.  “Ah... Ms. Limia.” The secretary, Worchester, responded and made introductions.  “Yes, this is a critical public exposure event for rising stars in the martial arts.” He goes on.  “From the papers I've got here, you're in the top five of some two dozen plus contacts we're trying to book for the competition.”  He runs over some of the details, the address of the offices and of the arena (a well known public installation, one of few that runs through and under the wall, the center of which is where the ring is held; fighters attempting to cheat via will or tech tend to find themselves caught up in bitchin' backlash, as has been demonstrated occasionally on live fights.  “The only thing we need, really, is for you to come to the offices sometime today or tomorrow morning to have a physical and sign some waivers and such, as well as give you your up-front, if you're still interested in the whole deal?”  The pleasant voice waits your reply.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@ KavenBach (Santi):</span>He passes, and in the instant he does, the moment seems to slow.  His eyes are clearly locked on you through his glasses, but he gives no response.  Instead, his coat flaps in the breeze, as he passes, and a wave of vertigo floods over you.  The sky is down.  The clouds are tugging at your shoulders, even as you speak to him, the depth perception telescopes and everything is further away, even your feet are miles away.  Something is screaming in your ear, something borderline ultrasonic, dizzying you.  And then the ground rights itself.<br/><br/>“Pardon me?” The man checks his glasses as he passes, as though he meant nothing by his approach.  “You look ill.” He adds, turning back even as he moves away.  “Maybe you should head home, young lady.”  Turning his back once more, he pulls up a small box to his mouth and slides out a cigarette, off and not giving you another look.<br/><br/>Your prize is still in your hand... he did not lay a finger on you, but something is unsettling... very much so.  From the alley behind you, branching from the street, a chill wind washes, the dingy cement path seeming to stretch into forever still.  The rest of the world seems right, at least...<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@ TaciturnTiger (Jori):</span>The heap of black ash and jutting cooked beams lies low between two large, nice homes, the siding of each blistered.  The yellow police tape flaps in a light breeze as the gray skies  between a rusty pipes jutting from the scorched lawn.  The street either way is clean – a nice neighborhood, indeed, but empty this time of morn, which, as it's passing seven AM, is a bit odd.  The shadows start to recede, and here your eyes, cast over the ash, suddenly see several small, sprouting fires, here and there.  It takes a moment to realize that they're not real fires, but residuals, traces of the intense heat energy that had been there, flickering and borderline ultraviolet.  Something that, in fact, doesn't happen after a normal fire.  Once the energy itself is gone, it's gone; perhaps a magical flux wasn't entirely unbelievable at all...<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@ Chiro (Onyx):</span>“Now see here.” He steps up to the wide steel mirror lining your rooms wall, before a series of pitched horns.  Your entertainment center; or what passes for the best big screen TV's centers in Velle.  The professor raises his hand to it, rubbing his thumb down a large black square on the far side and drawing out various simple symbols, which shimmer gold on the panel before fading, and the screen ripples to life.  “A while back we discussed the issue of a town six miles East of the Id wall on the southern edge.  The one that vanished overnight.  Some five hundred years ago, some five hundred odd years.  Now you know I don't like unfounded speculation, ghost stories and the lot, but I took a trip...” He pauses, keeping his thumb to the panel.  His own memories were being downloaded to the screen; not as he remembers them, but as his senses do.  Quality magical conditioning was getting the most objective image possible from him, where he'd been.<br/><br/>“Now, I was investigating this location for professor Leek's coming Urban Legends class, the Sociology-English crossover 236?”  On screen is little but silver, which parts slowly as yellow lines run  to the bottom of the screen; a road, a wheel, yes, this was what James had been seeing.  “Eventually I turned off to the closed roads and broke a few gates, to the dismay of the local authorities when they found out a few days later.  When I was long gone.  Look here...” His fingers trail the foliage passing after his turnoff into the woods.  As it passes toward you and off screen, you can clearly see it transitioning from vibrant green to dirty brown.  This wasn't a trick of the light, as everything, it was made clear upon closer inspection, was dying as his vehicle passed.  “I would have remembered that.” He points out.  “But the whole place was fine.  I think.  Fast forward.” He sketches the appropriate symbol into the panel, and it jumps to a spot in his memory at the center of what was certainly a ghost town.  Carriages rotting away, peeling paint, and the fog!  Buildings dilapidated, brick dust at their base.  “Thing is, locals from the town over wouldn't tell me a damn thing about the place.  But I did a load of prime scans – notice anything funny about the picture?” He runs over memory after memory.  “No magical resonance.  No leylines.  Nothing.  The whole place was utterly devoid of any magical energy, save for my own.  I felt so alone I almost shit myself.  It was... really fucking weird.  It was like a spot that was not a part of Velle.  The glow from the air was gone itself.” He turns off the screen.  “And there's something else.” He lifts up one hand, giving you what seems to be a lump of coal; upon further inspection, you realize it's an opaque black crystal.<br/><br/>“I had the lab do a breakdown of the crystal structure, Onyx.” He takes a deep breath, the spark of audacity that defines him gone suddenly.  “It's the same unique configuration as the one's we're working together right now.”<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@ Glaive and Darkmark (Malice):</span>“You...” Marcus turns to Malice, and flips through his book for a few moments.  “Nothing in here that looks like you.  Wait, are you...” He flips back to Glaive's page.  “Ah, Malice, maybe?  Only known associate?” He puts the book away.  “Ah, well.  Yes, you're talking price, I expected that.  That's what I was already offering.” He waves the chit.  Of course we could handle more, this is just an up-front.  And if you work as a team, we'll certainly pay you both quite fairly.  But we need to get into this, and soon.”  He reaches into his pocket and tosses to the ground two paper credit rolls, maybe a thousand a piece.  A lot of money just rolled up, right at Glaive's feet!  “That's gratis.” He nods.  “Got your attention, yet?”  Marcus breathes, smiling toothily. “You see, we need will-user operatives for a mission on the Ratio side of the wall...”<br/><br/>Wait, Ratio?  What could he possibly want a will user for where will doesn't work? What's this guy on?<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@ Arsony (Amsar):</span>The lad gives it only a moments thought, then glances back, then to you again.  “Fuck off, lady.  You're too far from the wall to hope you can stop a bullet with your mind.  Get outta my way.  And drop the weapon slow.  And turn out your pockets right after.” He smirks, the barrel pointed down at your stomach.  “Christ, furs always bugged the shit outta me...” He mumbles, starting to circle you, back to the bricks, his eyes not tearing away.  He's confident, not stupid.  If he had even the slightest idea who you are and was still doing this, he'd be pretty stupid.  “Didn't you hear?  Put... it... down.” He snarls.<br/><br/>A chill wind suddenly washes through the alley behind him and out, causing him to shudder an instant.  Though your magic doesn't avail you in the least on this side, every Velle resident knows the tingling of the essence that pervades their magical lands, the essence that vanishes whenever you cross the wall to Ratio, making you feel like a fish out of water.  The young gunman shakes, as though frightened suddenly, and his fingers spasm – a shot rings out, driving into one of the closed metal auto-carriages behind you, tearing away a minuscule tuft of fur from your arm.  “Oh shit!” He swallows.  “Are you all right?  I didn't mean to-”<br/><br/>Kids with guns.  This was just pathetic, actually.  Big mouth, but nothing of what it takes.