<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/11/a8/7d/11a87dba26f5bb5e6f09f355259e2bc1.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>Name:</strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;">Shiloh Tien</span> (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=332525.msg15850549#msg15850549)<br/><strong>Tier:</strong> Green<br/><strong>Level:</strong> 1<br/><strong>Job Class:</strong> Archer<br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong> Day 1, Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Kraven's Arena (Stage)<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong> Professor Bart Lavoisier<br/><strong>Mentioned:</strong> None</span><br/><hr/><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;">All at once, the images before her wild, dark eyes settled into one. She blinked, as pain rocketed through her gashed cheek, twisting on her heel. One arena, one audience, and one <em>target</em>. Out of the corner of her eye, Shiloh saw yet another projectile, and just managed to <em>duck</em> low to the ground, catching her bow and bloody arrow into one gloved hand, and throwing her cape over her grey head with the other. She had learned from the last projectile to not let its contents touch her face, but… if her head wasn’t <em>still</em> pounding because of the Professor's science, maybe she could have shot this new horrid substance out of the bright sky. Whatever… what<em></em>ever the Professor just threw at her exploded above her head, and rained on her like… <em>fire</em>.<br/><br/>It was dark under her cape. Perhaps Shiloh’s only saving grace was that she dressed so conservatively, but the… substance was so strong she could feel it prickling, and eating through the fabrics that she had brought from home, fabrics that were sewn by the many elderly grandmothers that she called friends and family. Shiloh swallowed, and tried to focus, as more of the substance landed on her, on parts of her lifeless, naturally cold skin that she <em>swore</em> she had covered — but, sadly, she hadn’t. Her wrists, the tops of her hands were her dark gloves cut in, and her fingertips where the fabric had simply worn thin: these <em>burned</em>, and twisted, and arched. Shiloh, still hiding under her cape, swallowed again — she swallowed a scream this time — releasing only a small, painful squeak. She… Huh-<em>h</em>-huh… S-<em>She</em> needed her-<em>her</em> hand-hands…. Beneath her cape, Shiloh bit her lips, and gritted her teeth, trying to fight through the pain. It would be another grave mistake to give the unfortunate Professor anymore satisfaction.<br/><br/>She needed her hands to fight well in the tournament, but she also needed them back <em>home</em>, in Oliarin, to care for all the other, older members of her dying, precious community. Several times today, others had threatened her with death, but Shiloh had more fear in <em>living</em>. She was afraid to keep living in Oliarin, where she had never fit in, but stayed because they needed <em>someone</em> to provide care. But what if she wasn’t the right caregiver anymore? What if she had gotten too loud, too obnoxious or too skilled at archery and she had already jeopardized Oliarin’s relationship and reliance on other cities? She was the only person from Oliarin at this tournament. And she wasn’t feeble, or even particularly well-liked… All she could do is… <em>help</em>. And if she couldn’t help her home, then at least she could stop a vile scientist from experimenting on other civilians in Caerduja.   <br/><br/>Her hands were scalded, blotchy and blistered. But at least she knew where her sole target was now, and by the grace of Zodiark her legs were mostly unharmed. <strong><em>Whoosh!</em></strong> The archer suddenly leapt backwards on the stage, out of the center of Professor's cloud of fire, and relaxed her painful grip on her bow as she rotated it sideways. “I <em>am</em> sorry, that your view of death is so narrow and hopeless.” As her dark cape revealed her injured face she let her dark arrow — the one that was still coated in her own blood — fly at the <em>throat</em> of her competitor (<em>Grave Slumber: Status Effect Sleep (2 turns)</em>). <br/><br/><em>Please let him sleep.</em> The archer prayed in silence as her dark magic infused her ghastly arrow. <em>Please let him sleep and stop slandering Zodiark with his voice and his malicious laughter.</em> If this worked... well, <em>no one</em> deserved to be in pain. Shiloh twirled in the wildfire haze, her grey head still throbbing, her hands still burning. The Professor's vicious embers still trickled down onto her, crafting holes through her cape, making her twitch and shiver in front of the audience (- 5 HP).</span><br/><br/><hr/><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>Tier:</strong> Green</span></td></tr><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>Level:</strong> 1/10</span></td></tr><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>HP:</strong> 5         <strong>MP:</strong> 4</span></td></tr><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>PA:</strong> 13        <strong>PD:</strong></span> 11</td></tr><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>MA:</strong> 9         <strong>MD:</strong> 8</span></td></tr><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>Luck:</strong> 0</span></td></tr><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>XP:</strong> 0/10</span></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr><tr><td><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>Word Count:</strong> 658</span></td></tr></tbody></table>