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"I doubt you'll find a pair that works better." Ysabella retorted blankly, as if she were only stating a fact of life. The human child's response was well timed and thought out for someone of their intelligence, a girl obviously used to holding her own in a verbal battle. Looking over the girl, Ysabella determined that the loss of the girl's eye was the result of a fight rather than a genetic mishap or infection. Pleased by this fact, the young woman subtly shifted her weight onto her right hip and folded her left arm across her chest. Resting her right elbow on the back of her left hand, Ysabella brushed the underside of her jawline with her fingertip while staring down the human girl. "Well, you're not completely wrong. It was all I could find... Then again I only stock my wardrobe with the finest of materials. I'm quite picky in my expensive tastes." Ysabella made it obvious that she was looking over the girl's outfit, turning her nose ever so slightly into the air like a spoiled brat. "Which is more than I can say for you. Can't you afford anything more decent than a few dirty rags? This is a festival after all, you should be more respectful in your appearance."
Ysabella ran the back of her right hand through her hair, flipping the long locks behind her shoulder. Everything about her was light, even her hair seemed to float unnaturally in the breeze as it settled behind her back. Despite their stand off, the crowd seemed to part around the pair like water, unconcerned by the tension in the air around them. In fact, it were almost as if they weren't even there. Eyes seemed to slide right over the young women, their bodies naturally sidestepping to avoid collision. The lack of observation, however, was undetectable if you didn't know what to look for. To a human eye it would only appear as if no one cared what happened between them. It was a festival after all, there were much better things to do than to get involved with a fight. While the effect wasn't absolute, Ysabella's trick was effecting the crowd perfectly, almost assuring no interruptions between her and her new found prey.
"Now, rude little child... I'll ask you one more time, and this time around I expect an proper answer. What is your name?" Ysabella's expression hadn't changed, but the aura around her seemed to thicken, delivering her aggression without so much as a hint to the mysterious woman's power. One way or another she would receive the desired effect, get the girl's blood pumping fast enough to make the meal worth the chase. To add emphasis, Ysabella made eye contact with the girl, changing her perception of the world only slightly. To the human's eye, it would look as if a cloud passed over the moon, blocking it out and leaving the pair in the artificial light of the lanterns.
|
Name: Ysabella Mei
Age: 500 {Appears early-mid 20s}
Gender: Female
Personality:
Ysabella gives off that spoiled, rich girl vibe however she is no stranger to work. Very proud of her heritage, she is quick to anger if insulted and not opposed to taking physical measures to prove it. Despite her entitled view on life, Ysabella can also be quite kind and caring toward others. 500 years of life has given her a sort of intelligence complex, making her easily irritable when she doesn't know the answer to something. As intelligent as she is, the secrets modern technology elude her, hence why she choses to inhabit the slowly evolving town of Teneber. Ysabella is practical but not cold, she sees things for how they are but will listen to the oppinions of others willingly. She is not one to have her decisions changed on a whim, but she is not inflexible either. The most surprising thing about Ysabella, though, would be her sense of humor. Usually wearing a straight, dignified face, Ysabella doesn't usally come across as the joking type, however her sense of humor is in a league of its own.
Bio:
The only surviving daughter of Affonso and Livia Mei, Ysabella grew up in household with two overprotective parents. She was the only surviving girl in a set of twin girls, but not the only survivng child. Her two elder brothers were much older than her, having already reached their blood lust a few decades before she was even born. The middle child was a mean soul, always teasing and picking on her for being so frail and spoiled. The eldest, however, first taught Ysabella the meaning of compassion and then helped her develope her skills with Illusion to counter her brother's taunts. Over the years the siblings have grown quite close, finding mutual respect and understanding for each other.
After the death of Livia, the family remained in contact but drifted their separate ways. Most staying in Europe, Ysabella was the one to move farthest away to America.
~
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Ysabella is Italian, though her accent has faded over the years spent in America.
She enjoys dressing in gothic style clothing and drinking red wine, but secretly loves to sing.
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God, the festival was crowded. Riley winced to herself as she shouldered through throngs of people with cups of beer, candy apples, cotton candy in hand. She almost elbowed a youth in the face, and, surprised, he spilt his drink into the grass. The rising liquor fumes wrinkled Riley's nose, and he turned bright red, dashing away before the girl who had just bumped into him could be a grasser. Riley watched his back disappear into the night, and noted with frowning disapproval how unsteady his steps were. This one had better not try crossing the road tonight, she thought walking on, her ponytail bouncing behind her with every jaunty step.
Riley looked around, her eyes lighting on the strange outfits she saw before her. Oh, there were sanely-dressed people like her as well, kindred spirits in jeans and a top - in Riley's case, a nondescript blue blouse - but the costumes that some people had on made it difficult to distinguish the attendants from the carnival-masters. Stripes and polka-dots and frills made Riley feel under-dressed, and yet too formal. In a town where she knew no one, she was certainly out-of-place at a community function, a sore, prominent thumb.
If there was one consolation, it was the free food. She walked up to the refreshments stall and plucked what she guessed to be a bag of chips from the spread of snacks. There was a figure standing to the side, who had been casting glances around and looked as aimless as Riley felt. She slipped into place beside him, and leant back against the edge of the stall, tearing the pack open. "You look like you could use some company," she said conversationally, her tongue rolling and packaging her words into a drawl, while she popped a crisp into her mouth. As she crunched down on it, she took a better look at who she was speaking to. Riley glanced up at the blue-eyed blonde boy with his bag of popcorn, and then resumed peering around the festival, swallowing the mush of potato chip.
"I'm Riley," she said, twisting her torso sideways to offer her hand to the boy. "And you are?"
|
Name: Riley Fitzgerald
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Personality: Something short of a rebel, Riley will not mince her words for the comfort of another. Independent, free-spirited, and willing to play rough if the situation calls for it, she knows not what it means to fake a demure smile or cross her ankles at dinner parties. What you see is what you get, and Riley is as frank a person as you’ll ever meet. She’s got fire in her hair, and more so in her tongue. She speaks with a northern-UK drawl. At the same time, she laughs easily, and will protect fiercely the people she cares about. It’s easy to get on her good side, and she will vigorously make sure you know she finds you worthy.
Bio: Her parents divorced in her teens, and Riley lived with their mother for a time. She sometimes visits her father in his apartment in Boston. Now, she dwells in Teneber, alone, with the flighty stray dog that comes and goes. Though her parents’ divorce was a messy affair, Riley has come to terms with it, and she’s long since come to the decision that they are much happier for it. Riley’s mother has a stable job, and with a hefty – if somewhat guilty – allowance from her father, Riley is relatively financially-secure.
~
Animal Form: Panther
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Riley does not wear cosmetics. Doesn’t even own a lipstick. Has befriended the stray dogs and cats along her street, and lets one especial mongrel spend the night sometimes.
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Austin had been standing aimlessly around and that was the worst part, he'd just been picking at the popcorn and staring blankly into the distance. Such staring was only once interrupted by the smile of a pretty blonde, whom he had offered a wave to in turn. It wasn't normal for Austin to ignore anyone and he had considered settling near her to try to start a conversation but had ended up being further distracted by the careening noise of one of the machines. He'd looked around the corner to spot the culprit, a brawny boy with a green-eyed trickster slapping none other than a "kick me" sign on his back. He'd squinted for a moment before shrugging it off and leaning back, jumping at the sound of another voice and trying not to assume it had anything to do with him.
His nervousness was from the way his thoughts seemed to be turning right now. He guessed that maybe coming to the festival hadn't been his best idea but he couldn't very well leave right now. He wasn't sure why the place had his mind wandering to his mother, the woman was nothing but a ghost to his life. A legend that his father was far too obsessed with. Just a woman with very fine blonde hair and very pale blue eyes, she didn't even have a personality as far as he knew. She could have been a mass serial killer and it wouldn't have made any difference to him. He was willing to blame the nostalgia but he pushed it off, the voice was speaking to him.
He turned to face the girl who had addressed him and nervously smoothed the cuffs on his plaid shirt before glancing up to her and smiling. He had a good smile, there was something honest about it, it just always seemed very genuine. He wasn't generally a bad looking kid, cute, certainly not stunning but just sort of average with blond hair that was getting on the longish side, in need of a trim and pale blue eyes just like his mother. Average and honest were good words for him. He wasn't looking to impress and maybe that was one of his best qualities.
She was definitely a sight with fiery hair and she seemed friendly enough which was good because he tended to clash with people who weren't. Shaking her hand with vigor calmed his nervous tension long enough that he felt good in replying.
"Austin Jones," he said warmly, "It's nice to meet you, Riley. Are you from around here? I don't think I've seen you before but all be damned if I knew everyone."
|
Name: Riley Fitzgerald
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Personality: Something short of a rebel, Riley will not mince her words for the comfort of another. Independent, free-spirited, and willing to play rough if the situation calls for it, she knows not what it means to fake a demure smile or cross her ankles at dinner parties. What you see is what you get, and Riley is as frank a person as you’ll ever meet. She’s got fire in her hair, and more so in her tongue. She speaks with a northern-UK drawl. At the same time, she laughs easily, and will protect fiercely the people she cares about. It’s easy to get on her good side, and she will vigorously make sure you know she finds you worthy.
Bio: Her parents divorced in her teens, and Riley lived with their mother for a time. She sometimes visits her father in his apartment in Boston. Now, she dwells in Teneber, alone, with the flighty stray dog that comes and goes. Though her parents’ divorce was a messy affair, Riley has come to terms with it, and she’s long since come to the decision that they are much happier for it. Riley’s mother has a stable job, and with a hefty – if somewhat guilty – allowance from her father, Riley is relatively financially-secure.
~
Animal Form: Panther
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Riley does not wear cosmetics. Doesn’t even own a lipstick. Has befriended the stray dogs and cats along her street, and lets one especial mongrel spend the night sometimes.
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"Which is more than I can say for you. Can't you afford anything more decent than a few dirty rags? This is a festival after all, you should be more respectful in your appearance." Jolyne laughed off her remark with good humor. "Oh that's cute, real cute. You're hilarious, has anyone ever told you that?" by now the flavour of her gum had gone stale but she kept on chewing regardless. "Y'know if this is your idea of flirting, you're not very good at it."
"Now, rude little child... I'll ask you one more time, and this time around I expect an proper answer. What is your name?" Jolyne suddenly stopped chewing, giving the stranger a cold, hard stare. Who the hell talks like that? Even though this town was clearly old fashioned, she had never heard someone who looks about twenty speak like that. In an instant, she locked eyes with the stranger, and the world seemed somewhat darker, eerily the only light source appeared to be the glowing lanterns that were hung around the town. Attempting to stay calm, she simply sighed, "Well, since it is the festival, I think I'll be nice for a change and tell you." "My name's Jolyne. I just wanna go and enjoy the festival, if that's alright with you?" she snapped before turning away from the pink headed figure. Jolyne desperately wanted to get away from this eccentric, something about her seemed incredibly off. She turned back and asked "Why do you even want to know that, are you trying to take some sort of survey or something?" If this was the case, then Jolyne knew the woman was the creepiest survey taker she had ever met.
|
Name:
Jolyne Thawne
Age:
19
Gender:
Female
Personality: Jolyne is consistently manipulative and violently domineering, apparently lacking much conscience or empathy. She believes that power and domination are what makes a person strong, and as such will only help others if she has some personal gain at stake.
As Jolyne considers herself to be technically bisexual, she will openly offer herself to either gender using any method, as long as the person suits her present desires. Since she is selfishly interested in their capabilities, however, Jolyne is incapable of loving another person wholeheartedly.
Jolyne was marked by a distinct lack of empathy. Even as a child, she reacted with hostility when outperformed at even the most insignificant thing.
This behavior would characterize her relationship with her friends for many years. Although she could show sympathy toward them, she would never care for their feelings and would manipulate them as she saw fit. She also possessed good self-control, and could lie with a straight face with little-to-no physical reactions.
Ironically, for all her self-confidence and cruelty, she also desired for the most littlest admiration from her father, whom she emulated immensely.
Bio: Having grown up in an environment without a mother-figure, Jolyne had to be nothing less than perfect in her father's eyes just to earn any affection from him. Jolyne grew up to be narcissistic and confident. She relentlessly drilled herself toward perfection and settled for nothing less from herself. Eventually her father died, leaving only herself and her twin brother, Joseph.
~
Animal Form: An abormally large, venomous black spider, about the size of a human hand.
Psychic Strength: Compulsion
Other: Constantly carries a pack of Extra Spearmint chewing gum.
Hates pets and animals.
Jolyne lost her left eye in a childhood fight that went too far.
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Ysabella decided not to respond to the girl's comment, not finding a retort worth the effort. Instead she continued to stare at the human child with her judging gaze, the hint of smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Does it seem like I'm being flirtatious?" She chuckled sarcastically, allowing the smile to infect the rest of her facial features. "If that's the case, there's no reason for you to be nervous around me. You're a little too young for me anyway." Ysabella shrugged again, relaxing her stance and dropping her arms to her sides. It appeared that her subtle tricks were working as intended, the sound of the girl's beating heart falling on her ears like music. As a pure blooded vampire, Ysabella's presence alone was often enough to make people nervous, but it wasn't any fun if that's all it took. Because of this, Ysabella often had to keep her aura under control so that she could toy with her prey the way she liked. With this particular girl, however, Ysabella didn't have to reign it in quite so much seeing as the child was naturally strong willed.
Having finally touched the right nerve with the girl, Ysabella was finally graced with the name she had sought after. Not that Jolyne was planning to stay much longer after spitting it out at her, but the small victory was all it took to finally break Ysabella's façade. As Jolyne turned away Ysabella's own smile darkened like the world around them, the pupils of her eyes distorting into hungry slits. Laughing to herself at Jolyne's question Ysabella shrugged as she rolled her neck, listening to every individual pop of the vertebrae. "A survey? You could say it was something like that, yes." Ysabella responded, completely closing the distance between her and Jolyne. She bent forward so that her face was just a couple of inches away from the human girl's, taking her jaw between her thumb and index finger so that Jolyne was forced to notice the unnatural shift in her predatory eyes. "You see, it tends to freak the prey out when you say their name. So what do you think? Jo-lyne." Ysabella cooed, emphasizing each syllable separately to drive her point home.
|
Name: Ysabella Mei
Age: 500 {Appears early-mid 20s}
Gender: Female
Personality:
Ysabella gives off that spoiled, rich girl vibe however she is no stranger to work. Very proud of her heritage, she is quick to anger if insulted and not opposed to taking physical measures to prove it. Despite her entitled view on life, Ysabella can also be quite kind and caring toward others. 500 years of life has given her a sort of intelligence complex, making her easily irritable when she doesn't know the answer to something. As intelligent as she is, the secrets modern technology elude her, hence why she choses to inhabit the slowly evolving town of Teneber. Ysabella is practical but not cold, she sees things for how they are but will listen to the oppinions of others willingly. She is not one to have her decisions changed on a whim, but she is not inflexible either. The most surprising thing about Ysabella, though, would be her sense of humor. Usually wearing a straight, dignified face, Ysabella doesn't usally come across as the joking type, however her sense of humor is in a league of its own.
Bio:
The only surviving daughter of Affonso and Livia Mei, Ysabella grew up in household with two overprotective parents. She was the only surviving girl in a set of twin girls, but not the only survivng child. Her two elder brothers were much older than her, having already reached their blood lust a few decades before she was even born. The middle child was a mean soul, always teasing and picking on her for being so frail and spoiled. The eldest, however, first taught Ysabella the meaning of compassion and then helped her develope her skills with Illusion to counter her brother's taunts. Over the years the siblings have grown quite close, finding mutual respect and understanding for each other.
After the death of Livia, the family remained in contact but drifted their separate ways. Most staying in Europe, Ysabella was the one to move farthest away to America.
~
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Ysabella is Italian, though her accent has faded over the years spent in America.
She enjoys dressing in gothic style clothing and drinking red wine, but secretly loves to sing.
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After Jolyne had asked her little question, the pink haired woman suddenly started laughing at her, seemingly as if she had said the funniest joke in the world. Jolyne was about to ask her what was so hilarious when she noticed the woman started to crack her neck in such a way like she was getting ready for a fight, and wanted to intimidate her opponent. As if Jolyne would be intimidated by something so basic.
"A survey? You could say it was something like that, yes." the woman finally answered, albeit vaguely. Before Jolyne could even blink, she was startled by the speed at which the stranger moved, their faces almost touching. She felt an icy pressure on her chin, preventing her head from moving. Jolyne looked into her eyes, noticing the unnatural shape of her irises. Had they always been like that? She just wanted to turn and run, but something kept her frozen to the spot, whether it was from stubbornness or fear she couldn't tell.
"You see, it tends to freak the prey out when you say their name. So what do you think? Jo-lyne." the woman whispered gently like a breeze, sending shivers down Jolyne's spine. "P-Prey?" she said absentmindedly, in a hushed whisper. Her calm demeanour suddenly dissipated and her mind began racing. With the movements of her arms, and legs still unimpeded, she could easily strike her assailant in the face and break free. Clenching her fist tightly, she attempted to extend her arm without warning, straight into her pale nose.
Jolyne wasn't going to be killed, leaving her brother on his own, and more importantly, she certainly wasn't going down to some two-bit psycho.
|
Name:
Jolyne Thawne
Age:
19
Gender:
Female
Personality: Jolyne is consistently manipulative and violently domineering, apparently lacking much conscience or empathy. She believes that power and domination are what makes a person strong, and as such will only help others if she has some personal gain at stake.
As Jolyne considers herself to be technically bisexual, she will openly offer herself to either gender using any method, as long as the person suits her present desires. Since she is selfishly interested in their capabilities, however, Jolyne is incapable of loving another person wholeheartedly.
Jolyne was marked by a distinct lack of empathy. Even as a child, she reacted with hostility when outperformed at even the most insignificant thing.
This behavior would characterize her relationship with her friends for many years. Although she could show sympathy toward them, she would never care for their feelings and would manipulate them as she saw fit. She also possessed good self-control, and could lie with a straight face with little-to-no physical reactions.
Ironically, for all her self-confidence and cruelty, she also desired for the most littlest admiration from her father, whom she emulated immensely.
Bio: Having grown up in an environment without a mother-figure, Jolyne had to be nothing less than perfect in her father's eyes just to earn any affection from him. Jolyne grew up to be narcissistic and confident. She relentlessly drilled herself toward perfection and settled for nothing less from herself. Eventually her father died, leaving only herself and her twin brother, Joseph.
~
Animal Form: An abormally large, venomous black spider, about the size of a human hand.
Psychic Strength: Compulsion
Other: Constantly carries a pack of Extra Spearmint chewing gum.
Hates pets and animals.
Jolyne lost her left eye in a childhood fight that went too far.
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Ysabella's eyes narrowed as she smiled, finding victory in the rapid increase of Jolyne's pulse. She didn't care which emotion it belonged too, all she knew is that she had her right where she wanted her: frozen in place within her grasp... That was until she wasn't. The vampire had known from the start that this child had some fight to her, but the fact that even through all of the fear she was still able to react the way that she did, it took her by surprise. The force of Jolyne's fist against her face was enough to knock the woman back a few steps, her back arched slightly as she stared at the sky in shock. Slowly she righted her posture, brushing her nose gingerly with the tips of her fingers. "You should be a little more careful... You could have seriously hurt me, Jolyne." Ysabella laughed mockingly, having felt minimal pain from a strike designed to knock out an opponent.
"That's good though, you still have some fight in you. I was getting worried that you weren't as much fun as I originally thought." The woman inhaled calmly as she fixated her gaze on the human before her, feeling her own heart beat with the excitement of a chase. Ysabella wore a smile unlike any of the ones she had during the conversation with Jolyne, predatory in nature but in no way natural in the eyes of a human. The illusion she had placed over the appearance of her teeth had faded now that Jolyne was becoming aware of the oddness of her being. Two sharp fangs made became visible as she stared at the child lustfully, the blood in her veins calling to satiate the thirst that had been building up for weeks. Ysabella disappeared from Jolyne's view only to reappear behind the human, pressing her back lightly into the girl's. "Despite your lack of manners, I'm feeling rather generous today. You can have a ten second head start, do with it as you will." Ysabella's voice remained light and airy as she taunted the child, watching the human out of the corner of her eye. "10...9...8..." She hoped that Jolyne would turn and run, but that would also have been the predictable thing to do. Fighting was a hopeless option but ten seconds of pummeling on a "defenseless" target was also too good to pass up. Either way the game had begun, all Jolyne had to do was choose how it was going to end.
|
Name: Ysabella Mei
Age: 500 {Appears early-mid 20s}
Gender: Female
Personality:
Ysabella gives off that spoiled, rich girl vibe however she is no stranger to work. Very proud of her heritage, she is quick to anger if insulted and not opposed to taking physical measures to prove it. Despite her entitled view on life, Ysabella can also be quite kind and caring toward others. 500 years of life has given her a sort of intelligence complex, making her easily irritable when she doesn't know the answer to something. As intelligent as she is, the secrets modern technology elude her, hence why she choses to inhabit the slowly evolving town of Teneber. Ysabella is practical but not cold, she sees things for how they are but will listen to the oppinions of others willingly. She is not one to have her decisions changed on a whim, but she is not inflexible either. The most surprising thing about Ysabella, though, would be her sense of humor. Usually wearing a straight, dignified face, Ysabella doesn't usally come across as the joking type, however her sense of humor is in a league of its own.
Bio:
The only surviving daughter of Affonso and Livia Mei, Ysabella grew up in household with two overprotective parents. She was the only surviving girl in a set of twin girls, but not the only survivng child. Her two elder brothers were much older than her, having already reached their blood lust a few decades before she was even born. The middle child was a mean soul, always teasing and picking on her for being so frail and spoiled. The eldest, however, first taught Ysabella the meaning of compassion and then helped her develope her skills with Illusion to counter her brother's taunts. Over the years the siblings have grown quite close, finding mutual respect and understanding for each other.
After the death of Livia, the family remained in contact but drifted their separate ways. Most staying in Europe, Ysabella was the one to move farthest away to America.
~
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Ysabella is Italian, though her accent has faded over the years spent in America.
She enjoys dressing in gothic style clothing and drinking red wine, but secretly loves to sing.
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The boy seemed preoccupied for a few moments, lost in his own thoughts, before something shook him from his reverie and he turned to Riley. Riley peered at him closely, holding his eyes fearlessly in a manner that might have been deemed rude by some but was perfectly acceptable to her. It was just eye contact after all, and there oughtn't be anything to fear of it. Restlessly adjusting minor details of his attire, he appeared fidgety and anxious, before he turned a charming smile on her. Riley continued to critically gaze at his features, deciding that those pale eyes could be arresting if his stare were bold. But she'd concede: he had a good set of pearly-whites.
A firm and affirming handshake he had as well, and - introducing himself as Austin Jones - he asked of Riley's background. "Oh, yes," Riley said, tucking her hand away into one of her pockets. "But it was a recent move, and I don't get out much, so it wouldn't be entirely strange if I don't stand out in your mind." She cast an inquistive stare around, seeking amidst the crowd nearby lingering parents, or perhaps a willowy girl that might be storming over to establish herself as a claimant to the blonde boy. "Are you here with anyone? Wouldn't want to keep you from them."
|
Name: Riley Fitzgerald
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Personality: Something short of a rebel, Riley will not mince her words for the comfort of another. Independent, free-spirited, and willing to play rough if the situation calls for it, she knows not what it means to fake a demure smile or cross her ankles at dinner parties. What you see is what you get, and Riley is as frank a person as you’ll ever meet. She’s got fire in her hair, and more so in her tongue. She speaks with a northern-UK drawl. At the same time, she laughs easily, and will protect fiercely the people she cares about. It’s easy to get on her good side, and she will vigorously make sure you know she finds you worthy.
Bio: Her parents divorced in her teens, and Riley lived with their mother for a time. She sometimes visits her father in his apartment in Boston. Now, she dwells in Teneber, alone, with the flighty stray dog that comes and goes. Though her parents’ divorce was a messy affair, Riley has come to terms with it, and she’s long since come to the decision that they are much happier for it. Riley’s mother has a stable job, and with a hefty – if somewhat guilty – allowance from her father, Riley is relatively financially-secure.
~
Animal Form: Panther
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Riley does not wear cosmetics. Doesn’t even own a lipstick. Has befriended the stray dogs and cats along her street, and lets one especial mongrel spend the night sometimes.
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Jolyne grinned as she believed her punch went through, the force causing the woman to back off somewhat. Her smile faded when she realised what had actually happened. That punch should have at least bloodied her nose, if not cleanly knocking her out, but it appeared that Jolyne's punch had barely even effected her. The woman burst out laughing again, infuriating Jolyne further, prompting her to slowly grind her teeth.
The woman breathed in composedly, before grinning like a Cheshire Cat, revealing a pair of unnaturally long, white incisors that almost seemed to scintillate in the moonlight. Jolyne's eye widened in horror as she finally realised what the stranger was, even more so when she disappeared from her line of sight. She then detected a gentle pressure on her back, the woman reappearing with her back pushed against Jolyne's.
"Despite your lack of manners, I'm feeling rather generous today. You can have a ten second head start, do with it as you will." She stated nonchalantly as she began counting down. Regardless of the stranger's apparent fictitious status, did she really expect Jolyne Thawne to run? That made her laugh somewhat, albeit tremendously apprehensively. Never since the incident in which she lost her left eye had she ran from someone, that individual traumatic moment in her childhood put an end to that.
Since she obviously wasn't going to run, her only other opinion was to strike her again. Having already went for the face, this time Jolyne aimed her second punch directly into the woman's stomach, desperately hoping that her punch would wind her enough.
|
Name:
Jolyne Thawne
Age:
19
Gender:
Female
Personality: Jolyne is consistently manipulative and violently domineering, apparently lacking much conscience or empathy. She believes that power and domination are what makes a person strong, and as such will only help others if she has some personal gain at stake.
As Jolyne considers herself to be technically bisexual, she will openly offer herself to either gender using any method, as long as the person suits her present desires. Since she is selfishly interested in their capabilities, however, Jolyne is incapable of loving another person wholeheartedly.
Jolyne was marked by a distinct lack of empathy. Even as a child, she reacted with hostility when outperformed at even the most insignificant thing.
This behavior would characterize her relationship with her friends for many years. Although she could show sympathy toward them, she would never care for their feelings and would manipulate them as she saw fit. She also possessed good self-control, and could lie with a straight face with little-to-no physical reactions.
Ironically, for all her self-confidence and cruelty, she also desired for the most littlest admiration from her father, whom she emulated immensely.
Bio: Having grown up in an environment without a mother-figure, Jolyne had to be nothing less than perfect in her father's eyes just to earn any affection from him. Jolyne grew up to be narcissistic and confident. She relentlessly drilled herself toward perfection and settled for nothing less from herself. Eventually her father died, leaving only herself and her twin brother, Joseph.
~
Animal Form: An abormally large, venomous black spider, about the size of a human hand.
Psychic Strength: Compulsion
Other: Constantly carries a pack of Extra Spearmint chewing gum.
Hates pets and animals.
Jolyne lost her left eye in a childhood fight that went too far.
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Ysabella chuckled silently to herself as her eyes slid shut, the force of Jolyne's blows rocking her body like before. Now that the human had figured out what she was, the punches were falling more strategic and much harder than before. Each one that drove into her gut actually came close to causing real pain, impressive for a human female in a vampire's eyes. While the attack didn't hurt, it didn't leave Ysabella completely unscathed, the woman loosing her breath somewhere around "4" in her countdown. "3...2..." Ysabella's body shook with a mighty cough, the woman coughing up a fair amount of her own blood onto the ground as she did so.
Inhaling deeply through her nose, Ysabella righted her posture and straightened out her outfit. Finally open, her cold eyes fell upon the girl hungrily. "1... Time's up." Catching Jolyne's wrist she yanked her forward harshly, Ysabella held her arm stretched out as she caught the small of the girl's back with her free hand. "I'm not particularly fond of tasting my own blood... You'll need to make up for all the damage you've caused." She hissed in Jolyne's ear before sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, shuddering as the sweet taste of blood danced across her tongue. It had been months since Ysabella had hunted last, suriving off of small tastes here and there on her journey "home".
The bliss Ysabella felt in consuming fresh blood almost changed her mind about her plans for the evening, her thoughts wavering as the delicious scent rose about them. After a few moments Ysabella finally lifted her head for air, still holding Jolyne close to her. "What a shame I can't completely drain you... But rest assured, I've got better things planned for you." She sighed, sounding disappointed but firm in her statement. "But before I go, I think I'll have another bite." Ysabella smiled softly to herself as she leaned in for another drink, already thinking ahead to the hell this girl was about to go through. Not everyone who came into contact with Ysabella's fangs turned into a vampire themselves, she had to want them to. She wasn't quite sure how it worked, but it seemed she had some willpower over the transformation (or infection as humans chose to see it). Thus she only had to decide to turn someone for it to happen, but even that didn't guarantee success, especially if a target were older. Teenagers tended to be the prime age group for a successful transformation, hence why she was picking on a girl who looked young enough to still be in high school.
Pulling away to face Jolyne, Ysabella held up the girl's weight with ease, leaning far enough back so that she could look into her eye with ease. "Are you still with me Jolyne? How are you feeling?" She asked, only somewhat sincere in her question. Ysabella honestly wanted to know how the girl felt, but it wasn't as if she truly cared for her safety... After all she had just attacked and decided to turn the girl into a being just like her.
|
Name: Ysabella Mei
Age: 500 {Appears early-mid 20s}
Gender: Female
Personality:
Ysabella gives off that spoiled, rich girl vibe however she is no stranger to work. Very proud of her heritage, she is quick to anger if insulted and not opposed to taking physical measures to prove it. Despite her entitled view on life, Ysabella can also be quite kind and caring toward others. 500 years of life has given her a sort of intelligence complex, making her easily irritable when she doesn't know the answer to something. As intelligent as she is, the secrets modern technology elude her, hence why she choses to inhabit the slowly evolving town of Teneber. Ysabella is practical but not cold, she sees things for how they are but will listen to the oppinions of others willingly. She is not one to have her decisions changed on a whim, but she is not inflexible either. The most surprising thing about Ysabella, though, would be her sense of humor. Usually wearing a straight, dignified face, Ysabella doesn't usally come across as the joking type, however her sense of humor is in a league of its own.
Bio:
The only surviving daughter of Affonso and Livia Mei, Ysabella grew up in household with two overprotective parents. She was the only surviving girl in a set of twin girls, but not the only survivng child. Her two elder brothers were much older than her, having already reached their blood lust a few decades before she was even born. The middle child was a mean soul, always teasing and picking on her for being so frail and spoiled. The eldest, however, first taught Ysabella the meaning of compassion and then helped her develope her skills with Illusion to counter her brother's taunts. Over the years the siblings have grown quite close, finding mutual respect and understanding for each other.
After the death of Livia, the family remained in contact but drifted their separate ways. Most staying in Europe, Ysabella was the one to move farthest away to America.
~
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Ysabella is Italian, though her accent has faded over the years spent in America.
She enjoys dressing in gothic style clothing and drinking red wine, but secretly loves to sing.
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Jolyne wanted to scream, fight back again, anything, but the pain was too intense. Her mind flashed back to that event in her childhood, the agony of that stick ripping through her eye socket. As she felt her blood drain away from her neck, her mind began to fade away into a state of unconsciousness, so much so that Jolyne was unable to hear the soft words that her assailant was saying in between eager drinks. She was on the verge of unconsciousness, about to slip away, before the shock of being drained a second time snapped her awake once more.
After the inhuman creature of a woman had drank her fill, she pulled back and stared straight into Jolyne's eyes. "Are you still with me Jolyne? How are you feeling?" she asked without a hint of irony. "Ha, you-you're not serious, right?" Jolyne murmured through a simper. She would have burst out laughing if not for the fact she had two neat puncture wounds in her neck. The literal pain in her neck was beginning to numb somewhat already. "Oh, so, you do care." Jolyne said sarcastically. "I hope you fall on a stake." she remarked through gritted teeth.
|
Name:
Jolyne Thawne
Age:
19
Gender:
Female
Personality: Jolyne is consistently manipulative and violently domineering, apparently lacking much conscience or empathy. She believes that power and domination are what makes a person strong, and as such will only help others if she has some personal gain at stake.
As Jolyne considers herself to be technically bisexual, she will openly offer herself to either gender using any method, as long as the person suits her present desires. Since she is selfishly interested in their capabilities, however, Jolyne is incapable of loving another person wholeheartedly.
Jolyne was marked by a distinct lack of empathy. Even as a child, she reacted with hostility when outperformed at even the most insignificant thing.
This behavior would characterize her relationship with her friends for many years. Although she could show sympathy toward them, she would never care for their feelings and would manipulate them as she saw fit. She also possessed good self-control, and could lie with a straight face with little-to-no physical reactions.
Ironically, for all her self-confidence and cruelty, she also desired for the most littlest admiration from her father, whom she emulated immensely.
Bio: Having grown up in an environment without a mother-figure, Jolyne had to be nothing less than perfect in her father's eyes just to earn any affection from him. Jolyne grew up to be narcissistic and confident. She relentlessly drilled herself toward perfection and settled for nothing less from herself. Eventually her father died, leaving only herself and her twin brother, Joseph.
~
Animal Form: An abormally large, venomous black spider, about the size of a human hand.
Psychic Strength: Compulsion
Other: Constantly carries a pack of Extra Spearmint chewing gum.
Hates pets and animals.
Jolyne lost her left eye in a childhood fight that went too far.
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"Half-dead, face to face with a fictitious monster and you decide to throw attitude at it. Your manners are appalling but your spirit praiseworthy. I do hope you live long enough to spar with me again. Our interaction was rather amusing." Ysabella brushed a few loose strands of hair out of Jolyne's face, still maintaining her gaze. The festival was continuing on around them, though the sound had faded a bit in Ysabella's ears, her focus so great on the human girl before her. Now that she had finished with Jolyne, Ysabella could continue her hunt to find others to turn. The night was still rather young, she wasn't going to let the perfect opportunity go to waste. "Well my dear, I have other business to attend to. You should sit tight and rest up for a while. I'll send someone with a cookie for you or something." She dropped the girl haphazardly on the ground beside the road where she wouldn't get stepped on by the clueless crowd. "Good luck Jolyne. Oh, I almost forgot..." Ysabella knelt down in front of Jolyne, a stern look upon her face. "You're not going to tell anyone the truth about what happened here, or that you even saw me. Got it?" She waited for some type of confirmation of a successful compulsion before disappearing back into the crowd, abandoning Jolyne to fend for herself.
Pushing thoughts of Jolyne to the back of her mind, Ysabella wove through the crowd like a phantom. Keeping her nose to the air and eyes peeled, the woman waited for someone else to stand out to her... Something that only took a few moments. The sight of a broken attraction caught Ysabella's attention, the woman pausing to stare at the wreckage. There was something familiar about the scent in the air, a feeling that excited the vampire tremendously. "You might still be useful yet, Jolyne." She cooed to herself, turning on her toes to follow the scent. Ysabella couldn't be sure until she caught up with the source, but it was similar enough to Jolyne's scent that it gave her hope. An easy capture if this particular character cared at all for the girl she had abandoned on the side of the road. The search took longer than she had expected, the man wandering from place to place at a fairly decent speed, not staying long in any one area. Despite the randomness in his adventure, Ysabella finally caught sight of the source of the scent she had been following. A large guy, undoubtedly as strong as he looked judging from the state of the carnival game a while back. Looking at him, he didn't look exactly like Jolyne, but the similarities where enough that she was willing to try her luck and see where it got her.
Taking a deep breath, Ysabella tousled her hair and let the tears start flowing. Once she was sure she looked as scared and pathetic as possible, Ysabella ran towards her next target. Latching onto his arm carefully, she looked up at him, noting the huge height difference between them. Tears streaming down her face, Ysabella breathed unevenly as if she had been running a lot longer than a couple of seconds. "P-please, you have to help her. They came out of nowhere, I d-didn't know w-what to do." Allowing her legs to buckle beneath her, Ysabella's body shook with her fake fear.
|
Name: Ysabella Mei
Age: 500 {Appears early-mid 20s}
Gender: Female
Personality:
Ysabella gives off that spoiled, rich girl vibe however she is no stranger to work. Very proud of her heritage, she is quick to anger if insulted and not opposed to taking physical measures to prove it. Despite her entitled view on life, Ysabella can also be quite kind and caring toward others. 500 years of life has given her a sort of intelligence complex, making her easily irritable when she doesn't know the answer to something. As intelligent as she is, the secrets modern technology elude her, hence why she choses to inhabit the slowly evolving town of Teneber. Ysabella is practical but not cold, she sees things for how they are but will listen to the oppinions of others willingly. She is not one to have her decisions changed on a whim, but she is not inflexible either. The most surprising thing about Ysabella, though, would be her sense of humor. Usually wearing a straight, dignified face, Ysabella doesn't usally come across as the joking type, however her sense of humor is in a league of its own.
Bio:
The only surviving daughter of Affonso and Livia Mei, Ysabella grew up in household with two overprotective parents. She was the only surviving girl in a set of twin girls, but not the only survivng child. Her two elder brothers were much older than her, having already reached their blood lust a few decades before she was even born. The middle child was a mean soul, always teasing and picking on her for being so frail and spoiled. The eldest, however, first taught Ysabella the meaning of compassion and then helped her develope her skills with Illusion to counter her brother's taunts. Over the years the siblings have grown quite close, finding mutual respect and understanding for each other.
After the death of Livia, the family remained in contact but drifted their separate ways. Most staying in Europe, Ysabella was the one to move farthest away to America.
~
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Ysabella is Italian, though her accent has faded over the years spent in America.
She enjoys dressing in gothic style clothing and drinking red wine, but secretly loves to sing.
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Joseph Thawne
Tagged;; Ysabella Mei
As Joseph wandered aimlessly through the crowd of carnival-goers, his hands resting in the pockets of his pants, and his striking, crystal blue eyes gazing ahead of the men and women coolly, the man went over the events, so far, in his head;; something he often did to sort and organize his thoughts. He had entered the carnival, bought an arguably delicious stick of cotton candy, was forced by a boy to smash a faux High Striker machine, gave the same little boy a giant bear from the con-man that ran the faux High Striker machine, and then decided to walk through the festival until the damn thing ended. Jolene was most-likely scamming a bunch of no good thugs into doing her bidding, but regardless, as long as she didn't hurt any innocents, he didn't really care. The girl was old enough to make her own decisions, and although he would stop her from doing anything morally disgusting and/or bad, she was free to live her own life. He had things of his own to take care of. What were those things? Eh...he didn't know, honestly. He had quite a few jobs, and he spent a lot of his time beating up different gangs within the city, so that was a thing.
As he walked passed two giggling school girls - both of whom blushed and giggled even more when his eyes glanced down at their forms - the sound of dashing footsteps caught his attention. A woman - sobbing, make-up smeared, and rough-looking - ran up to him, immediately lashing onto his right bicep. Joseph, on the other hand, didn't even appear startled, pausing in his walking to give the girl his attention, the tip of his hat shadowing his face. "P-please, you have to help her. They came out of nowhere, I d-didn't know w-what to do." That immediately answered any doubts and questions. There was only one girl related to him, and only one girl that would call on him whenever they were in trouble, albeit stubbornly, and that was Jolene...his little sister. Joseph's face didn't change much out of it's stoic, disinterested frown, but you could tell that he was paying all of his attention to the woman. His eyes grew sharper, and almost into a glare, that would break even the toughest of men. His broad shoulders tensed, as he turned his body to the woman, taking his hands out of his pockets. Idly, he cracked the knuckles, the loud, almost brutal sound cracking through the crowd, making some men wince.
"Where are they?" He asked shortly. His deep, low voice, despite holding no extreme emotion, had a razor-sharp edge to it, his crystal eyes practically melting into Ysabella's face.
|
Name:
Joseph Thawne
Age:
19. 20 soon.
Gender:
Male
Personality:
Joseph, on the exterior, comes off as a stoic, cool-headed young man, preferring the use of his fists, rather than the use of his words - since words can easily be meaningless and useless, while action would forcefully change minds and inspire actions. He is tough;; seen as a rough-housing delinquent or rebel, while Joseph himself keeps an over-all neutral, disinterested personality, whilst managing to stay perceptive, intelligent, and very quick-witted. He's relatively fair and honest, although only loyal to those he deems safe enough to be loyal to, and despite his sister's personality, he's still rather protective over her, beating the asses of anyone that would attempt to harm her - even if she manages to get to them first. Despite his fierceness in battle, and his tough stoicness during other times, he still manages to be gentle in some aspects - such as walking old ladies across the street, or helping a cat out of the tree. However, since he hardly, if ever smiles or laughs - the most you being able to get out of him is a smirk or chuckle - most people are intimidated, and won't expect him to help them. Due to this, he mostly keeps to himself, and has learned not to expect thanks from unappreciative jackasses.
Bio:
Joseph's home situation isn't good, let's just say that much. He has no father, never had a mother, and lives only with his sister, whom he doesn't really see all that much due to him working more than one job, mostly in the construction/carpenting business. He also works as a bouncer.
~
Animal Form: Abnormally large and black bear, being larger than even Joseph's human form - whom stands at 6'4. It weighs over a ton, but despite this, it's incredibly fast and naturally strong, which will only increase in training.
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other:
Always wears his hat, which has no back part.
He usually has his hands in his pockets because it keeps them warm.
As a vampire, he won't use his fangs or claws , preferring his fists. He didn't want to be a vampire in the first place. Possible problem later on?
He's a professional at multiple fighting styles, due to his hard life - and the many 'career' choices he's been through to support his one-person family. The styles are 'Boxing, Muay Thai, Dambe, and some arts of free-style Wrestling.'
He's very physically built and tall, which can make him very intimidating. However, it's has no fat, which doesn't make him seem brutish. His physique is all healthy muscle, compact and powerful.
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The girl was bold, he found that he sort of liked her boldness and caught the edge of a smile once more as she spoke. He managed to ease away from some of his anxiety while he listened, her voice had a nice affect to it and there was just something about her. Normally he would have brushed it off as him being over assuming but she was interesting and he wasn't one to let an interesting person weasel away from him. He loved to talk and he'd been wandering all night in solitude and it had started to drain on him before she had showed up.
It was the kind of random thing that did well on his nerves and gave him a chance to finally stop panicking like a lonesome child. He noticed her handshake next, firm and assuring, he let himself flow into his natural drive to speak and to be heard. "Nah, nah. I came with my dad but he got worn out. I'm willing to bet that he went home for the night after stocking up on ridiculous amounts of junk food." a light laugh and a shake of his head. "I've just been hanging around, trying to decide whether to pack it up and go home myself. I've seen this festival a billion times. It's got good memories attached to it but I've been bored out of my brain."
|
Name: Riley Fitzgerald
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Personality: Something short of a rebel, Riley will not mince her words for the comfort of another. Independent, free-spirited, and willing to play rough if the situation calls for it, she knows not what it means to fake a demure smile or cross her ankles at dinner parties. What you see is what you get, and Riley is as frank a person as you’ll ever meet. She’s got fire in her hair, and more so in her tongue. She speaks with a northern-UK drawl. At the same time, she laughs easily, and will protect fiercely the people she cares about. It’s easy to get on her good side, and she will vigorously make sure you know she finds you worthy.
Bio: Her parents divorced in her teens, and Riley lived with their mother for a time. She sometimes visits her father in his apartment in Boston. Now, she dwells in Teneber, alone, with the flighty stray dog that comes and goes. Though her parents’ divorce was a messy affair, Riley has come to terms with it, and she’s long since come to the decision that they are much happier for it. Riley’s mother has a stable job, and with a hefty – if somewhat guilty – allowance from her father, Riley is relatively financially-secure.
~
Animal Form: Panther
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Riley does not wear cosmetics. Doesn’t even own a lipstick. Has befriended the stray dogs and cats along her street, and lets one especial mongrel spend the night sometimes.
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"I can sympathise," Riley said with a light tug of the lips, as Austin visibly relaxed in her presence. She allowed amusement to slither through her for a few moments. He came at ease rather easily in the company of an absolute stranger, amidst tipsy partiers. Was that to say he was trusting, sociable? "The town seems dandy and all but carnivals and I aren't entirely miscible." What she wouldn't give to be home right now. But Austin seemed good company. She cocked her head to the side, fiery ponytail swishing, and surveyed him closer. A clean-cut chap, she would wager. The classic American boy - or, at least, her foreigner's impression of what that entailed. Many parents would approve of him as a friend. He had that look about him: dependable, with a good head on his shoulders.
Riley anticipated discovering how accurate an estimation that was.
"You sound fond of your father. He a special man?" As the question slipped through her lips, Riley caught a glimpse of a woman with a shock of pink hair approaching a tall brawny figure. Hair like cotton-candy, she thought vaguely, bemusement creeping upon her again. She eyed the exchange - muted, from where she stood - before returning her attention at once to Austin.
|
Name: Riley Fitzgerald
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Personality: Something short of a rebel, Riley will not mince her words for the comfort of another. Independent, free-spirited, and willing to play rough if the situation calls for it, she knows not what it means to fake a demure smile or cross her ankles at dinner parties. What you see is what you get, and Riley is as frank a person as you’ll ever meet. She’s got fire in her hair, and more so in her tongue. She speaks with a northern-UK drawl. At the same time, she laughs easily, and will protect fiercely the people she cares about. It’s easy to get on her good side, and she will vigorously make sure you know she finds you worthy.
Bio: Her parents divorced in her teens, and Riley lived with their mother for a time. She sometimes visits her father in his apartment in Boston. Now, she dwells in Teneber, alone, with the flighty stray dog that comes and goes. Though her parents’ divorce was a messy affair, Riley has come to terms with it, and she’s long since come to the decision that they are much happier for it. Riley’s mother has a stable job, and with a hefty – if somewhat guilty – allowance from her father, Riley is relatively financially-secure.
~
Animal Form: Panther
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Riley does not wear cosmetics. Doesn’t even own a lipstick. Has befriended the stray dogs and cats along her street, and lets one especial mongrel spend the night sometimes.
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Ysabella had never seen such a glare on a human before, a look that almost surprised her out of her act. Inhaling shakily, she turned her head and pointed in the general direction that she had left Jolyne at. "Th-this way. Hurry!" Still attached to the man's arm, she began pulling him in the direction she had arrived from. Sighing internally, Ysabella realized how tedious this particular hunt was going to be. As she pulled him along urgently she had to be careful not to use her full strength so as not to give herself away too soon. "I'm so glad I found you. I thought we were goners for sure." Keeping her eyes fixed on the path in front of her, Ysabella gritted her teeth against her impatience. Already she was feeling the itch in the back of her throat, a feeling that could only be removed by consuming more blood. Sighing silently, Ysabella allowed a moment to wonder about Jolyne and how she was holding up. She had been pretty hungry when she attacked her, a thought that brought a small hint of a smile to her face.
Feeling eyes on her from the crowd, Ysabella glanced out of the corner of her eye to spot who had seen her. For a fraction of a second, the woman's eyes locked onto a young girl with bright red hair before she disappeared into the crowd with the muscular guy in tow. "Sorry, here I am dragging you into trouble and I can't even remember your name." She said, flashing a sad but worried glance back at her prey before hiding her face from him again, finding it rather difficult to maintain her composure under such an intimidating gaze. "We shouldn't be far now, just around that corner. Hurry." Tugging a little harder to emphasize her words, quickening her pace from a jog to a slow sprint.
|
Name: Ysabella Mei
Age: 500 {Appears early-mid 20s}
Gender: Female
Personality:
Ysabella gives off that spoiled, rich girl vibe however she is no stranger to work. Very proud of her heritage, she is quick to anger if insulted and not opposed to taking physical measures to prove it. Despite her entitled view on life, Ysabella can also be quite kind and caring toward others. 500 years of life has given her a sort of intelligence complex, making her easily irritable when she doesn't know the answer to something. As intelligent as she is, the secrets modern technology elude her, hence why she choses to inhabit the slowly evolving town of Teneber. Ysabella is practical but not cold, she sees things for how they are but will listen to the oppinions of others willingly. She is not one to have her decisions changed on a whim, but she is not inflexible either. The most surprising thing about Ysabella, though, would be her sense of humor. Usually wearing a straight, dignified face, Ysabella doesn't usally come across as the joking type, however her sense of humor is in a league of its own.
Bio:
The only surviving daughter of Affonso and Livia Mei, Ysabella grew up in household with two overprotective parents. She was the only surviving girl in a set of twin girls, but not the only survivng child. Her two elder brothers were much older than her, having already reached their blood lust a few decades before she was even born. The middle child was a mean soul, always teasing and picking on her for being so frail and spoiled. The eldest, however, first taught Ysabella the meaning of compassion and then helped her develope her skills with Illusion to counter her brother's taunts. Over the years the siblings have grown quite close, finding mutual respect and understanding for each other.
After the death of Livia, the family remained in contact but drifted their separate ways. Most staying in Europe, Ysabella was the one to move farthest away to America.
~
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Ysabella is Italian, though her accent has faded over the years spent in America.
She enjoys dressing in gothic style clothing and drinking red wine, but secretly loves to sing.
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Finishing off her candied apple, Victoria smiled to herself, enjoying the atmosphere. She loved people-watching; seeing lives flash by in the faces of passersby. The two at her side were chatting quietly, conversations going on all around her, so she hopped down off her stool and wandered back into the crowd. She waved to those she knew, smiling in return, but everyone was already grouped off, and although many waved her over to join them, she wanted to strike out on her own tonight. Waving off their invitations, she strolled through the crowds until she came to a game she knew would be fun.
Archery was her sport, but Victoria had always had a good eye for aim. She slid up to the water pistol booth, giving a smile to the nervous teenager manning the game. "Dollar for a game?" she said, flipping him a bill with a wink. He stuttered out an affirmative, and she took up the plastic little gun, cocking a hip to the side. "Haven't played one of these in quite a while," she said demurely. She didn't need to charm anyone here, this wasn't a poker table, but it never hurt to be modest.
Of course, when the bell rang and she knocked three pins down right off the bat, she kind of blew the 'shy city girl' impression out of the water. Whatever. Winning was fun.
|
Name: Victoria West
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Personality: Charming and friendly at first, Victoria is actually fairly cautious. She's not a compulsive liar, but she values privacy. Can be cold and controlling, and when she's truly angry, she's icy. She comes across as self-assured and confident, always looking to be on top, but actually is rather insecure about her abilities—she knows she's smart, charming, and talented, and uses these skills to her advantage, but she's afraid they'll be taken away at any moment. On the other hand, she's loyal to her true friends to the death. She also takes any secrets she's entrusted with to the grave. Trust is very important to her, but she trusts few—she's always waiting to be used. Because of this, she's secretly very lonely, as most of the people around her are social climbers and yes-men; she really wants real friends.
Bio: Victoria's home life is...cold, to say the least. Her mother and father are estranged, but for the sake of appearances live in the same house. They're fairly rich, and Victoria (somewhat) takes that for granted, but she finally couldn't take it anymore. After eighteen years of being used by one parent or the other to get back at the other, she's had enough, and managed to convince her parents to let her transfer to Teneber, where her aunt lives, so she's finishing her senior year there; away from her parents and all of her false 'friends.' Victoria also prefers talking people to her side rather than fighting them.
~
Animal Form: A black cat with blue eyes. Depending on her mood when she transforms, this cat can be as small as a kitten or as large as a bobcat.
Psychic Strength: Compulsion; her victims rarely notice that something's 'off' about the sudden urge to do as she wishes.
Other:
-has a talent for dance and singing
-has a faint English accent
-athletic, but she's fast rather than particularly strong
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All around the town, strung up on every street, were the lanterns bright with candle light. After all, what would a festival of light be without such a display? But apart from the food and drinks, the party games and prizes; aside from the lack of curfew bringing joy to children's faces excitement grew, spreading like a contagion. No festival was complete without a fireworks display, but these were like no others throughout the year. Normal fireworks, while beautiful and entertaining were nothing like the ones planned for such an event. Whispers and giggles surrounded the idea, children sprinted around trying to find the best spot to sit and watch them from. All of the town would stop, the games would be brought to a halt naturally, for most eyes would be turned to the sky in wonder.
Sure enough, all artificial light switched off in the town leaving just the light from the numerous candles surrounding the townspeople. One rocket set off into the sky, bursting in a shower of green sparks... a warm-up shot, to catch the attention of the folk who'd been waiting for them all day and most of the evening. Then there came another and another, filling the air with thunderous claps and explosions of light; bright colors of pink, purple and blue hues. Greens and reds and showers of gold sparks. There were orange fireworks and other such odd colors one might not even thought possible for a firework, but the most impressive of the display were not the colors themselves... But the shapes in which they took. Hearts, stars and planets, the schools' mascots even. Beer cans and various animals, and even the occasional name would show up for those who could afford to spend the money on such an extravagant gesture. And unlike a normal show that would last an hour, this one was known to last two, though perhaps not consecutively.
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Name: Ysabella Mei
Age: 500 {Appears early-mid 20s}
Gender: Female
Personality:
Ysabella gives off that spoiled, rich girl vibe however she is no stranger to work. Very proud of her heritage, she is quick to anger if insulted and not opposed to taking physical measures to prove it. Despite her entitled view on life, Ysabella can also be quite kind and caring toward others. 500 years of life has given her a sort of intelligence complex, making her easily irritable when she doesn't know the answer to something. As intelligent as she is, the secrets modern technology elude her, hence why she choses to inhabit the slowly evolving town of Teneber. Ysabella is practical but not cold, she sees things for how they are but will listen to the oppinions of others willingly. She is not one to have her decisions changed on a whim, but she is not inflexible either. The most surprising thing about Ysabella, though, would be her sense of humor. Usually wearing a straight, dignified face, Ysabella doesn't usally come across as the joking type, however her sense of humor is in a league of its own.
Bio:
The only surviving daughter of Affonso and Livia Mei, Ysabella grew up in household with two overprotective parents. She was the only surviving girl in a set of twin girls, but not the only survivng child. Her two elder brothers were much older than her, having already reached their blood lust a few decades before she was even born. The middle child was a mean soul, always teasing and picking on her for being so frail and spoiled. The eldest, however, first taught Ysabella the meaning of compassion and then helped her develope her skills with Illusion to counter her brother's taunts. Over the years the siblings have grown quite close, finding mutual respect and understanding for each other.
After the death of Livia, the family remained in contact but drifted their separate ways. Most staying in Europe, Ysabella was the one to move farthest away to America.
~
Psychic Strength: Illusion
Other: Ysabella is Italian, though her accent has faded over the years spent in America.
She enjoys dressing in gothic style clothing and drinking red wine, but secretly loves to sing.
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If it were not for the airship sitting in a field just outside the Academy, one would think it was just a busy day at the Academy, some kind of celebration or large meeting. Obviously, the presence of the airship meant that this was a much more serious ordeal, with many of the students at the Academy out gawking at the ship sometimes, before sometimes being chastised by a Master or Weaver to continue about their business. Usually they were being told to leave by a selection of Weavers who had been specifically assigned to watch the airship itself, as the Masters of the Academy knew better than to simply trust the students, especially when it was made abundantly clear that any attempt to improperly board or 'retrieve' technology from them would be met with a single penalty: death.
While anyone else would hesitate making such declarations against an Academy, Raven Hayes had no such room for hesitation, and not because of the Airship Dead Iron bristling with crossbows, cannons, and a team of mechanized warriors and typical airship crew. It was more because the gravity of the situation that he had come here to collect mages for left no room to worry about their technology being stolen. He had no such time for distractions, so a firm objective needed to bet set.
Leaning over the railing, Commander Hayes took what seemed like the thousandth gaze over the Academy on the bright and sunny day. While his metal armor, gauntlets, and even steel mask were likely unnecessary in dealing with the mages, he kept them handy all the same. Besides, just because people were afraid of mages and them didn't mean some idiot wouldn't think a crossbow could solve all their problems.
"Commander, everything is prepared. We go as soon as everything is accounted for." Raven Hayes turned to the mechanical troop. A man who had dedicated himself to the Prime Minister, with the armor encasing him granting him more strength and utility than most knights could only dream of.
"Very well. See to it that only our guests get on the ship, and then we shall be on our way, as planned." Raven replied, going back to looking over the arriving mages. Specifically selected by the Prime Minister after a lengthy discussion with the Masters of this Academy. Some were taken easily, others got more than a few eyebrow raises. It even eventually got to one of the other Masters would be coming along as well.
"See to it that they come to the deck as was instructed. I want to see each one of them and go over the plan in more detail once they are on board." Raven instructed, pulling his mask free for the moment. With a sword at his side, crossbow mounted to his arm, and standing tall at 6'4", Raven was imposing not only because of his height, but also his steely nature. He had seen more than his share of battles, and had not been chosen for this mission simply because he had gotten to this rank.
Orders or no, if the mages are late I shall leave them behind. I do not have time to wait, and frankly the rest of the land does not either. We will make due with what we have as always.
For now, Raven waited for the mages to arrive so they could get going properly, and he could get away from this Academy. While some of the individuals were interesting, he would be more than happy to be back in the sky. Being away from the Academy would be a bonus. Looking down at the ramp, then up to the sky, he hoped that these particular mages would not sleep in long.
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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I wish you wouldn't go, Mira. Marcus Alamar said as he clapped his eldest daughter on her shoulder. "I feel this is more dangerous than you realize."
"Requested by name, Dad." She gave him a lopsided smile. "I'm not thrilled about it either, but at least I can keep an eye on the others. Don't worry about me, I'll be back before you know it." She hugged him tightly, grunting and lifting him an inch or so off the ground. He patted her back as she did, groaning.
"Aw, don't hurt your ol' Dad..." She set him down and pretended not to notice the tears running down his face. "You come back safely, you hear? Worry your mother sick." He sniffled and looked away. "I'll make sure the academy doesn't go up in flames while I'm away."
"Just don't be the one to set it on fire, Dad." She said gently.
"Got something for you. Somewhere around here." He reached into his pockets, pulling out a wad of lint, a small knife, and a key. "No, not that..." He checked the myriad of other pockets until he slapped his forehead and pulled it off from around his neck. "Stupid of me, put it there so I wouldn't forget it."
Hanging from a silver chain was a small disc of steel engraved with the symbols of all six Elements, the work incredibly minute and fine. She gave her Dad a raised eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Just something to remember this crazy family by. All six elements together. Maybe help bring you home."
She took it and slid it around her neck with a smile. "You mean the Alamars, or the Academy?"
He barked a little laugh. "I hope I mean the Alamars, the Academy's a little too dysfunctional for my taste. I'll miss you, little one."
"Dad, I'm taller than you."
"You'll always be my little one."
* * * *
Mira dried her tears as she walked the rest of the way to the airship alone. She approached the ramp, noting that she was the first to arrive, and nodded. As it should be. She sat on the grass and raised her gaze to the sun, drawing strength from the warm rays that fell across her body.
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Name: Mira Alamar
Age: 31
Gender: Female
Mastery: Illuminate
Specialty: Defender
Rank: Weaver
Mira is a tall, strongly-built redheaded woman. There's a glow to her, particularly around her pale blue eyes. She has strong features with prominent bone structure, but robs them of their severeness with a gentle smile and kind eyes. She dresses in simple, plain white cloth robes bound at the waist with a belt of yellow cloth. From her belt hangs a device, a smooth piece of white crystal in the shape of a cylinder. A similar device of blue crystal, disc-shaped, about the size of her palm hangs on the opposite side of her belt.
Demeanor: Mira is a nice person, as a general rule. She's unfailingly polite and helpful, and tries to behave as an example to her fellow Mages. As an instructor of the younger Illuminates she's stern but fair, playing no favorites and driving her students to excel, and to her peers she's warm and friendly, managing to be cheerful without being obnoxiously chipper. For her the Academy is a family, and she tries to be the responsible big sister.
When trouble strikes the academy Mira's less a big sister and more of a mother bear. For those who seek to harm her Family she shows a different side, a core of solid steel under her loving exterior, and this comes out no matter who is being threatened, whether it's her best friend or the Nightshade who seems to have no purpose in life beyond irritating her.
History: Mira was a bit of a fluke. Her parents were both accomplished Mages, but neither were Illuminates - one a talented Storm Hydromancer, the other a Firesmith of no small repute. Mira being an Illuminate was rather baffling to all involved. Not that it changed their feelings for their little girl, she was the light of their life, just now it was a bit more literal.
Her elevation through the ranks was swift - it was handy when you started your magical instruction almost out of the womb, and while her mother and father's experiences weren't exactly the same as hers Magic was Magic, and some of the groundwork was the same across the board. That gave her an edge.
Shortly after her tenth birthday her mother became pregnant again, giving birth nine months later to twins - a boy and a girl. That continued the surrealism of the Alamar family, as a few years later her siblings were tested, finding that one was an Earthshaper, the other a Metallic. Needless to say people are still trying to figure that out nearly thirty years later, and it didn't get any less confusing the other times her parents had kids.
As she entered into her adolescence and began to enter the deeper mysteries of Magic Mira found herself beginning to notice the rifts and petty squabbles between the various schools of the Elementals, rifts that seemed patently idiotic to her. Her blood family was bound as tight as could be despite being from all different elements, and while it made life at the family home certainly interesting at times, sibling arguments turning into hailstorms of ice and boulders often enough, they were nonetheless family. They loved each other, they'd die for each other.
Never made sense to her that the rest of the Academy couldn't be the same. So she resolved that for her, it would be the same.
Her elevation continued rapidly, and despite her peacekeeping nature she found herself drawn to the path of the Defender. She could manage a cut or a scrape or a little burn, that was essential in the Alamar household, but when it got right down to it she was all about keeping events from boiling over, and if they did boil over Big Sister would put the lid back on the pot, usually with firm application of a backhand.
Shortly after her elevation to Weaver she came across the idea while talking to one of her brothers of focusing crystals. It was a little project in the Alamar house for a while. A brother brought the crystals, her father and mother helped to shape them into the correct patterns, one of her sisters used a nudge of Earthshaping to adjust the internal alignments, and then they were ready, a pair of focusing lenses for her light. One to form a blade, the other to form a shield.
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Alexander had just finished readying himself for the day. Writing one last letter to his family after the further twenty or so he had written to various patients and provinces informing them of what to do while he would be gone. He supposed he may actually be one of few mages relatively well liked outside the academy, it had taken most of his life to achieve this acceptance and welcome in some small portion of the world, but it was something. His family had been busy during his years at the academy, four other children all adults now, and a business which was thriving under his father's skill and mother's watchful eye. As he folded the paper and sealed it with the wax emblem of his office, an emblem he had created to make sure those he wrote to knew who was doing so quickly, he leaned back and looked out the window to the open area before him. It was always nice to view the outside world over the interior courtyard of the academy, helped him remember where he needed to be.
"Well hopefully I won't be too terribly late." Alexander said as he stood up. Throwing on the robes with the metal suns still attached as always. His father's teachings had helped maintain them since he was an adolescent, the years leaving them looking relatively brand new. The polishing and maintenance of the symbols almost a ritual in its own right. Grabbing his usual pack of items for travel he walked out the door and to the waiting airship. He still remembered the day of the airship's arrival, and the arduous discussions before the thing arrived. As a master he had learned much of this journey beforehand, and had been a guiding force in the recommendations put forth. Of course, these men had done their homework and knew mostly what they wanted, but their correspondence had been very important nonetheless.
As he arrived to the field he noted Mira already waiting by the ship, a smile settling into place. She had been at the top of both Illuminate master's lists of potential candidates. A weaver of remarkable ability and an attitude which would be sorely needed on the mission.
"Good day Mira, not slacking off on this of all days are you?" He asked jokingly at the clearly prepared woman.
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Name: Iridessa Lancely
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firestorm
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Iridessa is tall, about 6"1, and very slender. Her dark hair hangs down to her waist in beaded dreadlocks. She often wears a simple black tunic and leggings, with a brown heavy duty boots. She has intricate black tattoos all over both arms which she got on her travels.
Equipment: Just two knives by way of weaponry. She has a dark brown leather satchel in which she keeps her money and other small provisions.
Demeanour: Iridessa practically drips arrogance. She's loud, impatient, and overly confident in her abilities. She doesn't exactly look for fights, but she's always happy when one comes her way. She drinks often, and likes to party. She's always up for a good laugh and likes to be entertained. She's a quick study, although she doesn't like reading very much. She knows next to nothing about the theories behind elementals, or ancient history and other scholastic fields. Always active,Iridessa prefers to be on the move and where the action is. She has issues with knowing when to step back, though, and this often gets her into trouble.
History: Iridessa was the last born of eight children, all the others sons. Her early childhood was good, filled with laughter and games. Her parents provided for all of them as best as they could. Her father was a Metallic, and although he never advanced past Mage, he was a very skilled blacksmith. Her mother was an academic, and a prominent historian who worked at their regional Academy, one of the few humans to work there. Dess was a wild child, never particularly ladylike. At the age of ten her Pyromancer abilities manifested themselves. Her brothers, all as unruly as she, had the same Element, and all of them with the exception of one became Firestorms. Due to Dess's ability to learn quickly, she advanced to Adept by the time she was 19. However, her lack of restraint and forethought has meant she's reached a plateau in her skills and can't seem to make any meaningful improvement.
In her teenage years, Dess appeared to be a magnet for trouble. She was reprimanded several times for abuse of her powers, and around that time started to leave the academy for extended lengths of time to explore the world. Her tough exterior really came into being then, as a manner of protection for the young girl- which isn't to say she's secretly soft. She finds that it suits her nature perfectly. She ventured out into other elemental civilizations, using her abilities for the sideshows people loved to watch. Her use of fire is more showy as a result, and involves lots of elaborate physical movements. This constant use of her abilities also further aided her in her learning, and provided an outlet for her wild nature. At 19, she came back to the Academy for good and became an Adept shortly afterwards,
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Two spare sets of clothes, hat, textbooks, box of vials, bag of silver, ingredients belt, vial belt... portable alembic, mortar and pestle, silver knife, three standard autoquivers, one poison autoquiver... do I need anything else? Ling had packed everything she normally needed when travelling outside the Academy. The request from the Kingdom of Jurai seemed to be more than a simple excursion, though, so she wanted to be prepared for as much as she could be.
"I think we're good to go. C'mon, Kei." Ling grabbed the aforementioned crossbow and its holster, fitting the four autoquivers to their spaces in the straps before slinging the whole getup over her right shoulder as always. The belt of filled vials went over the left shoulder. When taking her backpack into account, Ling's preferred method of carrying her weapons of choice was rather unwieldy, but she managed it all the same. She had to make a good first impression on these people and their fancy armed-to-the-teeth airship. After all, it wasn't every day that a pile of strangers turned up and asked for you, specifically, to join them on some grand adventure.
With everything sorted for the journey, Ling strode out of her laboratory and into the hall where most of the Alchemists had their lodgings and workstations. Some of the Elementals scattered across the room waved as she passed, and Ling returned the gesture. No sense in being a social pariah despite your unusual methods.
Outside the Alchemists' Chambers, the airship was rather hard to miss in the sunlight. Ling picked out the name Dead Iron emblazoned on the hull. A rather ominous moniker. Still, it was good that it had a name, she mused as she crossed the Academy grounds. Already several mages had gathered: presumably, they had been summoned to the ship just as she was.
"Good day to you all... fine day for travelling aboard an airship, now that I think about it," Ling noted with a short laugh.
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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As the few slivers of morning sunshine slipped their way past the blinds of one Hydromancer's living quarters, a pair of intermingled bodies began to stir, one more actively than the other. "MMmmhey, don't you have some thing to do today? That thing with the airship...?" One of the bare bodies groggily queried the other, shaking the other awake. The browner, scarred body groaned and rolled towards the awake one. "Couldn't it wait a few more hours?" He asked in between a yawn. His eyes fluttered awake to the sight of this voluptuous long haired water weaver...whose name he couldn't immediately recall.
"I dunno Joey, you said they approached you personally, right? It's probably important." She replied, sort of underplaying the appearance and relevance of the highly weaponized airship occupying the Academy grounds. Seemed like she knew more about the job than he did. The dusty Earthshaper chuckled, a free finger tracing a nude curve along the girl's body.
"Why do you sound so right?" He sighed. "I'd rather just stay here all day." The girl took a liking to his words, and ran a hand through his curly locks. "Aww, i'll still be here when you get back~" She cooed. He sat up, meeting her at eye level. "Well, when you put it that way..." He leaned, closing in for a long lock. One of his hands began to explore under the covers. She pulled away ever so slowly. "Mmm, don't get too excited, boulder boy. You should get dressed." Joey smiled a thin grin. "You're right, you're right." He rose out of bed, retrieving clothes scattered about the floor. "You should look into some new clothes. I'm friends with one of the tailors, maybe we can get you fitted for a new robe." The Hydromancer suggested as she watched him dress.
"Maybe...i've seen some'a the ones you guys wear...I dunno. They look a little thick for my tastes. Gimme ol' shawl any day." He added, draping the article over his shoulders, clasping it together at the front. "I could use a new shirt though. That's a pretty good idea Allison, i'll keep that in mind." He looked back at her with a smile. She, on the other hand, looked as if he'd just insulted her. Which, he kinda did.
"Who? My name is Alexi, ya kidney stone." She spat. Joey began edging towards the door. "That's what I said, luv. A-Alexi!"
"Get out of my room." She was fairly close to sending a volley of icicles at his face. Horatio kicked up dust as he made his hasty retreat.
"Where the hell even am I...?" He mumbled as he traversed the many halls of the Academy. Being there only a week hadn't given him much time to really figure out how the place operated. "Shouldn't be too hard to find an exit..." He continued, patting himself down to make sure he had all of his items.
"Gots me dagger, sack, and..." Reaching into a pocket, he quickly brandished a singular gold shilling. "Hmph. The things some people just leave out in the open." He scoffed and grinned as he made the coin dance along his fingers. He remember nicking it from some vagabond roaming through the town he'd been to before reaching the Academy. A weird looking piece unlike any of the local currency. "Wonder how much it'd go for..." As he thought, the sound of general commotion and loud droning engine noises got his attention.
Finding the nearest exit, he could easily spot the airship located all the way across the field. He had to squint at the bright sun, mumbling an incomprehensible string of expletives at the time of day. He was almost beginning to regret committing to this job, though as he neared closer to the ship, and his eyes began to adjust to the blinding rays of light, he could notice the small collection of individuals chatting at the ramp. Some old guy and some fine, determined looked females. "And each one a different flavor. Yum." He let on his most inviting smile as he approached his fellow mages.
"Ladies, gentlemen. Wonderful day, ain't it?" He interjected the conversation with his own cheery greeting.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Eve walked silently through the halls, chilling the air slightly in her wake. Most people either moved away from her or ignored her as she passed, but she didn't care. She had heard that she was supposed to go on the airship only a little while ago, but seeing as she didn't really need to do anything special to prepare to leave she was ready within minutes.
Just because she was ready to go didn't mean she was going to go straight there however. She preferred to stick to her normal routine as much as possible until the moment she had to leave. She still had a good amount of time left, so she walked around the edges of the Academy, looking out at the rest of the world outside their walls. She often did this before leaving for somewhere, it helped her clear her mind and plan ahead.
From the highest point on the wall one could see almost all of the Academy, and it was easy to see the airship in an outdoor courtyard not too far away. Eve jumped from the wall to the ground below, making a thin slide out of ice to slow her descent, melting back into the air in seconds. She landed gracefully on the roof of the hall leading to the courtyard, and walked the rest of the way to the airship, doing the same ice slide trick to get to the ground below.
She walked up to the group already assembled there and nodded a greeting. "Eve Celeste. Guess we're stuck with each other for a while, s'pose it'll be a good adventure though."
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Name: Eve Celeste
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancy
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Equipment: She has a large sword with a water rune in the hilt so she can summon water to use even when there is none in the air, and a pouch to carry health and stamina potions, along with the odd antivenom or vial of poison.
Demeanor: Eve is decidedly cold towards others, the type who'd stick to herself rather than a large group. She'll criticize you, but also build you up stronger at the same time. She is not unkind, just distant, and is a very loyal teammate and friend.
History: Eve grew up in a kingdom very close to the storm, you could see it on the horizon from anywhere in the kingdom. She lived with her parents, helping out in the shop they ran selling wood carvings and flowers from her mother's garden. Her mother was a storm, though only an Adept, she helped the people in her town keep their gardens growing well in the loose, sandy soil of the area, while her father was a jack-of-all-trades who could do things from building furniture and houses to making a clay vase and other cookware. Eve's parents found out she had the potential to be an elemental at the age of 8 and sent her off to the Academy when she turned 10.
That's where her cold personality started. Instead of being as kind and open to everyone as she had been at home with her parents she pulled into herself, only trusting a select few and becoming harsh and overly cautious to others. She decided that she wanted to become a blizzard when she saw a duel between one and a storm, a few weeks after finding out that she had the most potential for hydromancy than any other element.
In the years that followed Eve focused on making herself stronger through any means possible, fighting, travelling the land, studying texts written by or about strong blizzards, and countless hours of meditation. Her current ability is that of an Adept, but she has been able to cover her arms and torso in ice as a type of light armor through her training, but it really takes some concentration to make and is not very strong yet.
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Nina had made sure she'd be there to say farewell to her daughter, while Timothy had unfortunately needed to be at the market today of all days, but he had asked Nina to relay his farewells to her, which she of course did. There was no question about her doing so.
"You be careful now, Silvana. I wouldn't be able to rest easy if I knew of you hurt somewhere with me unable to get to you." she said as she hugged her daughter tightly.
"You don't need to worry about me, mother. I'm a big girl now, I can take care of myself. Even if I am just an Adept." Silvana said back while hugging back tightly. Both women were muscular enough to not be able to crush each other with their hugs, but still making sure that they didn't crush Silvana's pendant.
"Being an Adept isn't something to say that about. You might not be as powerful as a Weaver or a Master, but Adepts are still powerful enough in their own rights." Nina said, smiling towards her as she slowly let go of Silvana.
"But..." Silvana still wanted to become a Weaver like her mother, but it would take more time until she could become one. She simply wanted to make her parents proud of her, even though they were proud enough that she got into the Academy.
"No buts, dear. Now, have you prepared all that you need for the journey?" Nina had gone over what to bring with her the day before to make sure she was ready for today.
"Yes, mother. It's all in my bag." Silvana turned sideways to show her mother the bag hanging from her back. Nina nodded and smiled, pulling her daughter back into her arms for a final hug.
"We're going to miss you so much." she said, tears slowly crawling down her cheeks.
"And I'll miss both of you." Silvana replied, crying silently with her mother.
"We love you." Nina said, letting go after a while so that Silvana could go and join the others on the airship.
"And I love you both." Silvana said back to her mother before turning around to go towards the airship. Her mother stood there, watching her child leave before returning to her duties at the Academy.
Having dried off her tears, Silvana approached the airship where a few other mages had already made their way towards. She smiled towards them as she got closer, making sure her bag was firmly held onto her back.
"Ah, such a nice day today, isn't it? And so exciting to be traveling by airship." she said, addressing no one in particular. She grabbed her pendant for a moment, which was hanging outside her robes at the moment, holding it in her hand as she looked up at the sky.
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Name: Silvana Brendin
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firesmith
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Standing at 5 feet 9 inches, Silvana has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that is wavy and reaches to just above her shoulders. She's got an athletic build with a fair amount of muscle because of her specialty, and she has a slight tan as she likes being outside. Her clothes usually consist of bright colors, typically being red or orange. Her robes are slightly dark red, blending into some orange on the ends of her sleeves and the bottom of the robes.
Equipment: Silvana carries a pendant under her robe in the shape of a flame, a gift from her parents to congratulate her becoming an Adept, and to motivate her towards getting the higher ranks of Weaver and Master.
Demeanor: Silvana had always been a good girl. Her parents treated her well, and she had treated them well in return. Kind to others around her, and positive about most things around her, she wouldn't dream of arguing with someone, nevermind being angry towards others.
History: Silvana was born to Nina, a Metallic Weaver who specialized in Ironwork, and Timothy, a merchant who did well enough as one. As an only child, she was spoiled a little bit, but her parents did their best not to make her feel like she could get anything she wanted. They gave her enough, and she was happy with what she got.
With her mother being a mage, Silvana was used to seeing magic on occasion. Her mother didn't need to use it often at home, but it came in handy at times. Silvana hoped that she could one day become a mage like her mother, so that she could do all the cool stuff too.
Silvana did all she could to help her parents at home, whatever task they asked her to do this or that day, and she rarely said no to them. Since she couldn't go with her mother to wherever she needed to be, she went with her father most of the time to the market, helping him sell his products. When her mother was at home, Silvana and her would spar with dull swords since she had asked her mother if she could train her to become strong like she was, what with her needing to be strong as an Ironworker and all that. And since Nina couldn't train her in magic Silvana didn't have, she agreed to help her become stronger physically.
One evening, when she was at the age of 7, the family was enjoying some down time in front of the fireplace, Silvana got extra interested in it for some reason she couldn't explain at that moment. She got closer and closer, and once she was close enough, she somehow made the flame dance almost exactly like she wanted. Her parents watched for a moment, then looked at each other and agreed that the next day they would take their daughter to the Academy.
There, Silvana was questioned on a lot of things, and asked to show what she could do. Provided with a small flame, Silvana got the flame to dance as she had done the evening before. After all that was done, Nina and Tim were told that she would need to attend the Academy in order to gain control of her powers.
So began her life at the Academy, where she would learn to become a Pyromancer. It wasn't the same kind of magic as her mother had, but she was thrilled nonetheless to be able to use magic of her own. She attended classes, learned the various ways to control fire, and eventually found that she preferred Firesmithing over Firestorming. There was just something about making a weapon or a companion out of fire that fascinated her more than simply throwing it around all willy nilly. Plus her mother had trained her in using a weapon, so that did factor into her decision as well.
She studied as hard as she could, becoming an Adept in her late teens. Her parents were proud of her when she became an Adept, giving her a pendant in the shape of a flame so that she might one day become a Master. Silvana was more than happy with being an Adept for now, but still wanting to study harder to become a Weaver like her mother. She wanted to make her parents even prouder of her, as they were the most precious and important people of her life.
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Do you think they have big monsters over there? Or maybe they ride robots instead. OH! What if they ride robot monsters? I mean, they obviously need something smaller than an airship to get around if they have to do something alone, and they're too advanced to just walk. The energetic voice of Fei Hidalgo was the only thing Drew could hear at this point. She was bouncing around and circling him as she asked question after question about Jurai. "Wait, I got it! Maybe they have wing! Y'know, like fake wing things they put on. That way they could fly instead of jut walk!"
Drew laughed softly and spoke to her in a calm tone. "Well, I'll find out. If they have wing suits or something like that, I'll be sure to bring some back to you." The pair walked slowly, since Drew was in no rush to get to his destination. He had plenty of time and he knew most of the academy like the back of his hand, so he knew he wouldn't be late. He stopped to get a quick bite to eat, though he had already finished his breakfast while Fei had only taken a few nibbles since she was so busy asking him questions.
This whole thing was still puzzling to the Hydromancer. Why ask for him? Sure, he had good grades and was friendly with the instructors, but he wasn't that extraordinary. His skill set was uneven compared to the average Elemental and he wasn't exactly known around the academy, except maybe as "that guy who sits at the side of the room". Maybe they heard about his recent attempt to get promoted to Weaver, but since he failed, that just made the decision stranger. Sure, Fei insisted it was because they knew what an awesome elemental he was, but there were better choices.
They got as close they were allowed to the airship before they had to depart. Drew hugged his sister, putting on a brave face for her. "Don't fall behind in your studies just because I'm not there to help you. I don't want to come back and discover you're failing." He said jokingly. He knew she'd be fine, this was mostly to try and leave on a happier note. For all he knew, he wasn't coming back at all. Something this important likely meant danger ahead. Still, with all the other mages joining him, he might just be able to get through this.
He walked ahead, turning back to wave one last time before he joined his fellow elementals. He was content to just stay in the back quietly, seeing just who was accompanying him. He could recognize at least one familiar face from class, though he didn't actually know who it was. He also recognized one of the Masters, but the rest were all new to him. He also could have sworn there were supposed to be more arrivals. He stepped aside so they could come in without running into him. He took a deep breath, waiting for something to happen.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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Rummaging through his bag to make sure he had everything, Tobias rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd stayed up far too long the night before, and was regretting that choice now. He'd forgotten that he'd had to pack and was now sure that he would forgetting something in the rush. Muttering essential ingredients under his breath, he tied his belt of potions around his waist, making sure each was corked properly. Wouldn't do to have a sudden explosion inside the ship. Or worse.
Satisfied that he had all that he needed, he did one last scan around the room, before turning on his heel and walking swiftly out the door. Suppressing a yawn as he strode through the hall towards the courtyard, he saw groups of students-Mages and Adepts-hurrying in the same direction, eager to get a glimpse of the airship. His lips curved in a faint smile as a girl hurtled past him, shouting at someone to wait and looking much like a bedraggled cat.
Not slowing down, he quickly ducked into the library, nodding in greeting to the librarian before locating a couple of books to take with him on the journey. Just three, as he didn't want to overload too much, but then again didn't want to be left reading one over and over again. Finding them quickly and checking them out equally as fast, he slid them into his bag. Finally considering himself ready, he started walking towards where the airship was landed.
Getting closer to the formidable vehicle, he saw the other Elementals standing around waiting. Walking up to them, he nodded curtly in the direction of Ling, and greeted them, trying not to look too annoyed. He didn't want to seem too offputting.
"Well then. Any more of us on the way?"
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Name: Tobias Crane
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Weaver
Appearance: Tobias has light brown hair, that is curly and kept quite messy. It’s isn’t that long, but reaches the nape of his neck, curling up slightly. He has a slight fringe, curling over his forehead and a few strands falling over his eyes. Body type wise, he is tall and lean, with only a hint of any muscle definition. His eyes are a light watery blue, like light just filtering through the surface of a lake. Clothes wise, he wears pale grey coloured robes with a belt tied at his waist, carrying potion bottles-empty and full-as well as pouches of herbs and other such things.
Equipment: Tobias carries his potions equipment around with him at all times, as well as a small notepad to jot down any new recipes he's thought of. If he's going somewhere dangerous, he might carry a larger side bag, and perhaps a short blade.
Demeanor: Tobias is quite blunt with his approach to things, and likes to get things done as quickly as possible. He can also be brutally honest with people, and can come off as being rude or haughty. He feels as though showing he cares will ultimately back fire on him in some way. When others make a mistake, he can get a little irritated, but not that much, however when he himself does something wrong, it seems like he doesn't really care but really, he judges himself more harshly then he would anyone else. This was good for pushing himself to learn, but it can quickly turn self-destructive. He has trouble with making a strong or lasting relationship, and while to others it can seem just arrogant, but really he's afraid of hurting himself, or the other person. In this way, he can be somewhat a coward, but makes up for it by refusing to show any weakness at any time.
History: At the time when Tobias was born, his parents-His father an Ironworker and his mother a Pyromancer-got along fine. It wasn't until he was around 5 that arguments started happening. His mother was a master, and she spent a lot of time in the academy teaching the younger and less experienced Mages, and in his fathers opinion, not enough time at home. In his small room at the top of the stairs, the young boy would cover his ears, huddled away in his blankets, and wish for something anything to take him away.
Even thought his parents kept arguing, they seemed reluctant to actually split, seeing as they had a still only 9 year old son. But, using his parents now normally frequent disinterestedness to his advantage, he would sneak away to the library and imagine himself away to a different kind of world, one where he wasn't afraid of doing anything that could set off his parents. Then, once he turned 11, his mother finally left, and took him with her to the academy, leaving his father behind. After finding that he had an interest in potions and herbs, she entrusted him to the hands of the other Nightshades, then left to pursue her own studies.
As he grew and progressed in his studies, he found a little time here and there to visit his father, but never bothered to go and see his mother. Soon though, he stopped going to see his father, only sending the occasional letter, and focused entirely on his studies. In his classes, he strived to be better and better, but rejected any offers of friendship from his peers, seeing them as just something that might distract him, or hurt him by leaving. Someone leaving wasn't something he'd well and truly experienced before, but from watching his parents, he felt he'd learnt how painful it might be and never wanted it for himself, as he couldn't see anything good come of it.
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For once, sleep didn't linger for very long on the body of the 26 year old woman in the room painted a dazzling icy blue. Usually she would enjoy the naturally chilled temperature of her room as long as possible and then drag herself out of the room to go to the classes. Sure there was an uptick in willingness to go early to class in recent months with the rumors that a promotion to Weaver was on the horizon, but she still preferred to stay in her room. Today though, today was not like any other day, and Nataly Andrade was rife with anticipation.
She had heard rumors from some of the Adepts that the Masters were looking at people to head to the North. For what? No one knew. But it was closer to home than Nataly had been in nine years, and she wanted to go. Surely there were other students with greater talents who were going to be looked at, but Nataly was determined to get a slot on the expedition. Maybe she could even sneak a trip back home, to try and show her mom what she had done with her time in the Academy. There was almost no contact with Gran Helada during her time here, so the least she could do is try and get a message up to her remaining family. So when she got called into the Master's office alongside Eve, she was ecstatic.
Nataly threw on the clothes she had chosen for the trip that didn't hit the suitcase and threw on her robes. It was still going to be a bit warm for them, but she wanted to make a good first impression on the Northern party. At least look like someone who was ready to freeze up a storm...well, close enough to it. Maybe someday... She shook her head. She grabbed some more last minute toiletries and did one last sweep of her room. I think that's everything...Not like I can't buy stuff I guess...The markets up North may be barren but they have some things... She looked out the window of her room and saw how high the sun was hanging. "Shit! How am I late?"
Nataly quickly grabbed her bag and dashed out of her room, deftly managing to hook her feet into her sandals as she ran. The urge to just slide down some iced over stairs was tempting, but she didn't need to risk smashing into a wall on the way down. Still she did everything short of that to get out of the residence quick as she could. Luckily it appeared no one was clogging up the hallways with meaningless shenanigans, no doubt still hungover from the pre-trip celebrations the students through. Any excuse for a night free of studying. Nataly was thankful she didn't go too overboard now.
Running out into the open fields outside the Academy, it was clear why there were no students in the corridors. They were all out here gawking at the massive ship. Great. Good work Nataly... She kept silently cursing herself for mucking up already as she moved through the crowds toward the ship. As she neared, she could see the crowd of adepts already there, including Eve, as well as one of the Light masters. A name wasn't coming to mind. Damn it...guess I gotta play this off...
The Blizzard specialist gave a wave as she approached the group, flicking the robe back to reveal the light blue hair "Hey! What's going on, everyone? You all weren't waiting for me, were you? I'm sorry it took me so..." Nataly was distracted by the presence of someone she did remember from last night. She pointed at the guy seemingly covered in a layer of dust...or dirt...what was it? "Wait, weren't you Alexi's flavor of the hour at the party last night? Don't tell me she tossed you out this early?" She shook her head, laughing. "You must have done something really stupid. She'll usually take a guy for all he's worth!"
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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Since before dawn, a fire had been burning in one of the forges. Vanahara Pike was a common sight in the smithy, a far enough distance away from the main buildings that the smoke wouldn’t bother any of the nattering academics, and this morning was no different. Metalworking was a balm to her nerves—not that anyone else would believe she had nerves—and today was certainly a day that made her nervous. An airship to Juria with a bundle of other mages; mission specifics no one could tell her. She’d been honored to be selected, but she was a little unsure of what she was going to face.
As the sun came up over the Academy, Vana was still working away. It wasn’t even a class project, just some filigree work to keep her fingers nimble, and she didn’t even really need the forge anymore, but it was soothing to her, reminiscent of a simpler time. She glanced out of the tiny, high windows of the smithy every so often, checking the time methodically. It wouldn’t do to be late to such an important assignment.
When the sun was approaching its zenith, she put the tools down and stretched, her fingertips nearly reaching the ceiling. Carefully putting each tiny hammer and set of calipers back in their proper places, Vana pressed her palm into the delicate ironwork she’d created. Pressing down steadily, with a slight furrow in her brow, the iron melted down slowly into a puddle. Drawing upward with her fingers pinched together, the metal re-solidified into a block, ready for someone to use it for an actual project.
Vanahara left the smithy exactly as she had left it, belt once more slung around her hips and wiping sweat from the back of her neck. She’d have to move it to make it back to the courtyard on time, but it wasn’t like she had much to pack. When she reached her small, sparse room, her travel bag was waiting for her on her bed. She changed quickly into fresh clothes—her leather vest and bracers were most definitely coming with her—and after triple-checking that she had everything, she finally left her room behind, locked securely behind her. If she was being honest, she was looking forward to the trip, at least—airships were modern marvels of engineering, and she couldn’t wait to get a hand on some of the mechanics.
She strode across the courtyard, sun gleaming on her skin. Vana’s steps paused for only a moment as she took in the group standing at the bottom of the ramp into the airship, and she sighed internally. She didn’t know any of them. They’d probably call her ‘small town’ just like everyone else here, just because she didn’t grow up in an Academy—but she’d just ignore them like usual. As she approached, Vana came to a stop on the edge of the little circle, giving a respectful nod to the man in Master’s robe she spotted, but otherwise she stayed quiet, listening to the chatter without joining in.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Soon after the third male arrived, the scenario was beginning to look less and less like Joey's personal harem fantasy. "Ah well. Quite a few people were called for this mission, huh?" He pondered as he scanned faces. Between the one girl with the impressively sized sword, and another showing up in a billowing robe, Horatio wondered just how common blue hair was among mages. He could never recall seeing such a peculiar color amongst the humans he's interacted with. So seeing two separate girls wearing it was a bit of a sight for the Earthshaper. "Maybe they're sisters? I mean, they kinda look alike..." Then, the girl with the short cut addressed him. Seemed she remembered him from the night before.
"Wait, weren't you Alexi's flavor of the hour at the party last night?" She started. Joey looked genuinely bewildered at her mention. "Alexi? I thought her name was Allison..." He mumbled in his mind. She was laughing now, something she else she said, about getting kicked out. "You must have done something really stupid. She'll usually take a guy for all he's worth!" Joey smiled back. "Well, I ain't think this job was stupid, but we all have our opinions, yeah?" He dusted off one of his tape wrapped hands, stretching it towards her. "Horatio Dunst. Call me Joey, if ya like. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, m'lady." He smirked.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Raven continued to watch for a while as more mages arrived. He could not claim to know or recognize any of them except for the Master, as they had not really been formally introduced, which was something he needed to rectify before they started this trip. He figured most mages didn't like to be called by their element, especially since he knew there was more than one of each coming along for the ride.
"Guess its time to get to knowing what I'll....mostly be dealing with." Raven muttered, and left the railing to make his way to the ramp, leaving the top decks to greet the mages. From what he saw they were already a very colorful group. Especially knowing that there was that celebration after meeting with them of all individuals, though then he imagined the mages were much like that village of warriors who...partied over absolutely everything. He couldn't recall the name, but the thought alone made him grin as he finally made his way down the ramp to the grass where the mages stood and sat.
As he approached, he realized that with his additional armor, he seemed even larger than many of the mages they were bringing along. It might just be the armor, but....he hoped that their elemental powers were not limited by their size. Without his iron mask, Raven's black hair and red eyes were typically an intimidating factor to go with the height and built frame that a constant amount of fighting brings. He kept clean shaven, as some appearance of civility was needed for his rank, but that was typically the most he would give. With a small wave, it was his turn to introduce to the mages.
"Greetings, Master Smith. On time, and with many mages in tow as expected." Raven began with the Master, as he figured the highest would be best greeted first. "Before boarding I figured I should get to know who I am to be taking on board my Dead Iron." Raven paused, looking over each of the mages with a small and somewhat obvious measurement of each mage, noting any particular features or weapons that were on the mages.
"I assume it only fair I start myself. I am Commander Raven Hayes, of the Mechanized Irons Division of the Prime Minister's Guard. You may have heard of my victories against other cities, or sweeping actions along storm borders with bandit towns." Looking over the group once again, he gave a small shrug.
"Otherwise, I have nothing more other than I shall be the one taking you northward, past the storms. Likely accompanying you on the mission as well, the future staying what it is."
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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Not long after a few more mages arrived after Silvana, the commander of the airship approached them and greeted them as Raven Hayes. He was large and imposing in appearance, and he had eyes she'd never seen on anyone else. She was certain that she'd remember someone with red eyes other than him, but as she couldn't remember anyone else, he had to be the only one.
"Silvana Brendin, Pyromancer Firesmith Adept. I'm looking forward to the trip. I've never been on an airship before." she said with a soft smile after letting go of her pendant, leaving it hanging outside her robes. She was itching to get the trip started, but would wait until he'd instruct them to get on board.
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Name: Silvana Brendin
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firesmith
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Standing at 5 feet 9 inches, Silvana has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that is wavy and reaches to just above her shoulders. She's got an athletic build with a fair amount of muscle because of her specialty, and she has a slight tan as she likes being outside. Her clothes usually consist of bright colors, typically being red or orange. Her robes are slightly dark red, blending into some orange on the ends of her sleeves and the bottom of the robes.
Equipment: Silvana carries a pendant under her robe in the shape of a flame, a gift from her parents to congratulate her becoming an Adept, and to motivate her towards getting the higher ranks of Weaver and Master.
Demeanor: Silvana had always been a good girl. Her parents treated her well, and she had treated them well in return. Kind to others around her, and positive about most things around her, she wouldn't dream of arguing with someone, nevermind being angry towards others.
History: Silvana was born to Nina, a Metallic Weaver who specialized in Ironwork, and Timothy, a merchant who did well enough as one. As an only child, she was spoiled a little bit, but her parents did their best not to make her feel like she could get anything she wanted. They gave her enough, and she was happy with what she got.
With her mother being a mage, Silvana was used to seeing magic on occasion. Her mother didn't need to use it often at home, but it came in handy at times. Silvana hoped that she could one day become a mage like her mother, so that she could do all the cool stuff too.
Silvana did all she could to help her parents at home, whatever task they asked her to do this or that day, and she rarely said no to them. Since she couldn't go with her mother to wherever she needed to be, she went with her father most of the time to the market, helping him sell his products. When her mother was at home, Silvana and her would spar with dull swords since she had asked her mother if she could train her to become strong like she was, what with her needing to be strong as an Ironworker and all that. And since Nina couldn't train her in magic Silvana didn't have, she agreed to help her become stronger physically.
One evening, when she was at the age of 7, the family was enjoying some down time in front of the fireplace, Silvana got extra interested in it for some reason she couldn't explain at that moment. She got closer and closer, and once she was close enough, she somehow made the flame dance almost exactly like she wanted. Her parents watched for a moment, then looked at each other and agreed that the next day they would take their daughter to the Academy.
There, Silvana was questioned on a lot of things, and asked to show what she could do. Provided with a small flame, Silvana got the flame to dance as she had done the evening before. After all that was done, Nina and Tim were told that she would need to attend the Academy in order to gain control of her powers.
So began her life at the Academy, where she would learn to become a Pyromancer. It wasn't the same kind of magic as her mother had, but she was thrilled nonetheless to be able to use magic of her own. She attended classes, learned the various ways to control fire, and eventually found that she preferred Firesmithing over Firestorming. There was just something about making a weapon or a companion out of fire that fascinated her more than simply throwing it around all willy nilly. Plus her mother had trained her in using a weapon, so that did factor into her decision as well.
She studied as hard as she could, becoming an Adept in her late teens. Her parents were proud of her when she became an Adept, giving her a pendant in the shape of a flame so that she might one day become a Master. Silvana was more than happy with being an Adept for now, but still wanting to study harder to become a Weaver like her mother. She wanted to make her parents even prouder of her, as they were the most precious and important people of her life.
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Hello to you as well Commander Hayes. A pleasure to see you again. Alexander replied polietly, turning to the other mages.
"Seeing as the introduction may be necessary. I am Alexander Smith, Illuminate Master specializing in healing and support magics." He said, not bothering to give out the full title of his station.
"I was apart of the group who chose you all for this particular mission and I'm to watch over you and report back on your progress to your various masters."
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Name: Eve Celeste
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancy
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Equipment: She has a large sword with a water rune in the hilt so she can summon water to use even when there is none in the air, and a pouch to carry health and stamina potions, along with the odd antivenom or vial of poison.
Demeanor: Eve is decidedly cold towards others, the type who'd stick to herself rather than a large group. She'll criticize you, but also build you up stronger at the same time. She is not unkind, just distant, and is a very loyal teammate and friend.
History: Eve grew up in a kingdom very close to the storm, you could see it on the horizon from anywhere in the kingdom. She lived with her parents, helping out in the shop they ran selling wood carvings and flowers from her mother's garden. Her mother was a storm, though only an Adept, she helped the people in her town keep their gardens growing well in the loose, sandy soil of the area, while her father was a jack-of-all-trades who could do things from building furniture and houses to making a clay vase and other cookware. Eve's parents found out she had the potential to be an elemental at the age of 8 and sent her off to the Academy when she turned 10.
That's where her cold personality started. Instead of being as kind and open to everyone as she had been at home with her parents she pulled into herself, only trusting a select few and becoming harsh and overly cautious to others. She decided that she wanted to become a blizzard when she saw a duel between one and a storm, a few weeks after finding out that she had the most potential for hydromancy than any other element.
In the years that followed Eve focused on making herself stronger through any means possible, fighting, travelling the land, studying texts written by or about strong blizzards, and countless hours of meditation. Her current ability is that of an Adept, but she has been able to cover her arms and torso in ice as a type of light armor through her training, but it really takes some concentration to make and is not very strong yet.
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Iridessa stayed silent as the other mages arrived. She didn't know any of them, and she wished any of her Firestorm mates had come along. They would have made for a real party, and she'd missed the one last night. That kind of disappointed her. She'd have liked to be there, especially if all the men there had looked like the man who'd called himself Joey. He was cute, if not a little bedraggled. She didn't speak, instead continuing to perform little parlour tricks with a tiny flame to amuse herself.
The fire fizzled out as Iridessa saw the Commander approach. He cut an intimidating figure with his dark armour and red eyes, and Iridessa, brash as she was, would never want to cross him. She paid attention as he spoke, then looked at the three mages who stood up to introduce themselves. Once they were done, she got lightly to her feet, dusting herself off. "Iridessa Lancely. Firestorm Adept." She said briskly, looking round at the other mages then sitting down again.
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Name: Iridessa Lancely
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firestorm
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Iridessa is tall, about 6"1, and very slender. Her dark hair hangs down to her waist in beaded dreadlocks. She often wears a simple black tunic and leggings, with a brown heavy duty boots. She has intricate black tattoos all over both arms which she got on her travels.
Equipment: Just two knives by way of weaponry. She has a dark brown leather satchel in which she keeps her money and other small provisions.
Demeanour: Iridessa practically drips arrogance. She's loud, impatient, and overly confident in her abilities. She doesn't exactly look for fights, but she's always happy when one comes her way. She drinks often, and likes to party. She's always up for a good laugh and likes to be entertained. She's a quick study, although she doesn't like reading very much. She knows next to nothing about the theories behind elementals, or ancient history and other scholastic fields. Always active,Iridessa prefers to be on the move and where the action is. She has issues with knowing when to step back, though, and this often gets her into trouble.
History: Iridessa was the last born of eight children, all the others sons. Her early childhood was good, filled with laughter and games. Her parents provided for all of them as best as they could. Her father was a Metallic, and although he never advanced past Mage, he was a very skilled blacksmith. Her mother was an academic, and a prominent historian who worked at their regional Academy, one of the few humans to work there. Dess was a wild child, never particularly ladylike. At the age of ten her Pyromancer abilities manifested themselves. Her brothers, all as unruly as she, had the same Element, and all of them with the exception of one became Firestorms. Due to Dess's ability to learn quickly, she advanced to Adept by the time she was 19. However, her lack of restraint and forethought has meant she's reached a plateau in her skills and can't seem to make any meaningful improvement.
In her teenage years, Dess appeared to be a magnet for trouble. She was reprimanded several times for abuse of her powers, and around that time started to leave the academy for extended lengths of time to explore the world. Her tough exterior really came into being then, as a manner of protection for the young girl- which isn't to say she's secretly soft. She finds that it suits her nature perfectly. She ventured out into other elemental civilizations, using her abilities for the sideshows people loved to watch. Her use of fire is more showy as a result, and involves lots of elaborate physical movements. This constant use of her abilities also further aided her in her learning, and provided an outlet for her wild nature. At 19, she came back to the Academy for good and became an Adept shortly afterwards,
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Introductions? All right then. I am Ling the Silver Vial, or just Ling if you're not big on titles. Ling sketched a short bow towards the Commander and Master Smith in equal measure. "Born of the Dragon Empire, I am an Alchemist, though not much of a Nightshade. Though that's probably for the best... I digress. If you're expecting trouble, I'll favour a combative role where I can fight from range. Kei does the talking in a fight, whether through bolts or catapulted vials." She lightly tapped the stock of her crossbow as she spoke.
"I've also packed my gear for providing potions and poisons as needed, though I only have a few of each on hand right now... will need to mix up some more later. Anyway, sorry. Rambling again."
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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It's alright if you're nervous. Drew said to Ling, standing up straight and speaking out loud to show a bit of solidarity. "Gods know that any sane being would be." It was a simple gesture, but he thought it would at least be worth something. Or he hoped so. "Anyway, I guess that means I'm next. Drew Hidalgo. Storms Adept." With that, he returned to silence and slumped back down. He said what was needed, time to let the others get their introductions out of the way.
He now tried to get a better handle on who was here. There was the Nightshade girl, who seemed different than the others he had run across. He could recognize Eve and Nataly from the courses teaching the basics of their element, though he was unsure if they'd remember him. Of course he recognized the Master, but the rest were all new to him. Some of them seemed interesting, but he was going to avoid making any sort of judgement about them without actually getting to know them. He used to do that during his earlier years at the academy, and he was trying to stop doing that to be a little more sociable.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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Commander, Vanahara said shortly, the first words she'd spoken around the group, giving a respectful nod and a short bow. Military protocol was a confusing tangle sometimes, but respect was not. "Vanahara Pike. Ironworker adept. Thank you for this opportunity, sir."
She gave her attention to the others when they spoke, but her eyes inevitably returned to the Commander's armor. It fit him well, and even at this distance she could sense the complicated connections and fittings between each piece. Forget the airship—even the craftsmanship Hayes wore was fascinating. Vana glanced around, but didn't spot any of her fellow Ironworkers—or even fellow Metallics. She didn't know if that was a disappointment or a relief—her classmates didn't seem to like her very much.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Nataly tilted her head back and forth a moment trying to determine whether or not it was worth it to dirty her hand in greeting the dumped Don Juan. It wasn't meant as a slight, his hand still looked pretty dusted even after an attempt to clean it. I guess I am going on this trip with him. Apparently. Better keep in good standing for now. She tentatively reached out and shook his hand, not wanting to grip too tightly lest she smudge up her hand prior to boarding. "Nataly, and I'll probably stick with Joey. Lot easier to remember."
She didn't have much time to ask Joey the specifics on what Alexi did to him, probably didn't need to since Alexi had a well known reputation and she'd be sure to tell Nataly when she returned. The point was moot when the commander of the Airship spoke up to take control of the gathering. When he said his name it definitely rang a few bells. Raven Hayes sounded very familiar. She shook her head. Nah. Couldn't be. He seemed to be a rather no-nonsense commander and it seemed to fit the theme of the team. Joey was the only one Nataly recognized from the party last night. Eve wasn't even out and about at it, probably more focused on the task at hand than Nataly was. As the introductions wound their way around the group, she caught at least one name she thought she had forgotten. Drew she remembered from the early days at the Academy before he went into the Storm classes. They weren't close but they at least talked about controlling the weather back in the day. He seemed pretty wrapped up in his studies though. Another no show last night.
Introductions eventually worked around to her. "OK, so my name is Nataly AHN-DRA-DAY." She stressed each phonetic syllable so the pronunciation was clear. Her last name was three syllables, everyone back home knew that. She hated having to correct people who shortened it to two. "Hydromancer, Blizzard Adept. Northern representative, I guess." She punctuated that last one with a shrug. As far as she knew, that combined with her status at the top of of the Adept classes were why she was chosen. "But yeah, totally ready to do...whatever it is we're doing."
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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AHHHN-DRAAA-DAAAY...? Huh. Wonder how you spell that... Horatio went over the pronunciation a few more times, looking on as the familiar faced Hydro girl gave out her details to the crowd. He looked about the faces of his brand new acquaintances once more. "Yup, whole lotta young features here..." he gave brief thought to the ages concerning the other mages, specifically the females. He looked at the one massive mountain of a girl, the one who called herself an Ironworker. If he were a lesser man, the sight of her would make him feel emasculated. Naturally, this wasn't the case with ol' Joey. If anything, the imposing figure and fearsome disposition intrigued him.
He decided to pipe up once Nataly finished. "Oi, hey, hi." He started in a bit of faux-timidness. "Me name's Horatio Dunst. Joey, for short." He felt reintroducing himself was a little pointless, but he made sure to say his name louder a second time, just in case the commander didn't hear him. "I...uh...well, I can make little rocks and sand move. Got called a Earthshaper when I got here? A...Boulder Mage or whatever." He wasn't entirely sure what any of that stuff meant, but sounded like it was lining up with what the others were saying, so he felt like he was on the right track.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Crossing his arms, Tobias looked around the circle of people as they each introduced themselves. He wasn't good with names, or faces and hoped for dear life he could at least attempt to have some idea of how he might address them. Apart from Ling and the Illuminate master-Alexander?-he wasn't quite sure on the others. Realizing he should probably introduce himself, he cleared his throat and said,
"My name is Tobias. Tobias Crane, I'm a Nightshade Alchemist. Weaver." Inclining his head to the commander he added, "Thank you very much for this opportunity." Listening to their rather loud conversations, it was obvious at least some of them had been to the party last night. He wasn't surprised, as it had been a larger event. Adjusting his bag again, he wondered rather nervously if he'd forgotten anything. No. He'd checked multiple times, he had all that he needed. Everything was fine. He'd introduced himself, and now he was pretty sure he wouldn't be required to do anything else...unless someone started a conversation with him.
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Name: Tobias Crane
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Weaver
Appearance: Tobias has light brown hair, that is curly and kept quite messy. It’s isn’t that long, but reaches the nape of his neck, curling up slightly. He has a slight fringe, curling over his forehead and a few strands falling over his eyes. Body type wise, he is tall and lean, with only a hint of any muscle definition. His eyes are a light watery blue, like light just filtering through the surface of a lake. Clothes wise, he wears pale grey coloured robes with a belt tied at his waist, carrying potion bottles-empty and full-as well as pouches of herbs and other such things.
Equipment: Tobias carries his potions equipment around with him at all times, as well as a small notepad to jot down any new recipes he's thought of. If he's going somewhere dangerous, he might carry a larger side bag, and perhaps a short blade.
Demeanor: Tobias is quite blunt with his approach to things, and likes to get things done as quickly as possible. He can also be brutally honest with people, and can come off as being rude or haughty. He feels as though showing he cares will ultimately back fire on him in some way. When others make a mistake, he can get a little irritated, but not that much, however when he himself does something wrong, it seems like he doesn't really care but really, he judges himself more harshly then he would anyone else. This was good for pushing himself to learn, but it can quickly turn self-destructive. He has trouble with making a strong or lasting relationship, and while to others it can seem just arrogant, but really he's afraid of hurting himself, or the other person. In this way, he can be somewhat a coward, but makes up for it by refusing to show any weakness at any time.
History: At the time when Tobias was born, his parents-His father an Ironworker and his mother a Pyromancer-got along fine. It wasn't until he was around 5 that arguments started happening. His mother was a master, and she spent a lot of time in the academy teaching the younger and less experienced Mages, and in his fathers opinion, not enough time at home. In his small room at the top of the stairs, the young boy would cover his ears, huddled away in his blankets, and wish for something anything to take him away.
Even thought his parents kept arguing, they seemed reluctant to actually split, seeing as they had a still only 9 year old son. But, using his parents now normally frequent disinterestedness to his advantage, he would sneak away to the library and imagine himself away to a different kind of world, one where he wasn't afraid of doing anything that could set off his parents. Then, once he turned 11, his mother finally left, and took him with her to the academy, leaving his father behind. After finding that he had an interest in potions and herbs, she entrusted him to the hands of the other Nightshades, then left to pursue her own studies.
As he grew and progressed in his studies, he found a little time here and there to visit his father, but never bothered to go and see his mother. Soon though, he stopped going to see his father, only sending the occasional letter, and focused entirely on his studies. In his classes, he strived to be better and better, but rejected any offers of friendship from his peers, seeing them as just something that might distract him, or hurt him by leaving. Someone leaving wasn't something he'd well and truly experienced before, but from watching his parents, he felt he'd learnt how painful it might be and never wanted it for himself, as he couldn't see anything good come of it.
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Commander Hayes listened, noting the skills and name of each person, though two stood out in particular. First was the Northerner of the group, Nataly Andrade, who made a point of making sure everyone knew how to pronounce her name. Different to see a northerner down here, but it was an interesting thing to note all the same.
The second was the stone mage Horatio Dunst, the stone mage. Joey for short, and wanted man in some towns. He would have to make sure that one was aware of his...troublemaking had not gone completely unnoticed. Otherwise, it seemed most were grateful to go on the trip, which he doubted would remain the case. Either way, they could not linger out for long, and he grew tired of being gawked at all day.
"A pleasure to meet you all. High time for you all to see the Academy and world in another view. Hope none of you are afraid of heights. Course, I'd just have one of my men take you to your rooms right away." With a wave, Commander Hayes led the mages up the ramp onto the ship. Almost immediately, inside the ship was a part of another kind of world. A dull rumble seemed to constantly be echoing through the ship, along with the collection of metal pipes and rails all along the walls.
As the mages made their quick few steps up to the stairs to the main deck, they passed by a pair of mechanical soldiers, armored from head to toe, bristling with parts, and most notably the red eyes which stood out from their otherwise dark armor. They did no movement to even acknowledge the arrival of their Commander and his guests, just continued to stand their guard arms at their sides.
As they ascended, a few other soldiers and workers passed them by, either seeming to need to go about a task down below or bringing something up with themselves. These generally seemed more normal...except for the odd exceptional metal arm, or strange gadget which did who-knows-what.
"Welcome to the main deck. Feel free to take a look over the railings or wherever you want. Just don't get too close to the propellers. Hate to lose someone this early in the journey." Commander Hayes glanced over a few parts of the ship in particular, taking a quick look around. "I'll share more details on our particular mission once we are airborne...until then, any particular questions as we prep for final takeoff?" He paused, looking over a particular engine leading to one of the propellers. Almost as if on cue, a woman with blue hair ran over and opened a panel on the side and began to work on things inside.
"I also realize that not everyone who we had chosen was on time, Master Smith. Time is, unfortunately, not a luxury that I can simply give. If they are not here by the time we are taking off and if the ladder does not reach, they shall be left behind." Commander Hayes informed the Master, turning away from the work and making his way back over to the mages. The thrumming of the ship seemed to pick up as the propellers all seemed to begin to pick up speed, causing the large ship to groan slightly as it finally began to leave the ground.
"Shouldn't do that Commander, you know how the Prime Minister is better than anyone." The woman who had been working on the engine stated, still not looking away from her work. Without even looking, she sighed as Commander Hayes shrugged. "Someday its going to bite you, you know."
"Not today, Alice." Commander Hayes replied wryly, keeping his attention to the mages for any questions or complaints they had.
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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Silvana made sure to listen to everyone else's introductions after her own, trying to make sure she remembered everyone's names. Once those were over, they followed Commander Hayes onto the airship. It was magnificent to get to be on one. It looked spectacular, though she wasn't sure how to feel about the soldiers who just stood there with no response to anything at all.
After everyone who had arrived thus far was on board, Hayes asked them for questions. Silvana didn't really have a lot of them, but there was at least one. "How long is the flight going to take?" She wasn't used to long travels, so this would be a first for her.
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Name: Silvana Brendin
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firesmith
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Standing at 5 feet 9 inches, Silvana has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that is wavy and reaches to just above her shoulders. She's got an athletic build with a fair amount of muscle because of her specialty, and she has a slight tan as she likes being outside. Her clothes usually consist of bright colors, typically being red or orange. Her robes are slightly dark red, blending into some orange on the ends of her sleeves and the bottom of the robes.
Equipment: Silvana carries a pendant under her robe in the shape of a flame, a gift from her parents to congratulate her becoming an Adept, and to motivate her towards getting the higher ranks of Weaver and Master.
Demeanor: Silvana had always been a good girl. Her parents treated her well, and she had treated them well in return. Kind to others around her, and positive about most things around her, she wouldn't dream of arguing with someone, nevermind being angry towards others.
History: Silvana was born to Nina, a Metallic Weaver who specialized in Ironwork, and Timothy, a merchant who did well enough as one. As an only child, she was spoiled a little bit, but her parents did their best not to make her feel like she could get anything she wanted. They gave her enough, and she was happy with what she got.
With her mother being a mage, Silvana was used to seeing magic on occasion. Her mother didn't need to use it often at home, but it came in handy at times. Silvana hoped that she could one day become a mage like her mother, so that she could do all the cool stuff too.
Silvana did all she could to help her parents at home, whatever task they asked her to do this or that day, and she rarely said no to them. Since she couldn't go with her mother to wherever she needed to be, she went with her father most of the time to the market, helping him sell his products. When her mother was at home, Silvana and her would spar with dull swords since she had asked her mother if she could train her to become strong like she was, what with her needing to be strong as an Ironworker and all that. And since Nina couldn't train her in magic Silvana didn't have, she agreed to help her become stronger physically.
One evening, when she was at the age of 7, the family was enjoying some down time in front of the fireplace, Silvana got extra interested in it for some reason she couldn't explain at that moment. She got closer and closer, and once she was close enough, she somehow made the flame dance almost exactly like she wanted. Her parents watched for a moment, then looked at each other and agreed that the next day they would take their daughter to the Academy.
There, Silvana was questioned on a lot of things, and asked to show what she could do. Provided with a small flame, Silvana got the flame to dance as she had done the evening before. After all that was done, Nina and Tim were told that she would need to attend the Academy in order to gain control of her powers.
So began her life at the Academy, where she would learn to become a Pyromancer. It wasn't the same kind of magic as her mother had, but she was thrilled nonetheless to be able to use magic of her own. She attended classes, learned the various ways to control fire, and eventually found that she preferred Firesmithing over Firestorming. There was just something about making a weapon or a companion out of fire that fascinated her more than simply throwing it around all willy nilly. Plus her mother had trained her in using a weapon, so that did factor into her decision as well.
She studied as hard as she could, becoming an Adept in her late teens. Her parents were proud of her when she became an Adept, giving her a pendant in the shape of a flame so that she might one day become a Master. Silvana was more than happy with being an Adept for now, but still wanting to study harder to become a Weaver like her mother. She wanted to make her parents even prouder of her, as they were the most precious and important people of her life.
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Nataly took in all the sights and sounds of the airship's entry with a bit of bewildered silence. Gran Helada was not exactly the most advanced of Kingdoms, with many of the advances of the Academy not making it North, but this was roads ahead of anything she had ever seen before, complete with the mechanical men standing guard at the door. At least she hoped they were men. The eyes were a little off-putting.
The main deck was beautiful though. Even without taking off, it still offered quite a view of the sprawling fields around the academy. It held the promise of even greater vistas in the air. It made Nataly a little nervous, especially with the remark about the propellers, but not enough for her to try and break the aloof image she was projecting at the moment. She was happy to see another blunette like herself and Eve though. Even for Hydros, blue was a rare color so seeing that put her at ease about some of the people in the employ of this commander. One of the Toasters, Silvana, that was it, she asked about how long the flight was and brought up a good point. Nataly's stomach chimed in as well, the absence of breakfast not sitting well with her. "Yeah, are there going to be some in-flight snacks or something?" She knew the trip down to the Academy from Cartaquilla took a few days by boat and horse, but she didn't know what kind of speed was possible in something like this.
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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Alice sighed as she arrived to meeting on time to avoid getting in trouble. It was a thing she was taught at an age that if she wasn't on time for training or meals with the General, she would be in a lot of trouble and thinking of that made her shiver at the times when she was younger and she was sometimes late. She knew that the General who raised her was kind but when he was angry, you did not want to be a target of that angry. She introduced herself and then made herself go silent as she listened to the others that made it to the meeting and introduced themselves as well.
As she listened she began to think of what life was at Voleros and how everyone is doing. She had been traveling for five years now away from her town and she had learned a lot about the world around them and she made a mental note on her free time to get away from her duties in the academy, to visit them and tell them what she had been doing. She absently allowed her fingers to run through her hair, a habit she had whenever she was thinking and even after all these years she couldn't stop herself from playing with her hair.
When she finally stopped her thoughts she took note of her surroundings and was impressed at what she was seeing since all her in the village she only had to live with the little things the village could offer her and began to wonder how long it would take to get to the academy sin ce she never been on something like this.
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Name: Alice Cel
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Mastery: Illuminate
Specialty: Defender
Rank: Adept
Appearance: She had long blonde hair that reaches all the way to her waist that looks silky smooth to the touch. Her skin has a little tan but it is hardly noticeable unless someone is very observant. She had deep blue eyes that shine bright whenever she had happy or dark whenever she is made. She had a slim form that holds a lot of strength for a body with the height of 5'1". She had some scars on on the back of her neck which is covered mostly by her hair unless it is up in a high braid.
She wears a long white dress that had straps that are able to fit in two finger that is kinda like a vest that can be unbuttoned but not all the way. Under the dress she wears a faded pink off the shoulder shirt leaving the skin in between the straps and the sleeves of the faded pink shirt exposed but not enough to be considered inappropriate.
Equipment: She had a bow and a few hundred arrows that she carries with her all the time courtesy of the general who took her in as a child to make sure she had something to protect herself encase she couldn't manifest her light bow and arrow , she has a small hunting dagger she keeps in her bag whenever she is wandering around in the wilderness
Demeanor: She is a very shy girl who only talks to people she knows she can trust, but she warms up very quickly to people she knows that would never let her down. Under her shy exterior she is a sweet caring girl who would do anything to protect the ones she cares about and loves
History: She grew up in a very small town in the mountains called Voleroes that was very isolated from the world surrounding them. She had lost both her parents to illness that couldn't be cured and she was taken in by a family friend who was also the general of the small town. The general was kind and very loving but he would be very strict when he needed to be weather it be her or the small army that guarded their small down. He treated everyone in the army like they were part of his family and would do anything to make sure they had everything from weapons to food.
Around the age of nine she had found out that she had illuminate she was training on hand to hand combat and suddenly a bow made out of pure light appeared in her hand. Confused she went to her foster father and told him and he told her of how her mother was an illuminate before she decided to give up on using that power when she moved to Voleroes and started a family with her father who was a blacksmith. Her mother had apparently been close to reaching a master, but she was tired of her life being controlled by her powers and gave up using it not knowing that it would be past down if she had a child of her own.
After learning this she became determine to reach the status that her mother was so close to getting and by the time she was almost 17, which was the age where she was ready to go out on her own she had reached the level of adept. The general knew she had dreams of leaving their small town and on her 17th birthday he gave her a small hunting dagger and a bow with 60 arrows for more protection.
So the day after she had turned 17, she left the only place she knew to explore the world making a promise to everyone that she would visit
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Drew made his way onto the ship, giving some of the mages a simple, polite bow as he let them get on ahead of him. He wanted to take the time to actually get a look at the thing from the outside before he could examine the interior. Despite all his concerns about the journey itself, the technology of their hosts fascinated him. To be able to move so freely through the air was something that he envied. He had some control over the winds, but gravity was a force he had yet to overcome.
Once they were on the deck, he still found himself gazing at the interior. The soldiers were strange, but the airship was quite the work of art and engineering. He watched the propellers start to spin and said aloud "I wonder if an Ironworker could replicate the engines if they got a good look at them..." he didn't know much about the elements outside his own, so he didn't know if what he asked was an easy task or something even a Master couldn't accomplish. He thought about asking Vanahara directly, but going up one he hardly knew and asking about their abilities might have been rude. Perhaps the engineer would be willing to talk.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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Joey made a slow, curious ascend into the ship, letting other mages pass by as he took the time to observe the autonomous sentries posted up at the threshold. He was noticeably astounded by their presence. "Coorr blimey..." Wide eyed, he gave one of the bots a quick up-and-down look. Wasn't like anything he's ever seen before. Definitely wasn't typical human technology. He gave a slow gander into the robot's eyes, red in color, just like the commander's. They were cold, impersonal, mostly neutral. "What makes you tick, mate...?" He knocked at the guard's chest armor, and a mostly solid reverb vibrated back. Slowly placing his ear to its chest, he could make out something resembling a rhythmic ticking. "Like clockwork..."
Figuring he could oogle the mechanical persons some other time, Horatio decided to delve further into the ship, making his way towards the main deck, in time. The sights that could be seen from such a height and vantage would no doubt be just as amazing a sight as the robo-security. He meandered around the deck, taking note of the skyline, as well as the numerous workers and crewmen moving about. It was natural a ship of this size and complexity would have workers. He briefly wondered if he too would have to perform chores and assorted busywork within the ship's walls. "Eh, probably wouldn't be anything I haven't done before...probably."
Then, the robe-shrouded hydro girl made a comment about food. It made Joey realize that he too, skipped out on breakfast. Though, the disruptive signs of hunger never reached him. Might've been the excitement and curiosity of the whole ordeal that kept it at bay.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Eve followed the others onto the ship, only glancing at the two guards as she passed them. Her eyes scanned the deck, her gaze just as cool as the metal soldiers' were, as she chose to stand near the railing as far from the propellers as possible. Better safe than sorry, yeah? As she looked over the rail at the scene below them, she heard the others ask a few questions.
"I have one question, Why us? Not just us individuals, but this Academy. There are other Academies that are closer to you or to where you're going are there not?" Eve turned away from the railing and focused her gaze on the Commander. "There must be some reason. Otherwise, why go through the trouble?"
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Name: Eve Celeste
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancy
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Equipment: She has a large sword with a water rune in the hilt so she can summon water to use even when there is none in the air, and a pouch to carry health and stamina potions, along with the odd antivenom or vial of poison.
Demeanor: Eve is decidedly cold towards others, the type who'd stick to herself rather than a large group. She'll criticize you, but also build you up stronger at the same time. She is not unkind, just distant, and is a very loyal teammate and friend.
History: Eve grew up in a kingdom very close to the storm, you could see it on the horizon from anywhere in the kingdom. She lived with her parents, helping out in the shop they ran selling wood carvings and flowers from her mother's garden. Her mother was a storm, though only an Adept, she helped the people in her town keep their gardens growing well in the loose, sandy soil of the area, while her father was a jack-of-all-trades who could do things from building furniture and houses to making a clay vase and other cookware. Eve's parents found out she had the potential to be an elemental at the age of 8 and sent her off to the Academy when she turned 10.
That's where her cold personality started. Instead of being as kind and open to everyone as she had been at home with her parents she pulled into herself, only trusting a select few and becoming harsh and overly cautious to others. She decided that she wanted to become a blizzard when she saw a duel between one and a storm, a few weeks after finding out that she had the most potential for hydromancy than any other element.
In the years that followed Eve focused on making herself stronger through any means possible, fighting, travelling the land, studying texts written by or about strong blizzards, and countless hours of meditation. Her current ability is that of an Adept, but she has been able to cover her arms and torso in ice as a type of light armor through her training, but it really takes some concentration to make and is not very strong yet.
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It is regrettable but not unexpected. I think we can make do with what we have commander. We did make our lists long for this very reason.
Alexander replied as the other students asked their questions or explored the ship. It was good to know that there was a good mix of curiosity and sensibility amongst some members of their group. It would make things far more interesting in the long run. He himself had received a briefing on the situation before hand, but didn't want to both answering question the commander himself was perfectly capable of handling.
"I'm more interested in where I could find the mess or a break area. I think I've had enough of work for now. May as well enjoy the time off while it lasts."
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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The flight to the storm will take most of the day. There will be meals, of course. I wouldn't expect mages to not be hungry along the journey. Commander Hayes replied, giving a small wave back to the stairs. "It will be served in the serving section of the ship, and while it won't be anything extravagant it will be filling, which is what I hope is enough for you all. So yes, in-flight snacks will be served. Downstairs, and then to the left, and don't mind the cook's unique sense of humor. He likes to see the looks on faces when he tells them what he serves."
As the ship finished the takeoff, and began to turn to move northwards, Commander Hayes turned his attention to Eve, regarding her, then the rest of the mages as the ship finally began to make speed towards their destination. With the wind now picking up as they moved, he grinned and gave a small wave now to the mages.
"I am assuming you know of each other, at the very least. And that is something that can play a part in what you do. In this case, the reason is that we believe the Academies in the north can't be trusted. Not in this particular situation, because we believe that they may have been a part of the problem. Good luck getting them to admit to that even if you throw it at them...Personally, I'd like it thrown at them from a cannon, but it is not my choice. Yet. Perhaps it won't come to that, but for now I would not trust any of the mages to the north..."
With that said, the Commander made his way to the front of the ship, turning away from the Elementals. "For now, I would suggest either sleeping off the previous evening, or having something to eat down in the mess hall. Until then, I have a ship that needs to be guided...Feel free to mingle with the crew, just don't attempt to take anything. The Iron Guard won't be quite as...forgiving as anyone else, and I'd hate to see someone lose a hand so early. As for boundries, keep your wits about you. Stay out of the other cabins, engine room, and weapons rooms. I won't have you bothering the crew, bringing us out of the sky, or blasting a damn hole in the ship. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a ship to manage. "
And with that, the Elementals were largely left to their own devices for the beginning of their journey...
Hours Later...
The Elementals, crew, and pretty much anything on board the ship was awakened and alerted by a collection of shouts, bells, and other assorted alarms. As many of the crew made their way to the deck, they were greeted by the sun starting to lower from the sky. While the sunset itself was nearly idyllic, what was in front of the airship was far more captivating.
The Storm, the Divide, the Elemental Scar, the mark had gone by many names. And many of them were a good description of what it was. A giant storm of elemental forces constantly raging, raining their power down upon the earth. Some might say it was a thing of beauty, as some elements combined into something greater, sometimes temporarily shifting the landscape to do impressive and destructive arts. Ice combining with shadows to make ice that would shatter twice, fire and earth combining to rain meteors, light and metals slamming into the ground and then projecting a beacon from where they struck for a small while.
While the storm raged, Raven Hayes was stepping about the deck, his voice at times booming to make sure the right person heard him. As he finally stopped and noted the arrival of the Elementals on the deck, he marched over looking rather displeased at what was in front of them.
"Elementals, welcome to the Scar. I imagine many of you have never seen it, so you might as well take a good look. Quite the sight, isn't it? Some scavengers say the metal from the sky is of the finest quality, though you'd be quite insane to go down there to gather that stuff without something special." Raven Hayes said, gesturing over the side of the ship.
"Since it has now become a direct problem, I might as well explain why you are here. We have learned that there are groups of mages running around with something that pulls the storm. At first, we thought it was just slowly beginning to expand, but then it began to expand in very specific directions. Selective Elemental Camps, more often than not, seemed to be in the general direction. Upon attempting to investigate, they smashed an entire room to nothing before we could get close, and scattered to the winds. I'm betting you can guess what the storm did when the group suddenly relocated?" Raven Hayes continued wryly, turning his back to the storm to address the mages direction.
"Now, as you can see, the storm seems quite solid here, but we did not fly through the storm to get to your Academy. There was a valley that was relatively clear here, but is here no longer. Which means someone decided it would be handy to close this pass, at least for a time. Hard to imagine whatever moves the storm being able to stand up to it for long. So, we have a pair of options, but technically I only see one that works for us."
Putting on a grin that could be considered a bit too joyous for the occasion, he counted off the pair of options on his hand. "One, we sit here and wait for who knows how long it takes for the storm to finally retreat back enough to where we can eventually go through. Could be a day, could be a week. Obviously, we can't sit around that long when more of this garbage is spreading. Two...we shield the ship, with your help of course, and fly through the damned thing. I would like to think that you could help in initial shielding...perhaps some additional metal or elemental reinforcement, before we make the attempt. And then some additional help as we fly through. So, what do you think? Think you can all handle it? Because otherwise this trip might take a bit longer with a few bits missing from the ship...but let me be clear that we will be going through, as we don't have time to simply wait for this storm."
Raven proceeded to go about inspecting what his crew was up to and making sure things were being done properly as cannons and other weapons were brought out. It seemed as if many of the soldiers on the ship intended to fight the storm, as insane as it seemed. "You'll have a bit of time to choose a position Elementals! Or find a better idea to dissipate a storm of otherworldly power!"
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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The Scar was... fascinating. All of the six magical Elements combining with one another could only be described as chaotic and harmonious, rampant and wondrous, all at the same time. Ling caught herself staring seconds before Commander Hayes approached. So the plan was to use magic to reinforce the ship's already notable armour... she was of no direct help there. Her magical capabilities were limited. So she had to find an alternative.
"Commander, Master Smith, I don't feel that I will be of particular help in providing a shield for the ship," she began, "but I used the downtime to prepare a handful of minor restorative potions, plus a couple of tonics to bolster the mind and sharpen the drinker's magical power a little." She indicated half a dozen vials on her belt: three red potions and three blue.
"Assuming the others will work to prevent damage to the ship, I'll see what I can do about keeping them up and casting spells. Although..." Ling had only just noticed the crew readying weapons all across the deck. "You're expecting a physical fight just as much as a magical assault from the instability of the Scar? What could live in such a storm?" The answer to that question was probably one that she would find out for herself soon enough, but she felt the need to ask all the same. She drew Kei from its holster on her back, and straightened its arms out, tautening the string with the motion. Ammunition would come later.
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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Iridessa examined every inch of the airship was she walked through with feigned indifference, adopting the manner of someone who'd seen it all before, which she hadn't. The most impressive means of transport she'd ever used prior to this trip was a particularly fast horse, which unfortunately she'd lost in a bet. She passed by the Commander answering some of the questions of the other elementals and paused a little distance away, just close enough to hear what he was saying. She grinned at the mention of food, and made her way downstairs to the mess hall with the directions he'd given.
Commander Hayes hadn't been kidding about the quality of the food. Iridessa had been on some hard times during her travels, but she didn't remember anything shed eaten being quite so... Unappealing. Even so, it was edible, and she supposed that would have to do. After finishing her meal, she explored the airship some more, coming across a group of particularly friendly crew members who made for an amenable audience for her bawdy jokes.
Hours later, Iridessa stood on the deck, summoned by the unapologetic klaxons that had sounded across the ship. In front of them lay a massive elemental storm. She'd heard stories about such an occurrence, although their sources had been rather doubtful. She looked on in amazement at the destructive yet entrancing nature of elements. Fire, ice, metal, all dancing in a ferociously beautiful motion across the landscape. That was exactly the kind of power she aspired to. The kind that awed those who weren't even on the receiving end of it. Her mind was split between the sight of the storm and the Commander's words. Elemental reinforcement? Iridessa had never used her abilities in any way that was even vaguely constructive. She mostly destroyed things- clothes, furniture, huts. She had no idea how she would carry out his instructions, but decided she could figure it out on the go. That couldn't be too hard, right? She'd do it just fine.
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Name: Iridessa Lancely
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firestorm
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Iridessa is tall, about 6"1, and very slender. Her dark hair hangs down to her waist in beaded dreadlocks. She often wears a simple black tunic and leggings, with a brown heavy duty boots. She has intricate black tattoos all over both arms which she got on her travels.
Equipment: Just two knives by way of weaponry. She has a dark brown leather satchel in which she keeps her money and other small provisions.
Demeanour: Iridessa practically drips arrogance. She's loud, impatient, and overly confident in her abilities. She doesn't exactly look for fights, but she's always happy when one comes her way. She drinks often, and likes to party. She's always up for a good laugh and likes to be entertained. She's a quick study, although she doesn't like reading very much. She knows next to nothing about the theories behind elementals, or ancient history and other scholastic fields. Always active,Iridessa prefers to be on the move and where the action is. She has issues with knowing when to step back, though, and this often gets her into trouble.
History: Iridessa was the last born of eight children, all the others sons. Her early childhood was good, filled with laughter and games. Her parents provided for all of them as best as they could. Her father was a Metallic, and although he never advanced past Mage, he was a very skilled blacksmith. Her mother was an academic, and a prominent historian who worked at their regional Academy, one of the few humans to work there. Dess was a wild child, never particularly ladylike. At the age of ten her Pyromancer abilities manifested themselves. Her brothers, all as unruly as she, had the same Element, and all of them with the exception of one became Firestorms. Due to Dess's ability to learn quickly, she advanced to Adept by the time she was 19. However, her lack of restraint and forethought has meant she's reached a plateau in her skills and can't seem to make any meaningful improvement.
In her teenage years, Dess appeared to be a magnet for trouble. She was reprimanded several times for abuse of her powers, and around that time started to leave the academy for extended lengths of time to explore the world. Her tough exterior really came into being then, as a manner of protection for the young girl- which isn't to say she's secretly soft. She finds that it suits her nature perfectly. She ventured out into other elemental civilizations, using her abilities for the sideshows people loved to watch. Her use of fire is more showy as a result, and involves lots of elaborate physical movements. This constant use of her abilities also further aided her in her learning, and provided an outlet for her wild nature. At 19, she came back to the Academy for good and became an Adept shortly afterwards,
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When Vanahara returned to the main deck, she expected to see the same unchanging white-clouded view she'd been glancing at for hours now. Instead, she was met with a roiling mass of elements masquerading as the Storm. Curiously, she didn't seem shocked or afraid like some of her companions; her only reaction was a slight narrowing of her eyes. The Storm had been a constant presence on the horizon when she still lived in her village; she was wary of it, and justly so, but it held no superstitious fear for her now. In fact, there had been some in her village who worshipped the Storm as a separate deity; she was used to it.
Keeping her head about her in the face of the Storm might well be a valuable ability in this situation, she thought. Couldn't hurt to offer.
"Sir," she spoke up after the Nightshade made her offer of alchemical support. "I have some experience with the Storm. I can try to keep the outer shell intact at weak points."
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Eve simply slept during the downtime that was given. She was never truly tired it seemed, although she could sleep easily whenever she wished, it had always been this way, even before her elemental powers appeared. She was startled a moment by the klaxons that woke her, but by the time she got to the bridge her composure was back.
"I too have some experience with the storm. I'll help strengthen the hull with my ice." As she spoke she looked around for her classmate, the other Blizzard. "Nataly, would you help me? Together our ice would be much stronger than if I were to do this alone. We can pull the ice from the storm itself to strengthen the shield as we go through."
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Name: Eve Celeste
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancy
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Equipment: She has a large sword with a water rune in the hilt so she can summon water to use even when there is none in the air, and a pouch to carry health and stamina potions, along with the odd antivenom or vial of poison.
Demeanor: Eve is decidedly cold towards others, the type who'd stick to herself rather than a large group. She'll criticize you, but also build you up stronger at the same time. She is not unkind, just distant, and is a very loyal teammate and friend.
History: Eve grew up in a kingdom very close to the storm, you could see it on the horizon from anywhere in the kingdom. She lived with her parents, helping out in the shop they ran selling wood carvings and flowers from her mother's garden. Her mother was a storm, though only an Adept, she helped the people in her town keep their gardens growing well in the loose, sandy soil of the area, while her father was a jack-of-all-trades who could do things from building furniture and houses to making a clay vase and other cookware. Eve's parents found out she had the potential to be an elemental at the age of 8 and sent her off to the Academy when she turned 10.
That's where her cold personality started. Instead of being as kind and open to everyone as she had been at home with her parents she pulled into herself, only trusting a select few and becoming harsh and overly cautious to others. She decided that she wanted to become a blizzard when she saw a duel between one and a storm, a few weeks after finding out that she had the most potential for hydromancy than any other element.
In the years that followed Eve focused on making herself stronger through any means possible, fighting, travelling the land, studying texts written by or about strong blizzards, and countless hours of meditation. Her current ability is that of an Adept, but she has been able to cover her arms and torso in ice as a type of light armor through her training, but it really takes some concentration to make and is not very strong yet.
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Joey popped up with a start, knife held at the ready as the invasive, blaring, ring-a-ling-dinging of the alarms shot him out of slumber that was, arguably, some of the best sleep he's had in awhile. He made mental comparisons to sleeping on a normal, sea-faring ship, and how the two scenarios just couldn't compare. "S'like sleeping onna cloud..." He regarded as he rushed up to the main deck. "What'd I miss, what'd i mis-" His barely wrapped feet slid to a stop as he got a good look at what all the commotion was about.
"Seven bloody hells..." He looked on as he holstered his blade, awestruck, as the pure, swirling, writhing mass of magic raged on the horizon. It was something he knew about, obviously, everyone and their mother knew about it. The monks and nuns he lived amongst almost always mentioned it. But seeing it in person was something else entirely different. For once, he was kinda speechless as he gazed into it. Commander Hayes broke him from his stupor, as gave a briefing on why the mages were there in the first place.
"Free, fine metals? That's like, free resources! If we can get down there...that means free money!" He said, louder than he wanted. "Er, ahem, I mean, uh, i'm not sure if I can't stand with the other kids when it comes to me magical expertise." He explained, thumbing over to the others. "A man can make a pebble do a good jack, but I can't put a oliver to something of this magnitude!" He gave a quick glance towards the girl with the crossbow, sounded like she was in the same boat as he was. "If there's something else you'd have me t'do cap'n, m'all ears."
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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The thought of food definitely appealed to Nataly so she was part of the crew that headed to the mess hall soon after being dismissed by the Commander to their own devices. She was disappointed with the food on offer, though it made sense that a ship more attuned for practical purposes wouldn't exactly be offering the finest fish to it's clientele. She had a decent enough meal and went back to her quarters to try and rest up...until the alarm sounded.
As Nataly bounded up to the deck, the Scar was the furthest thing from her mind. She was more worried about a possible attack on the ship, and the plummeting to the ground that might occur from it. Upon arriving on the deck though, she couldn't help but be captivated by the sights in front of her. "Wow..." There were stories about the Scar, told by sailors from the south and mages from the north. They weren't able to capture the beautiful dance between fire and ice, between ice and shadow, earth and light, everything was mixing together like the universe was making a cake. It was a sight to behold, one even Nataly didn't think she could properly put into words. So when Commander Hayes said he wanted to fly right through the churning dervish, that kind of statement is what it took to snap the Northerner out of her trance.
Right through the thing? That's crazy! The choice was already made though. Forces were scrambling around them, cannons were the obvious defence mechanism of the ship as the large barrels were being tended to. It was clear the Commander intended to fight his way through the storm. All right, fine. I'll get some daggers out, I'll hit some stuff. That's what they want? I can do that. Yeah. Totally. It'll-
"Nataly, would you help me?"
"Hmmm?"
Eve explained the plan she had to strengthen the hull of the ship with ice gather from both their powers as well as the air around them. Yeah, that seems like a smarter plan actually. "OK, yeah. Definitely. Can totally do that, Eve. Let's do it. Gather all the ice!"
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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Aye girl. I expect all kinds of things to be assaulting the ship. Supposedly a group of harpies live in a storm around here, but they don't worry me. Damn Elemental Drakes worry me, as the goddamned things like when a good morsel wanders close to the storm, as it means they can pick it up, eat it safely around the storm, and keep having a good day. Raven Hayes continued to go about the deck, making sure that the weapons, and everything was being set to his satisfaction before moving forward.
"Course, who knows what else lingers in the storm? Not like we have an experienced set of people who wander into storms and know whats going on. So, we'll need to be ready, cause I don't plan on going down without a damn fight." As the cannons were all pulled out and put in place, the ammo and weapons all ready, Raven turned back to the few mages who announced some intentions.
"That crossbow you have there looks like it could get the job done. I don't know what kind of mess we could get into, but I don't think the storm will show mercy." Walking by a crewmember, Raven grabbed a modified crossbow of his own and checked it, checking the autoloading crossbow before lowering it.
"Keeping the outer shell intact? A fair idea, though I wonder how you will manage it. I do not think the storm will simply let us...keep all of our armor handy. The assistance will go well though, especially with an icy cover as well. Hopefully the mix of steel and ice would make an effective shield. If you think you can handle it? And how close to the edge will you need to be to enforce this...armor?"
The ship slowly was circling back so as to set up what almost seemed to be a running distance until it would charge into the storm. The crew were still finishing up getting read on the decks and below decks, strapping down anything that might be launched free, and closing up whatever doors that might swing open causing issues if they were hit by something. The Dead Iron was armored up, and ready to charge and challenge the storm that sat in front of it.
"You know, with how you mages are going about all this, I think we'll get along just fine as we go about our business." Raven commented as Alice, the crewmember from before, walked up to confirm that things on one of the lower decks were prepared. "Course, I imagine that's a bit premature as we haven't even wandered through the storm yet. If you got a bigger and faster idea for the storm, speak it soon or prepare to defend the ship!"
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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Drew had drifted around the ship before, taking some food and finding corners to nap in. He had gone from sleeping to walking back to sleeping a few times before they arrived at the storm. He had no words for what he was looking at. It was always on the horizon, but to see it this close was overwhelming. And the big guy was planning on going through it. Of course he was. Because that made perfect sense. Sure, they were not going directly through the storm itself, but it was close enough that Drew was starting to wonder if Raven was actually insane. This matter with the northern academies caught his interest, but he'd wait until the current crisis was dealt with.
He now chimed in, ready to play his part. "I can reinforce any ice that's made. I'm not skilled in the Blizzard path, but I know some of the basics. If anything gets close, I can try to redirect it." He doubted he could blow away a Drake, whatever that was, but he could give the harpies some trouble. He had limited offensive options, but he was confident he could pull his weight defending the ship. He was confident enough that he would stick with his own element and not use any of the weapons on the ship. "I mean, how bad could it be?" he said, knowing full well that it could be worse than he could imagine. But there was no need to remind the others of that.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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How bad could it be, Hidalgo said, and Vanahara's lips twitched. How bad could it be indeed. In short, very, very bad.
"I won't need much extra metal, sir," she answered the Commander. "I plan on keeping it where it is, not building a new hull." She gestured to Nataly and Eve, nodding to them in turn. "Any pieces we lose, they should be able to patch, at least for a while. Hopefully, they won't need to." Vana folded her hands behind her back again, swaying slightly to one side as she considered the problem of getting close enough to be able to hold the metal together. "Ideally, I'd be outside," she said slowly, considering. "Obviously, though, that won't work. In this case, the maintenance catwalks should work well enough." It would involve a lot of running around from danger spot to danger spot, but there was a reason she kept herself fit. If she thought she couldn't handle it, she'd speak up; Vanahara wasn't prone to false pride.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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I can handle keeping the energy of the others up and helping those who get injured in the inevitable shaking of the ship as we travel. Being hit by winds and elements will be bound to injure a few. Mira can handle protecting the ship from some of the energies of this storm.
Alexander said after thinking his position over a bit. He had spent his free time playing cards with some of the men in the mess hall. Getting to know them and their stories while learning of their culture as well. It had been an enlightening experience to hear how the lives of these men and women were both the same and different from his own. Now however he prepared himself to heal any who might get injured or aid any mages who may grow tired during their surely long journey through the storm. If nothing else he could keep some of the younger mages from passing out.
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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All right, Kei. Time for introductions. Ling pulled out an autoquiver and loaded it into her crossbow with a satisfying click. The first bolt dropped into place automatically. Taking aim was rather more difficult than usual, what with the dozens of wings flapping about. Ling tried to focus: the ship's deck was the biggest concern, not the fascinating storm and its constant chaotic shifting. Drakes. Harpies. She'd never met either, but from their attitude towards the Jurai crew, she didn't expect they would sit down to chat.
Ling adjusted her aim slightly and pulled the trigger, punching a bolt into the wing of one of the drakes. A nearby harpy spun to face the alchemist, propelling itself forward with a push from its own pair. Ling just yanked on the reload lever and brought her weapon to bear. That second to reload was all she had before the fiend was up close and personal, screeching and swiping at her tunic. The physical characteristics of a harpy were best appreciated from a distance: it had a face only a mother could love, its skin was black-grey, its talons were filthy... and it stank to high heaven.
The harpy slashed at Ling, and she felt talons tear fabric and skin in equal measure. She winced. But she held on and rammed Kei into its chest, knocking it back a couple feet. The drastic measure gave her the opportunity to fire a bolt into the harpy, clean through the leather it presumably wore as armour. A second bolt was enough to kill it, leaving it bleeding on the deck. Ling scrambled backwards, having no interest in stepping anywhere near the reeking body. She quickly glanced down at the injury the harpy had caused: it didn't seem to be bleeding too badly. Maybe she could ignore it for now, but it would need attending to later. Right now, there were more of the foul things to put down.
She reloaded Kei - twelve rounds left in the quiver - and began to look for a new opening to shoot something.
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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Horatio had managed to migrate below the deck in the time prior to the attack. He helped the crew members in the weapons room, assisting with arming the cannons. It was simple, familiar work, similar to a gig he had on a tour he traveled a few years back. As the ship began into the storm, the young rogue could easily hear the sounds of swirling winds and crackling energies smashing up against the ship. It was to be expected, they were flying through a storm after all, but the sounds of screeching and scratching were what really got his attention. The hands posted at their battlestations, and fired off the cannons and prepped to rearm for more. Joey did his best to keep up with some of the more expedient workers, patting down the gunpowder before loading the cast iron ammunitions. Through all the commotion and noise, Commander Raven's command came through loud and clear.
As Joey and a crewmate pushed a cannon back into firing position, something from the outside gave it a hard tug. Before the cannon's wick could be lit, another extremely firm tug yanked the cannon out of its post, taking a crew member with it. Joey may've not seen of the mate's demise, but he could hear his screams spontaneously silenced by the crunching of bone and gnashing of teeth. Before Joey had time to curse, an imposingly large, dark feathered monstrosity eagerly entered the hole the cannon once occupied. It hastily squeezed its way in, screeching and snapping at the men that dared to oppose it.
"Bloody hell-!" Joey exclaimed, dancing back a few steps as the monster thrashed about the war room. "This must've been one'a the harpies the Commander talked about." His thoughts were rather calm for someone laying eyes on such a thing for the first time. He let out a long, absentminded whistle, one that immediately got the harpy's attention. Joey looked as if he might've mistakenly said something inappropriate. "Oops. I didn't just insult you in your bird language, did I?" He asked, beginning to ease back with a hand slowly edging towards his pouch. In a flash the harpy flapped and bolted towards him, only to receive a handful of sand to its beady, black eyes.
"SCRAWWWW!" The harpy screamed as it reeled back and forth, noticeably blinded by the dirty move. Never the one to waste a perfect opportunity, Joey pounced onto the beast, successfully performing a guillotine grapple 'round the stank beast's neck. This move was hard to hold however, as the harpy possessed more strength than Horatio could anticipate. With a simple flex upwards, Joey was flipped head over heels, right over the birdy's backside. The dusty Earthshaper scrambled back to his feet. It was still impaired, for the most part, its feathery appendages made it a challenge to really get the stuff out. As it continued to crash and thrash about, Joey exchanged glances between the entrance leading to the top deck, and the other frightened crew hands occupying the space with him. "I'm gonna need another strategy..." He pondered. Maybe he could just rush it again.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Vanahara nodded, moving to take her position in the middle of the deck. She didn't have long until they were in the thick of the storm, and she needed to bolster their defenses before then. Setting her feet firmly, she brought up her hands, moving through an Ironworker form—a simple one made not-so-simple by sheer size as the metal plating of the ship's hull began to thicken at key points. Glancing up at the storm again, Vanahara quirked a brow and stabbed her fingers upward, drawing a lightning rod up slowly from the stern of the ship. No use having the whole hull electrified. Thick ice began creeping over the plating, and Vana nodded to the hydromancers in thanks.
The wind began to pick up, and a thought occurred to her. She'd never been on an airship before, but her home had used sand gliders to travel long distances—living so close to the storm made for near-constant winds—and one piece of equipment was always present. Striding over to one of the masts, she found what she was looking for, the one thing that was always available on a ship—rope. Taking three separate ends, she lashed them quickly to an available metal ring, taking an extra moment to bind the metal itself to both the rope and the mast it was attached to. With the opposite end of one rope, she pressed it to the metal at her belt, and the iron began to worm its way through the fibers of the rope itself—the most secure hold she could manage. Walking back to the middle of the deck, she tossed the other two ropes to the two Hydromancers, Celeste and Andrade.
"Tie them around your waists," Vanahara said shortly. "Helps you keep your feet." Satisfied that they'd be able to knot a rope by themselves, she moved about halfway towards the prow of the ship, setting her feet and taking a deep breath as the ship picked up speed and slammed full tilt into the edge of the Storm.
It was like nothing she'd ever experienced. Living a few kilometers from the very outskirts of the Storm was one thing; standing on an open deck while it raged around you was quite another. Still, though, she kept herself rooted to the deck, and when things started coming out of the storm, she didn't flinch. Her fists clenched, and the metal of her bracers began to spread and sharpen.
Keeping hold of the hull as she was, she felt it when it was breached, head whipping around as she sensed the harpy tearing into the cannon bay. She was no Master—she couldn't grab a cannon out of the sky, not in this wind, and she didn't dare try to take control of the beams of metal flying through the sky, not when they were bound with light like that. What she could do was try to make up the loss.
"Lost a cannon on the starboard side!" she shouted, turning over her shoulder to face the hydromancers. "Patch the hole if you can!"
Turning on her heel, she slammed her fist into an oncoming harpy who thought it had found a distracted meal, the point of her now-sharpened gauntlet biting deep. Ducking under the creature's talons as it gurgled on its own blood, she came up under it, digging her shoulder into it's stomach and heaving. The mortally wounded thing went flailing over the side, it's claw hooking into Vanahara's belt, and she would have gone over too if not for the rope attached to her belt.
Almost immediately, Vana swung back into her position, feet spread as she regained her grasp on the hull. While the beasts were more likely to go after the easy pickings on the deck, flaming stones and shards of the light-metal could do just as much damage while she was distracted. Now, though, she could focus again, and she straightened out and reinforced dents as quickly as they appearaed. Locking her arms, Vanhara grimly thought to herself that she'd be on her knees and bleeding out before she let this hull crack.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Eve nodded to Nataly, Drew, and Vanahara before going over to the starboard side of the ship and beginning to coat it with ice. Luckily the air was full of water and ice already from the proximity of the Storm, it was a simple matter to pull it from the air and cover the ship. Within a couple of minutes she and Nataly had the entire ship covered, and she could sense where Vanahara was strengthening the hull from where the ice was forced to move.
Then they entered the storm. It was amazing, like they were transported to an entirely different planet, but it didn't take long until Eve was focused again on keeping the layer of ice around the ship. small bits of earth and lightning consistently broke the ice, the electricity in the lightning being grounded by the metal hull and heating it up to melt the ice around it at the same time. However, as fast as the Storm's elements were breaking their shield, she and Nataly were replacing it just as quickly.
She was distracted a moment by the rope that Vanahara had tossed to them, and she nodded her thanks as she quickly tied the rope around her waist. Trusting the knot to be strong enough, she turned back to her ice, pulling some from the storm to patch where the other elements of the storm kept breaking the shield of ice. She began to get annoyed at how the elements of the storm seemed to be working together to defeat their efforts.
When Vanahara yelled to them that there was a cannon lost Eve quickly spread a thin layer of ice over the cannon ports to find where the hole was. She hadn't put much ice by the cannons, the constant firing would just increase the risk of it shattering, but when she found the empty port she pulled more ice from the storm and filled it, the ice forming on both sides of the wall and fusing in the space between them.
Before she could even take a breath after that, a harpy landed on the deck beside her thinking that she would be its next meal. She pulled her sword off her back and sliced it in two, then formed a bunch of small, sharp shards of ice using the water from the rune in her sword's hilt, throwing them towards more of the harpies and aiming for their eyes.
She continued this strengthening of the ice shield and volley of ice attacks on the harpies until one managed to get behind her and lift her from the ship's deck, causing her to drop her sword as she was pulled into the sky. The rope around her waist managed to stop their ascent, causing the harpy to dig its claws into her shoulders and start tugging on her, painfully and in vain as it tried to fight against the rope. She managed to calm down after a moment, and started coating the harpy in ice, starting with its wings.
The harpy shrieked and they fell back to the deck, Eve managing to land on the creature and pull its claws from her. Shakily, she grabbed her sword back off the ground and shoved it into the harpie's torso, where its heart would be. The creature fell to a heap on the deck as she removed her sword, and went to sit with her back against the railing so nothing could get her from behind again. She held her sword in her lap in front of her, ready to defend herself again as she went about re-repatching the layer of ice around the ship, making sure that the hole in the cannon bay was still closed.
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Name: Eve Celeste
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancy
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Equipment: She has a large sword with a water rune in the hilt so she can summon water to use even when there is none in the air, and a pouch to carry health and stamina potions, along with the odd antivenom or vial of poison.
Demeanor: Eve is decidedly cold towards others, the type who'd stick to herself rather than a large group. She'll criticize you, but also build you up stronger at the same time. She is not unkind, just distant, and is a very loyal teammate and friend.
History: Eve grew up in a kingdom very close to the storm, you could see it on the horizon from anywhere in the kingdom. She lived with her parents, helping out in the shop they ran selling wood carvings and flowers from her mother's garden. Her mother was a storm, though only an Adept, she helped the people in her town keep their gardens growing well in the loose, sandy soil of the area, while her father was a jack-of-all-trades who could do things from building furniture and houses to making a clay vase and other cookware. Eve's parents found out she had the potential to be an elemental at the age of 8 and sent her off to the Academy when she turned 10.
That's where her cold personality started. Instead of being as kind and open to everyone as she had been at home with her parents she pulled into herself, only trusting a select few and becoming harsh and overly cautious to others. She decided that she wanted to become a blizzard when she saw a duel between one and a storm, a few weeks after finding out that she had the most potential for hydromancy than any other element.
In the years that followed Eve focused on making herself stronger through any means possible, fighting, travelling the land, studying texts written by or about strong blizzards, and countless hours of meditation. Her current ability is that of an Adept, but she has been able to cover her arms and torso in ice as a type of light armor through her training, but it really takes some concentration to make and is not very strong yet.
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The battle raged on below deck, with the harpy continuing to blindly thrash about the weapons room, and with Horatio constantly looking for a way to attack it. One attempt had him receive a kick to his chest for his efforts, and sent him flying towards the harpy's point of entry. Joey would've already considered his demise imminent, if it weren't for a sturdy sheet of ice interrupting his fall. Seemed one of the hydromancers already sealed up the hole the monster made for itself. "Phew. Hydro kids...work fast..." He groaned, heart jumping in his chest. The harpy screeched and presented its back, and Joey saw an obvious entrance. "Time ta put this bird down." With a springboard off the ice, the rogue lept with his blade bare, embedding the blade into the beast's body.
"SCREE! SCRE-urk" One stab after another, Joey planted the blade in the harpy's neck, dislocating its spinal cord in enough spots to get it to shut up. The lifeless body was quick to slump to the ground, giving the earthshaper a chance to roll away from the beast. He stayed at a low stance, bringing his dagger to the ready. Its blade and his hands dripping with pungent blood. "Ya still wanna go? Glass ya once, and you'll get glassed again, luv." The harpy failed to respond. Joey smirked, and rose to his feet. He cleaned the blood from his person, wiping himself clean on the harpy's feathers.
"Heh. Y'know, s'not the first time i've had ta backstab somebody..." He gave brief allusion to his past life, glancing at the surviving crew members. "I'll go up top, see if they'll need any extra hands." With a smirk and a quick salute, he retreated to the main deck.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Raven leaped from one opponent to the next, a machine of death to anything that dared to get close, and when he happened upon something that was attempting to give him pause, a threat to anything close enough to put a crossbow bolt into. The creatures were unrelenting, but then they didn't have to kill every last one of them, they just needed to escape the damned storm. Bringing his blade back around once more, he looked toward the front, hoping to see the way out of the storm, or at least the end of it.
"HOLD STEADY! WE'LL GET OUT OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN STORM YET, AND LEAVE A TRAIL BEHIND US!" Raven shouted, knowing full well they needed to kill these things faster before they began to get into the ship too deeply and start hitting things and slowing them down. They just needed to hold, and for the mages to make sure that the elements didn't bring them down.
Despite the appearance of the ship being swarmed by monsters, they were doing rather well...until the storm began to show its force. A flaming boulder slammed onto the deck of the ship, shadows delivered by steel slammed into the ship, and began to eat away at the ice. A spike of light cut into the side of the ship as an icicle, and then blasted a small hole clean through. The ice and metal was tough, but the storm didn't have to worry about concentration or exhaustion.
Slowly the ship began to descend for one to try and give the ship a bit more time to dodge the things falling from above, and so more power could be poured into going forward. This brought the ground close, kicking up any dust, rock, dirt, and anything else that the winds could kick up. The Commander and working crew of the Dead Iron knew what was going to happen though. The ship wasn't made to be pierced by elements cutting through the ship whole, and they were going to start dropping involuntarily.
"BACK INTO THE SHIP! NOW! EVERYONE INTO THE SHIP, TO THE STAIRS!" Raven shouted, making his own way back to the stairs, slamming a blade into the skull of drake, and then pulling it free. "WE'LL LET THE STORM HAVE EM!"
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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Nataly had stationed herself near one of the empty cannon holes as she figured direct contact with the hull of the ship would allow for the quickest and most effective frost coverage. Between herself, Eve and all the ice that was already readily available to them in the air around the storm, it didn't take too long to cover the ship in a thick coat of sheer cold. She was focusing on throwing as much water on there as she could before she was distracted by something thunking near her. She looked up, seeing the Iron Lady at the end of a thick length of rope, an end of which appeared to be laying nearby at the end of a long coil.
"Tie them around your waists. Helps you keep your feet." That was all she said before she moved back towards the center of the ship.
The Hydromancer shrugged her head to the side as if to agree. "Makes sense." She abandoned her icemaking for the moment to loop the rope around her robe, cinching it as tightly as she could around her waist. Nataly wasn't sure if her knotting would be good enough, she tried to remember back to the days back home when her father showed her how to tie ropes but they were so long ago. With the fury of the storm swirling around, it was tough to pass a memory test at this point. So Nataly did the best she could, trying to approximate the knots in her mind as she secured herself to the tether.
By the time it was announced that the fire power of the ship had been reduced, Nataly was trying to get reset back in her position. The storm seemed to intensify, be it from natural or external forces, it was swaying a bit more than she thought. Soon it wouldn't matter. Nataly heard a thud, seeing Eve face to face with one of the harpies that began boarding the ship and before she could move to help her fellow Blizzard specialist, another one landed with a clunk in front of her. The legends were liars. There was nothing human in this feathery beast that snarled in front of her, maw full of jagged teeth bared in her direction. Drool dripping down onto it's wicked sharp talons. Nataly inched back towards the edge of the ship. Alainia damn it, that thing is digusting...
Nataly held her hands out, trying to collect enough moisture to form a pair of daggers she could use to battle this creature, but the harpy seemed to sense this was not a submissive stance. The beast flew at Nataly, only giving her time for a pair of shiv like shards, but it would be enough. The Hydromancer hit the deck, letting the creature fly above before raking the shards against it's torso. The harpy fell to the planks, black feathers now stained red with blood. Nataly did her best to pounce while she had the opportunity. It was a less than graceful movement, and the repeated plunging of ice into hide wasn't befitting of someone of her looks, but she didn't care at the moment. This sucker was dying. After nine plunges, the creature ceased to move.
A swipe of the head to collect the beads of sweat off her forehead was all that Nataly was allowed in terms of respite as the ship lurched and shook again with the crashing of stone and ice into the vessel. "Ahhhhh!" Ms. Andrade stumbled back to her spot on the railing, attempting to gain some cover from the raging elements while she slipped her hand back out onto the hull, desperately trying to restore some semblance of armor to the battered ice shield over the hull.
"BACK INTO THE SHIP! NOW! EVERYONE INTO THE SHIP, TO THE STAIRS!"
"What?" Nataly looked over to see the Commander plunging into the depths of the ship via the deck stairs, and it looked a great distance away. "I...can I even make that without taking a hit? I dunno." She stayed put for now, waiting for an opening to try and dash for the stairs.
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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The harpies and drakes were still coming, and Vanahara could feel the ice outside of the metal hull starting to splinter. Two hydromancers could only do so much in the face of this maelstrom. If this is a narrow part of the Storm, I never want to see its eye. She did her best to harden the metal plating from here, but sooner or later the hull was going to break. She needed to be closer.
Vana barely avoided stumbling as the ship rocked, turning what had been a punch into a move that sent her sliding under a harpy's outstretched talon. She swept its avian feet out from under it, sending it crashing to the deck next to her, and took the opportunity to slice her punching dagger across the back of its neck, neatly severing the spinal cord. She rolled back to her feet almost immediately, but the damage was done—she could feel the punch of a drake's talons as it scored the outside of the hull, and there would only be more to come.
Her head whipped around as the Commander gave the order to retreat belowdecks. Vanahara frowned, but nodded, wrapping one hand around the rope at her waist and using it to pull herself against the wind towards the hatch. As she neared the stairs, though, her eyes caught on Andrade and Celeste—hunched against the railing, at the very edge of the deck. If they didn't move soon, they were going to get plucked off by some opportunistic harpy, and then the ice really would fail. Not to mention, they'd be dead.
Vana released the rope, letting herself be pushed backwards towards the railing. When she was about halfway there, something screeched along her senses, and she turned on instinct. A chunk of steel sputtering with flames slammed into her stomach, and she reeled backwards, arms coming up reflexively to grab it as the wind was knocked out of her. Gasping for air but somehow still on her feet, Vanahara hissed as the flames licked at her forearms, but cased in treated leather as they were, only a few inches of skin were really burned. Even as she watched, though, the flames burnt themselves out—they were purely elemental, with no one to guide them and no fuel to consume. What she was left with was a chunk of strangely light metal about the size of a man's head, and two hydromancers that needed a path below deck. She took half a moment to formulate a plan, and then she moved.
By the time Vana reached the railing, the white steel had spread into a shield, two inches thick and almost as big as she was. Holding it like that was taking more concentration than she could afford for long—she didn't know what else was in this metal, but she suspected it was water, because it moved like quicksilver but was reluctant to hold any one shape. She braced her foot against the railing next to Andrade with her eyes on Celeste a little further down the railing, shield held over their heads with one straining arm.
"Go!" she shouted, bringing her other arm up to brace the shield as a harpy slammed into it. "I'll cover you, get down the stairs and hold the ice!" A mad dash across half the deck was only going to end in blood and tears, but maybe with a shield at their backs, they could make it before the Commander was forced to close the hatch.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Using the lasers he could easily control in a defensive posture, Alexander helped protect those on the ship's medical crew who were gathering those injured in the battle. Following one of the groups he found a well-oiled machine being pushed to capacity. The soldiers were clearly capable but the harpies were proving that their numbers and swarming attacks could still take a heavy toll in a hurry. Rather than helping the groups to drag more of the injured into the ship he set about where he would be most useful. Rolling up his sleeves Alexander found a patient and began to work.
The man was clearly very injured, slashes and bite wounds covered his body as he bled onto the bed. With the other medical and support staff busy he hurried to guide his healing energies to the worst of the man's wounds. Rather than focusing on healing every cut and bruise while healing his pain he only focused on those injuries which were life-threatening. Already he could tell a couple of other men had died in the small space, clearly designed to save space over taking in and caring for large numbers of battle casualties. His patient's bleeding slowing to a trickle after a few minutes Alexander knew the man's body would heal the rest of the injuries given time. Moving onto a soldier with a broken arm sustained in a fall. It was going to be a long day in his estimation.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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Meanwhile, on the other side of the Scar, metal clanging could be constantly heard as it echoed through the canyons.
If one were to center on the source of the clanging, they would find a large-ish hut, made out of pure steel, seemingly ignoring the Scar, being way too close to it for any sane human being to live in it.
The man living in the hut was not sane; at least, by some certain accords, regarding not only his site of residence, but also his obsession with the Scar, restlessly studying it with a variety of advanced instruments and spells, as well as the fact that he lived in similar huts for almost three years now, in a stat of almost complete isolation, barring his trips to the closest avalaible Scar -infested area at the time and reading the nearest village for supplies.
That man, named Jonathan Silvas, was also the source of the constant clanging, as he was carefully forging the frame of his latest-conceived instrument over the flames into which bellows were continuously supplying with air, seemingly with no external guidance. He did not need to go through all this trouble; he was able to manipulate the metal into its needed shape with no tools at all, which is exactly what he had done with the extremely delicate components that were to be inserted to the frame, in much less time than he had spent forging the simple metal pyramid. He insisted on using his hands, though; he was afraid that eventually, his fellow Elementals would become so accustomed to using their powers for everything, that they would not only forget their roots, but also stop honing their body and grow weak. Besides, the constant clanging and the heat from the flames kept him company, in times where his books, or even the social interaction with the superstitious and uneducated villagers could not.
Suddenly, between the clanging, he heard a fade beep from the other room, which meant that one of his instruments had caught something out of the ordinary. And truly, his dodecahedron-shaped Storm Core Abnormality Recorder had caught something big travelling through the milder (if this can be said for a storm made out of all kinds of supernatural power) areas of the Scar in a respectable pace.
"Poor souls", his lips muttered, "trying their human best to conquer the greatest force of nature known. May Reaver have mercy on them." His mind begged to differ, however, and was now racing. This ship -whatever it was- would show up earlier if it had come from his side, which meant that it had reached at least halfway through. And they seemed -he checked his topographical map of the Scar he had constructed- yep, they were traveling through the most faded path in the Scar that was avalaible to them, which clearly showed some capability. There were Elementals up there, he had no doubt about that. Could they be coming from the Academy? Possibly.
But why? Could they be coming to pick him up? He didn't think so. Even though it was possible that the years have showed them the possibility for research that is avalaible at the Scar, and even if they had realised his ambitions were more than the constant ramblings of a man grown mad from the knowledge, they had no way of knowing his position, or even the fact that he was alive- let alone th fact that he was following the Scar throughout the known world. They probably didn't even think it was possible. Fools, he shook his head. They were content with sitting in their Academy and believe that there was no other course of action; have their walks around the garden, train young students on how to throw their little magiks onto one another and never wonder about where it all comes from -just like they grew up. "Have faith in your powers" some would say, "never question what is bestowed by the Gods upon ye" would say others. Fools.
But now he realised that he actually was rambling, and in a way that almost made him question his own sanity. His mind was so much more peaceful away from those affairs for so long. But now, there was no time to waste. He started trotting around the room, grabbing scrolls from here and there as he deemed necessary. He never was on good affairs on organisation, which now proved to be a problem as he tried to guide himself through the chaos of scrools, books, and experiments. He didn't care, though; he had all the time he needed. When he had acquired all the scrolls and books which he considered vital -he could remember the rest more or less anyways- he reached for a sizable backpack, into which he fitted them along with as many non-Scar specific instruments he could fit. He left any Scar-specific instrument back where it was, and decided to one day return to get what they had recorded. He then sat down and observed the movement of the ship through the S.C.A.R.
He no longer cared about what as the ship, or who was onboard, or who sent it, or where it went.
If it survived through the Scar (still highly unlikely), he wanted to be on it.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Iridessa no longer had any time to admire the Scar. It turned out she could apply her skills against the harpies, drakes and miscellaneous storm denizens, and had a grand old time burning them to cinders. She'd never seen the creatures before. They were wonders to look at, albeit horrific ones. As much as she enjoyed the chance to test her skills, she found herself tiring quickly. It took significant portions of her strength to vanquish any one of the creatures, and the conditions of the Scar didn't make it any easier. Buffeted by strong winds carrying whole deserts' worth of dust, and the constant thunder and flashes of bright light were starting to grate. Looking around, she realized the events on deck around her were equally chaotic. They were limited, and the storm was not. The shouts of the commander reflected that, and Dess willingly retreated, using the last of her strength to blast through an attacking harpy. She made it to the stairway relatively unharmed, although a sheen of sweat covered her body.
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Name: Iridessa Lancely
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firestorm
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Iridessa is tall, about 6"1, and very slender. Her dark hair hangs down to her waist in beaded dreadlocks. She often wears a simple black tunic and leggings, with a brown heavy duty boots. She has intricate black tattoos all over both arms which she got on her travels.
Equipment: Just two knives by way of weaponry. She has a dark brown leather satchel in which she keeps her money and other small provisions.
Demeanour: Iridessa practically drips arrogance. She's loud, impatient, and overly confident in her abilities. She doesn't exactly look for fights, but she's always happy when one comes her way. She drinks often, and likes to party. She's always up for a good laugh and likes to be entertained. She's a quick study, although she doesn't like reading very much. She knows next to nothing about the theories behind elementals, or ancient history and other scholastic fields. Always active,Iridessa prefers to be on the move and where the action is. She has issues with knowing when to step back, though, and this often gets her into trouble.
History: Iridessa was the last born of eight children, all the others sons. Her early childhood was good, filled with laughter and games. Her parents provided for all of them as best as they could. Her father was a Metallic, and although he never advanced past Mage, he was a very skilled blacksmith. Her mother was an academic, and a prominent historian who worked at their regional Academy, one of the few humans to work there. Dess was a wild child, never particularly ladylike. At the age of ten her Pyromancer abilities manifested themselves. Her brothers, all as unruly as she, had the same Element, and all of them with the exception of one became Firestorms. Due to Dess's ability to learn quickly, she advanced to Adept by the time she was 19. However, her lack of restraint and forethought has meant she's reached a plateau in her skills and can't seem to make any meaningful improvement.
In her teenage years, Dess appeared to be a magnet for trouble. She was reprimanded several times for abuse of her powers, and around that time started to leave the academy for extended lengths of time to explore the world. Her tough exterior really came into being then, as a manner of protection for the young girl- which isn't to say she's secretly soft. She finds that it suits her nature perfectly. She ventured out into other elemental civilizations, using her abilities for the sideshows people loved to watch. Her use of fire is more showy as a result, and involves lots of elaborate physical movements. This constant use of her abilities also further aided her in her learning, and provided an outlet for her wild nature. At 19, she came back to the Academy for good and became an Adept shortly afterwards,
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As Nataly looked up across the deck, she saw the sturdy body of the Ironworker dashing towards the railing while carrying a shield of unknown origin. How is she...where did she...do I care? Vana landed with a thud next to her on the railing, bracing herself with her legs, shield held high as another harpy slammed unsuccessfully into it.
"Go! I'll cover you, get down the stairs and hold the ice!"
Another crash of stone on wood near the two of them was enough to convince Nataly she was not going to survive by huddling against the railing any longer. She nodded at the Ironworker and mentally got ready to count down. OK...OK...1...
"Go!"
Vana took off for the hatch where a couple of the other mages still stood and Nataly did her best to try and keep up. It was clear that Vana was going to have to slow down to adjust for the pace of the Hydromancer, and she was, but still Nataly struggled. The sound and feel of fiery chunks and shadowy blasts raining down upon them was tough to overcome, but she tried. She almost stumbled to the hatch, into the waiting arms or the Commander and couple of the others, but she made it, her robes singed but still doing their job.
"Are you all right?" one of the crewmen asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I think so..." Nataly answered as she did her best to stand. She didn't even get a chance to thank Vana. Vana was already heading back to the railing to try and pluck Eve from the same clutches she was in.
"Good. The hull's failing. We need all the help we can get to stabilize it."
"Oh...shoot! Yeah! OK, yeah, lead me somewhere I can touch it." The crewman did as ordered to move Nataly back to a point where she could continue the reinforcement work on the hull to try and help this dogged vessel survive the furious onslaught.
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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As Eve sat against the railing, trying and failing to keep the shield of ice intact against the ever-growing ferocity of the storm, the order to retreat was lost to her in the chaos. She didn't even notice everyone else rushing to leave until Vanahara yelled at her from where she was shielding Nataly. She followed after the two as they went below decks, starting to wonder if they were even moving through the storm anymore with how much was being thrown at them.
When she got inside she waited there for everyone else to get in, and then helped to seal the door shut with ice to try and keep any of the creatures or elements from following them. There were people going around and checking other's wounds, and she noticed Nataly being led somewhere by one of the crew, likely to somewhere she could continue to strengthen the ice. After a moment of thought, Eve decided to make her way down to the cannon bay. She could use the breach from before to reach the rest of the hull now.
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Name: Eve Celeste
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancy
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Appearance:
Equipment: She has a large sword with a water rune in the hilt so she can summon water to use even when there is none in the air, and a pouch to carry health and stamina potions, along with the odd antivenom or vial of poison.
Demeanor: Eve is decidedly cold towards others, the type who'd stick to herself rather than a large group. She'll criticize you, but also build you up stronger at the same time. She is not unkind, just distant, and is a very loyal teammate and friend.
History: Eve grew up in a kingdom very close to the storm, you could see it on the horizon from anywhere in the kingdom. She lived with her parents, helping out in the shop they ran selling wood carvings and flowers from her mother's garden. Her mother was a storm, though only an Adept, she helped the people in her town keep their gardens growing well in the loose, sandy soil of the area, while her father was a jack-of-all-trades who could do things from building furniture and houses to making a clay vase and other cookware. Eve's parents found out she had the potential to be an elemental at the age of 8 and sent her off to the Academy when she turned 10.
That's where her cold personality started. Instead of being as kind and open to everyone as she had been at home with her parents she pulled into herself, only trusting a select few and becoming harsh and overly cautious to others. She decided that she wanted to become a blizzard when she saw a duel between one and a storm, a few weeks after finding out that she had the most potential for hydromancy than any other element.
In the years that followed Eve focused on making herself stronger through any means possible, fighting, travelling the land, studying texts written by or about strong blizzards, and countless hours of meditation. Her current ability is that of an Adept, but she has been able to cover her arms and torso in ice as a type of light armor through her training, but it really takes some concentration to make and is not very strong yet.
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The distance from the railing to the hatch felt like ten miles rather than meters. Vanahara gritted her teeth, against the wind, against the harpy trying to claw its way to her arm, against the shield itself that wanted to drip out of shape with every break in her concentration. She just had to get the hydromancers and herself down the hatch, and then she could take on the rest. The bird-monster latched onto her shield drove its beak into her shield, and the metal buckled around it, a sharp dent punching through right at eye level; with a growl, Vanahara punched back, the strange Storm metal responding instantly and spiking right through the back of the harpy's throat.
The heavy corpse dropped, and she moved backwards, her back to Eve and Nataly as she watched warily for more attackers. She moved as fast as she could, ushering the two ice mages behind her into a sprint for the hatch. Even at full speed, though, the drakes were faster. One came in low, and with the shield raised to protect the hydromancers from a stream of fire, Vanahara didn't see it until it was too late. Jaws fastened around her ankle, pulling upward, and she fell backward as she bit down on a sound of pain. The teeth piercing her leg were enough to break her concentration, and the metal shield dissolved around her arm, splashing to the ground as if molten hot even as frost crawled across its surface. Vana bared her teeth and lashed out with her other foot, kicking the other drake square on the nose and forcing it to release her.
She landed hard, the breath huffing out of her, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her left hand had landed in the puddle that was all that remained of her shield, and on instinct, she lifted her hand and threw it out. A cluster of glass-sharp shards of metal flew out from her fingers and embedded themselves in the drake's eyes. Its scream ricocheted in her ears, but Vana didn't stick around to see it die—she scrambled to her feet, and in a few long strides she jumped down the hatch after the hydromancers, quickly slicing the rope tied at her waist with the blade of her gauntlet.
With everyone inside, she turned, raising her hands and curling them into fists as she brought them down, slamming the hatch closed. She waited an extra moment, clenching her hands tighter, as a few points on the metal hatch spot-welded to the frame seemingly of their own accord—the extra reinforcement they sorely needed. Shaking her hands out from where they were starting to prickle with overuse, she reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a length of cotton. She stood on one foot and raised the other to quickly wrap the fabric tightly around the sluggishly bleeding punctures on her ankle. With a quick pass of her hand, she also stowed away the prize she'd managed to hold onto—she'd look at it later.
"I'll open it later," she said shortly, glancing up at the secured hatch, favoring her undamaged foot as she turned again. "Sir, I should get to the engine room. Much more of this stress and pipes could fracture—a leak will slow us down drastically." If she was still barred from the engine room, then she'd go where Commander Hayes ordered her, but there wasn't much more she could do for the hull if the hydromancers were safe.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Raven jumped down before Vanahara made it. Watching as the metal twisted about to seal the door from the now very angry things outside, Raven turned as a metal trooper stepped towards the mages, still hanging on to what appeared to be the limb of...something which had appeared to be ripped clean off. A collection of bloody feathers, blood, and other mess seemed to coat the metal armor, and the guard payed it no mind as they approached to give a report.
"Sir, we are ready to begin the propeller process. We are near edge of storm as reported by my comrade." The metal trooper said, still paying no mind to the blood and mess they carried.
"As you were, soldier. Mages, brace yourselves. We are not going to be quite as....airborne for a little bit. No worries, we'll be able to fly afterwords." Raven said, hooking himself around some pipes in what he hoped would keep him steady. They had only a few minutes to all get in position, and shouts echoed through the halls as the message spread like wildfire they were 'lowering the propellers' and 'gonna chop those bastards good'.
"Hang on tight. And...don't mind the screaming you'll likely hear. That would be them getting what they deserve." Raven continued, until there was a loud groan going through the ship and then the ship stopped rumbling. That particular change lasted just a moment as the ship slammed and skipped along the earth. The reason for this was only notable to the crew, and the creatures outside.
The propellers which had been helping keep the ship airborne began to lower, descending upon the unsuspecting creatures that were still lingering on and around the decks. As the spinning blades cut into the creatures, the ship lost what little altitude it had left as it had cleared the storms. With the cover of the storm no longer keeping the monsters in cover, many of them took off back into the relative safety of the storm. After skidding along the earth with the metal hull taking a beating, the ship finally skidded to a stop.
After having taken a few jumps, rumbling, bouncing, and just generally being shaken about in the metal ship, Raven chuckled as he rubbed his head from where he had smacked it against the pipe he had been clinging to keep from being tossed about too much as the ship had skimmed along the earth.
"....Well, hopefully most of you survived that...That was...quite the ride. Though, I imagine the ship didn't appreciate it all that much. So, how was your trip out in the world? Wildlife to your liking? The bastards are always trying to bring smaller ships out of the sky, so the storm must have made them a bit more reckless." Raven explained. "I would recommend you see our....doctors, but I get the feeling you mages have ways of taking care of yourselves which is better than just some wrapped cloth and meds. So, I will leave you to your own devices, I need to make sure my ship isn't too bad."
"I will be patrolling with my comrades outside. We will take care of opponents still nearby. They will know better." The mech troop said, and then stomped away to another door, which opened and he went outside. Several other mech troops followed, in some instances finding some opponents who were brutally ripped apart while the mechs made sure the area was secure. Meanwhile, the crew set about trying to get the ship back in order after everything was tossed about...and trying to get those who had not gotten secured to the mystical 'healer' who had been saving lives that they figured would either be dead or out of action for months.
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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The Scar was pretty, but Silvana didn't have a long time to admire it before they were attacked. With no hesitation, she conjured up her fire blade, ready to take down anything that would harm them. When a harpy approached her, she slashed towards it, burning its feet, but wasn't careful enough to notice a second harpy right behind her, which sunk its claws into her shoulder. With a cry of pain, she conjured a bird of fire right at it, hitting one of the harpy's wings, and once it was down, stabbed through it with her blade. The fire burned up the harpy on the inside, and Silvana took out the blade to swing at the previous harpy, making sure that she wouldn't get clawed at again.
The harpies weren't the only thing she needed to be mindful of, as there were also various elements raining down on them. A bolt of lightning struck right in front of her, causing her to fall back, her fire blade disappearing. The bolt had thankfully hit the harpy that attacked her first, so that was another one taken care of. Though now Silvana was even more aware of the pain in her shoulder due to the deep wound she had there. She had to close the wound, but she didn't have time as she heard Raven call to them to retreat below. Without a moment to think, she hurried towards where everyone else was going, making it despite a block of ice almost hitting her from her left side.
Silvana sat down, holding onto something as they began to fall so as to not have gravity fling her about. Once they stopped, she took a brief moment to examine herself. She was alright aside from her left shoulder, the one that harpy had attacked. The wound was fairly deep, and she needed it healed right away. She was bleeding, but it wasn't fatal. She knew that one of the Illuminate Masters were there, and searched for him from where she sat.
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Name: Silvana Brendin
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Mastery: Pyromancer
Specialty: Firesmith
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Standing at 5 feet 9 inches, Silvana has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that is wavy and reaches to just above her shoulders. She's got an athletic build with a fair amount of muscle because of her specialty, and she has a slight tan as she likes being outside. Her clothes usually consist of bright colors, typically being red or orange. Her robes are slightly dark red, blending into some orange on the ends of her sleeves and the bottom of the robes.
Equipment: Silvana carries a pendant under her robe in the shape of a flame, a gift from her parents to congratulate her becoming an Adept, and to motivate her towards getting the higher ranks of Weaver and Master.
Demeanor: Silvana had always been a good girl. Her parents treated her well, and she had treated them well in return. Kind to others around her, and positive about most things around her, she wouldn't dream of arguing with someone, nevermind being angry towards others.
History: Silvana was born to Nina, a Metallic Weaver who specialized in Ironwork, and Timothy, a merchant who did well enough as one. As an only child, she was spoiled a little bit, but her parents did their best not to make her feel like she could get anything she wanted. They gave her enough, and she was happy with what she got.
With her mother being a mage, Silvana was used to seeing magic on occasion. Her mother didn't need to use it often at home, but it came in handy at times. Silvana hoped that she could one day become a mage like her mother, so that she could do all the cool stuff too.
Silvana did all she could to help her parents at home, whatever task they asked her to do this or that day, and she rarely said no to them. Since she couldn't go with her mother to wherever she needed to be, she went with her father most of the time to the market, helping him sell his products. When her mother was at home, Silvana and her would spar with dull swords since she had asked her mother if she could train her to become strong like she was, what with her needing to be strong as an Ironworker and all that. And since Nina couldn't train her in magic Silvana didn't have, she agreed to help her become stronger physically.
One evening, when she was at the age of 7, the family was enjoying some down time in front of the fireplace, Silvana got extra interested in it for some reason she couldn't explain at that moment. She got closer and closer, and once she was close enough, she somehow made the flame dance almost exactly like she wanted. Her parents watched for a moment, then looked at each other and agreed that the next day they would take their daughter to the Academy.
There, Silvana was questioned on a lot of things, and asked to show what she could do. Provided with a small flame, Silvana got the flame to dance as she had done the evening before. After all that was done, Nina and Tim were told that she would need to attend the Academy in order to gain control of her powers.
So began her life at the Academy, where she would learn to become a Pyromancer. It wasn't the same kind of magic as her mother had, but she was thrilled nonetheless to be able to use magic of her own. She attended classes, learned the various ways to control fire, and eventually found that she preferred Firesmithing over Firestorming. There was just something about making a weapon or a companion out of fire that fascinated her more than simply throwing it around all willy nilly. Plus her mother had trained her in using a weapon, so that did factor into her decision as well.
She studied as hard as she could, becoming an Adept in her late teens. Her parents were proud of her when she became an Adept, giving her a pendant in the shape of a flame so that she might one day become a Master. Silvana was more than happy with being an Adept for now, but still wanting to study harder to become a Weaver like her mother. She wanted to make her parents even prouder of her, as they were the most precious and important people of her life.
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Mira had been taken by surprise early in the fight, a Drake attacking her and meeting its end with a flurry of cuts from her blade. Unfortunately she had not been swift enough to get out of the way and had been clipped by the falling beast, sending her sprawling to the deck, barely conscious and concussed. Some ally, she wasn't sure who, had hauled her below decks to safety, and now she seemed to be coming out of the worst of it, her dizziness and blinding pain fading away into mere disorientation and an awful headache.
"I did not account for myself very well out there." She mumbled around a tongue that felt like a felt pad about a foot thick. She checked over her injuries surreptitiously - a deep gash in her brow from where her head had impacted deck railing, and her flesh was tender and sore all along her right side, where she'd likely have a lovely bruise for the next week or so. Fantastic.
She slowly, gingerly made her way to where she thought Master Alexander would set up for triage. She wasn't overly concerned about her own condition, but she knew that he'd want to look her over and make sure that there wasn't more severe damage than a bruise and getting her bell rung.
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Name: Mira Alamar
Age: 31
Gender: Female
Mastery: Illuminate
Specialty: Defender
Rank: Weaver
Mira is a tall, strongly-built redheaded woman. There's a glow to her, particularly around her pale blue eyes. She has strong features with prominent bone structure, but robs them of their severeness with a gentle smile and kind eyes. She dresses in simple, plain white cloth robes bound at the waist with a belt of yellow cloth. From her belt hangs a device, a smooth piece of white crystal in the shape of a cylinder. A similar device of blue crystal, disc-shaped, about the size of her palm hangs on the opposite side of her belt.
Demeanor: Mira is a nice person, as a general rule. She's unfailingly polite and helpful, and tries to behave as an example to her fellow Mages. As an instructor of the younger Illuminates she's stern but fair, playing no favorites and driving her students to excel, and to her peers she's warm and friendly, managing to be cheerful without being obnoxiously chipper. For her the Academy is a family, and she tries to be the responsible big sister.
When trouble strikes the academy Mira's less a big sister and more of a mother bear. For those who seek to harm her Family she shows a different side, a core of solid steel under her loving exterior, and this comes out no matter who is being threatened, whether it's her best friend or the Nightshade who seems to have no purpose in life beyond irritating her.
History: Mira was a bit of a fluke. Her parents were both accomplished Mages, but neither were Illuminates - one a talented Storm Hydromancer, the other a Firesmith of no small repute. Mira being an Illuminate was rather baffling to all involved. Not that it changed their feelings for their little girl, she was the light of their life, just now it was a bit more literal.
Her elevation through the ranks was swift - it was handy when you started your magical instruction almost out of the womb, and while her mother and father's experiences weren't exactly the same as hers Magic was Magic, and some of the groundwork was the same across the board. That gave her an edge.
Shortly after her tenth birthday her mother became pregnant again, giving birth nine months later to twins - a boy and a girl. That continued the surrealism of the Alamar family, as a few years later her siblings were tested, finding that one was an Earthshaper, the other a Metallic. Needless to say people are still trying to figure that out nearly thirty years later, and it didn't get any less confusing the other times her parents had kids.
As she entered into her adolescence and began to enter the deeper mysteries of Magic Mira found herself beginning to notice the rifts and petty squabbles between the various schools of the Elementals, rifts that seemed patently idiotic to her. Her blood family was bound as tight as could be despite being from all different elements, and while it made life at the family home certainly interesting at times, sibling arguments turning into hailstorms of ice and boulders often enough, they were nonetheless family. They loved each other, they'd die for each other.
Never made sense to her that the rest of the Academy couldn't be the same. So she resolved that for her, it would be the same.
Her elevation continued rapidly, and despite her peacekeeping nature she found herself drawn to the path of the Defender. She could manage a cut or a scrape or a little burn, that was essential in the Alamar household, but when it got right down to it she was all about keeping events from boiling over, and if they did boil over Big Sister would put the lid back on the pot, usually with firm application of a backhand.
Shortly after her elevation to Weaver she came across the idea while talking to one of her brothers of focusing crystals. It was a little project in the Alamar house for a while. A brother brought the crystals, her father and mother helped to shape them into the correct patterns, one of her sisters used a nudge of Earthshaping to adjust the internal alignments, and then they were ready, a pair of focusing lenses for her light. One to form a blade, the other to form a shield.
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Just when Jonathan had secured what he thought was the most critical parts of his research (still a sizable amount of scrolls, which he conjured into 4 metal-covered books without really caring to organise them based on their content, an activity that could wait for later), he noticed the S.C.A.R. had a new reading for him. As he decrypted it, he found out that the craft he had spotted started slowing down and losing altitude at the edge of the storm, until it was lost from the S.C.A.R.'s sensors.
Seeing that the S.C.A.R. could only make readings for the area influenced by the Scar's elemental flux, and that the edge of the storm could not instantly destroy a ship to the point of no detection (especially since said craft had survived the parts of it that could), this only meant one thing; the craft had survived! And then probably crashed, if it kept losing altitude at this pace. A look out of the window confirmed his assumptions: near the edge of the Scar, a giant airship sat proudly at the ground, full of dents in its... ice-covered layers? (Yep, definitely Elementals up there) and with its proppellers inexplicably close to the deck, but probably still attached.
Now there was nothing keeping Jonathan in his but. Even if the airship was too badly damaged to fly away, he should help on repairing it or at least helping out the survivors. And if there were no survivors... he hoped things wouldn't come to this, but if they did, he could at least investigate the crash site and the airship.
"Stewart, Margaret, cease activity and come to me. We're leaving" he said quietly to the vast emptiness of his room.
Suddenly, the bellows stopped pumping. From behind the bellows, hidden by the shadows, emerged a humanoid construct made of tungsten and aluminum, around a foot and a half shorter than Jonathan, and walked towards him. From the other side, another humanoid construct made of the elemental metal of this area, at the same height as Jonathan, stopped observing some experiments at also walked towards him. This construct was obviously more advanced than the small one, and had slightly more feminine characteristics than is normally seen in constructs of this kind despite its lack of sensitive parts of the female body.
Everything was ready now. Jonathan called his formal garments from the chair on which they were slowly picking up dust; a large robe made out of pure metal, but somehow as light and soft as silk; a truly gorgeous and inexplicable piece of clothing, a gift from the Master that took care of him when he first arrived to the Academy. Then, he grabbed his backpack, sighed, and did what his robe was not designed for, what he hated to do and did not need to do for years, what he only did as an exercise until now. He started running, with all his strength, towards the location of the airship, not once turning back to what he left behind.
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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Vanahara gritted her teeth when Hayes told them to brace themselves. She let herself fall backward the few inches to the wall, bracing herself with her feet as with a press of her palms, the metal links of her belt at her back melded with the metal plating on the wall—as secure a hold as she could make. She kept her damaged ankle slightly raised and grabbed a nearby pipe for good measure, and a good thing too—as the ship slammed into the ground, it was only her grip that kept her from bouncing right off the floor.
When the dust settled—literally—Vana released her belt from the wall and gingerly put her weight on both feet. Not that bad, then—not nearly as bad as the Firesmith girl who looked like she'd gotten a claw right through her shoulder. Commander Hayes was already moving away to attend to the rest of the ship, and as much as she'd like to follow him, Vana knew she should take care of her own injuries first.
"I'll take you up on that, Nightshade," she said, voice coming out rough as it always did. "Don't have more than scratches." She propped herself against the wall again and lifted her foot, pulling off her boot and the quick bandage she'd wrapped around her ankle with little more than a wince. The bandage was dotted with blood, but the teeth marks in a ring around her ankle were little more than needle holes, and thank Karina they hadn't nicked any tendons. As for her burned arms, Vanahara peeled her newly unlaced bracers away from the patches of red, painful skin with a hiss of air the only sign as to pain, inspecting them clinically and nodding when she was satisfied that Ling's potion would be able to heal the two small patches of burned skin at her inner elbows. She looked up, offering a nod as she took the proffered potion, dabbing as little as possible onto a clean section of the now wadded-up bandage and rubbing it into her injuries as she'd seen Ling do.
Within moments, the burns at her arms eased and the punctures in her ankle were closing. Vanahara gave a glimmer of a smile in approval as she handed the potion back, pulling on her boot and re-tightening her bracers with quick, practiced movements. She glanced down at the Firesmith clutching her shoulder, and with a sigh leaned down to haul her to her feet—using the uninjured arm, of course.
"Master Smith is down that way," she said shortly, pointing down the hall at Alamar's retreating (stumbling) back. "Follow her." After making sure that Silvana was firmly on her feet and wasn't about to fall over, she gave her one more clap on the undamaged shoulder and turned away. Vana headed in the opposite direction, following the clank of retreating footsteps to somewhere she could properly touch the hull and try to straighten out some of the damage.
|
NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Jonathan kept running, and kept running, and kept running. Neither his long metal robe, his backpack, his old age, or his lack of proper exercise did anything to help in his rush, but none of them seemed able to stop him in any way. Behind him, his two robotic companions were following him restlessly, in a kinda slower pace, but also seemingly unhindered by their own heavy construction. In fact, they probably could also carry some extra scrolls, but Jonathan did not think of it until this point and he did not care either. He kept running, and running, and running.
Until he could not run anymore. He suddenly came to a stop, and barely managed to hold his balance and not collapse head-first into the ground. He stood there, catching his breath and contemplating his position while his companions caught up with him. The airship was much closer now- it was still a sizable distance, but he could walk it there most likely. But still, he could also probably signal them while he was still there, if the refined iron veins in the ground would help him.
Slowly, he concentrated his powers and focused on a piece of metal next to him, on which he gave a trumpet-like shape. If his calculations were correct, he should be able to resonate his voice through the surrounding veins of metal for a satisfying g echo through the area. With all his power, praying that his echoed voice wouldn't get lost through the continuous sound of the Scar, he shouted through the hole in the metal:
"Greetings, oh brave traversers of the Storm! Would you accept upon your airship a humble follower of Karina?"
|
Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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Jonathan waited for a while, then decided that his voice was not heard. Immediately, he started running again, despite his fatigue.
Finally, the reached the hull of the Airship, again while barely not collapsing on the ground. When he has caught his breath, he started observing the Airship from this angle. Despite its rough appereance (Nothing unexpected for a ship that survey the Scar), it was a truly beautifully designed and equipped ship.
He could not find an easy way in, however. He could try to repeat his rock and use the echo to make his existence known, but a better idea popped up into his mind.
"Stewart, start climbing up the Airship. Feel free to use the hull to help you, but return it to its original shape after each step.Once you're on the bridge, redirect survivors to my position."
He then turned to the larger robot. "Margaret, come over here and help me. I know this is not your area of expertise, but collect me some metal. We're making a staircase to the bridge. "
|
The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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Jonathan stopped constructing his metal staircase, which had reached about halfways to the edge of the bridge, signaled his companion to also stop. The reason was a voice that came from the Airship. He turned his head to see that the voice belonged to a tall, war-tested man, with a determined look on his face and a pair of metal warriors armed with crossbows around him; he was a sure that this man was the commander of the ship as that the sun rose this morning.
"My greetings to you too, Commander. This humble servant of Karina that stands before you -and below you, to be exact- has indeed tested his luck with the storm multiple times -acquiring not only the abundant resources of the area, but also the knowledge the Storm hands out freely to the few who search for them. And yet, I abandoned many years of research on the sight of a ship determined enough to ride through the waves of pure, untameable,unforgiving power the Scar consists of. I, Jonathan Silvas, Weaver-rank Mechanist, son of Stewart and Margaret, am ready to follow you on your journey aboard this ship- and help in its much needed repairs to its original shape - by the moment you offer me the permission to get on board. And of course, by the moment I get convinced for the righteousness of your journey. "
|
Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Well, if anything could be said for the damaged airship, at least there was no shortage of work to do. Vanahara followed no path in particular, only generally moving towards the cargo hold, stopping occasionally to help with the repair efforts. The most damage had been done to the outer shell of the ship, but steam pipes had burst from stress, cannons had been clawed out of action, and shards of Storm-stone had splintered right through the walls. Until Hayes gave the all-clear to step outside, Vana knew she'd be more effective if she dealt with the internal issues first. She stood at one such fracture now.
"On three," the sergeant barked, and Vanahara nodded with the two other crewmen by her sides. "One, two--three!" With a heave, the four strained to bend the thick sheets of metal back towards the jagged tear that an enraged drake had ripped clean through a wall. Vana's arms strained as she pushed both sections flat, one hand on each edge as the crewmen helped keep it from springing back out of shape. When the torn edges slid together with a screech, Vana let go of one side and slowly passed her palm over the messy seam. As her hand moved away, a smoothly mended surface was revealed.
The crewmen stepped away, watching warily for signs of fractures, but the repair held. The sergeant nodded and clapped Vanahara on the shoulder.
"My thanks, mage," she said approvingly. "Appreciate the help. Although I think Simmons over on the starboard side steamworks would appreciate it more..."
Vanahara nodded in reply, working the kinks out of her shoulders. As she turned, her hand fell to her belt pouch, reflexively checking that its contents were still secure for later study. She moved away without another word, heading for the next minor catastrophe--or the mess hall, if that particular summons went out. It had been a long day, and right now, even the beige slop from the galley would taste like sweet ambrosia.
|
NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Raven glanced over at the metal guards, then back down at the man and his...machines. This fellow was definitely a strange one.
"Righteousness of our journey? You have a very strange way of speaking, Johnathan Silvas. And I wonder what repairs you intend to do when we already have them well in hand. What is it you really want of me and my ship, mage? In case it was not obvious, I am in a bit of a rush as getting through the storm was the faster alternative till waiting till it cleared..." Raven paused, then decided maybe this fellow could be useful for something.
"Tell me, did you happen to see any other ships near here? Or any individuals happening by with any boxes?" Raven waved off one of the metal troops, who jumped from the ship to the ground without so much as a flinch. Striding past Johnathan, the mechanical soldier went about making sure the area around them was secure.
As Vanahara made her way to the steamworks room, it was obvious that this was where all the action was happening....also where the most armor was as the metal door even seemed especially thick. As she approached, a man with an arm of metal looked the mage over, giving her a small wave.
"Mage, right? I hear you can help patch up some of the holes we have going on in here...Just don't put your hands in anything moving, cause I don't think the engine or your hands would appreciate that." The man pulled open the door, and inside was no shortage of spinning gears, pipes, and machinery of all kinds spinning, pumping, and some of it screeching as men and women alike ran about trying to keep things moving smoothly.
Most notable in the room where a few ice spikes which still sat in the room, directly across from the holes that now sat in the hull. There were other bits that some gave space to, like the bits of metal which still gave off a red glow, which from time to time an engineer would spit at which would cause steam to rise.
"We just need help with the stuff that....well, just cut right through everything."
|
The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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Jonathan gave the man a look of disbelief.
"I understand that my way of speech might be deviating a bit from the normal, and possibly also outdated, for I have been traveling through the lands in almost complete isolation for the past three years of my life. Which is also the most probable reason that I have not encountered any individuals with boxes during my small-duration visits to any village, at least not in an instance I can currently recall. As for airships, an encounter of such a magnificent beast in one of the remote areas I have traversed would surely leave a mark even on my memory"
Jonathan suddenly stopped as a memory, indeed, popped in his mind.
"However, I do seen to recall an event of utmost bizzarity-possibly even a series of events - that could possibly help you. However, if I may repeat myself, I will first require to be convinced of the morals followed by the man I will stand upon when I speak of them. "
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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After taking the contents of the vial in her mouth, Nataly instantly started to feel the soothing effects. Her ankle wasn't bothering her as much anymore, the feeling was beginning to return in her hand, and she didn't feel like murdering that crazy commander anymore. This was proving to be pretty good stuff...although not as good as some of the party drink Tristam cranked out. Still, it definitely did the job. And it seemed like Ling was just as miffed as the rough landing as she was. At least she had a sword or something to busy herself with. Nataly just stood there holding the empty vial like a frosh trying to hide the fact they couldn't take anymore fire water.
"I'd prefer to avoid both those things," she commented as she moved to hand the empty vial back. She looked back over her robes to see how much damage the flaming shrapnel had done to it, but they were still wearable. Just definitely not as elegant or pristine as they once were. "I didn't do a good enough job so far, lousy driver...or storm...whatever..." She held the glass in front of Ling, as if subconsciously asking for a place to put it while she still examined her weapon. "So, Ling, right? I think I've heard your name before. Tristam was always complaining about you showing him up I think. Probably why he kept making the drinks for us. But you're clearly better right? I mean, that medicine was almost as good as that Siren's Kiss stuff he makes, and that's him trying to make stuff that tastes decent. So...that mean you just spend all your time studying back at the academy?"
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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Ling set her crossbow aside as Nataly mentioned her fellow Alchemist. Tristam, Tristam... where had she heard that name? Oh, right, he was an Adept, like herself, and he ran the distillery down the hall from her lab. He didn't seem to do all that great a job, judging by the smell. Or was all alcohol like that? Ling didn't know. She wasn't the type to mix up something to impede a fellow student's focus.
"Yeah, I do spend most of my time working on my recipes, when I'm not out buying more vials 'cause I smash so many of them," she eventually answered, taking back the empty vial and stowing it in a loop on her belt. "Tristam's... well, average, really. I mean no disrespect, but if you want to drink the cheap and quick stuff until you start seeing flying pink and blue weasels, you ask him. If you want something to get rid of your soul-crushing headache the next morning so you can get your work done, you come to me. Restoratives, Invigorators, All-Nighter Tonics, you need any kind of booster to get through the day, I can make it." She hoped she didn't sound too prideful... or scornful of her fellow Alchemist.
"Though I do agree I need to find some sort of component that gives my potions a better flavour. I'll write that down later: look into sweeter things with no alchemical properties that'll throw off the intended effect." Sugar, whether raw or refined, turned Ling's healing potions useless - it countered the herbal components - and it was already a key ingredient in her All-Nighters. Maybe a fruit juice of some kind would work. She filed that thought away for later use.
"What about yourself? Do you visit any of the towns near the Academy?"
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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The rough landing meant Drew took a nasty fall down the stairs when the others were safe. Had he been conscious, he would have been glad to hear that the other mages had made it. But instead, he had to push his way out of a pile of broken boxes. His injuries were minor, mostly some bruising. He thought he could just walk it off, unlike the others. He was rubbing his head and groaning miserably when suddenly... he heard a new voice. And it was certainly a voice he would remember hearing before.
This newcomer, this "Jonathan", sounded interesting to say the least. But the commander was bringing up things none of the others had heard of. "Boxes?" he muttered. What did this sort of stuff have to do with the storms? This fellow certainly proved himself to be eccentric and a bit of a liar. Probably thought this was on a "need to know basis", but Drew couldn't resist the chance to get ahead. Moments like this made him glad people tended not to notice him.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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The engine room was like nothing she'd ever seen. Between one step and the next, Vanahara paused in the doorway for a split second, letting her senses pass over the dizzying array of machinery and try to make sense of it. She pushed her shock aside for the moment, though, following the one-armed man towards where the most damage had been done.
Vana cast a critical eye over the still mass of intricate metal, nodding to herself as she considered the problems and how to solve them. She glanced over at the glittering spikes of ice that had punched holes through the ship, then turned back to the man, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the offenders.
"You'll want one of the hydromancers for those," she said. "Maybe even one of the pyros to melt it away." She stepped forward, laying a hand on one of the outer casings that had a jagged piece torn away, lying on the floor a few feet away. "I can fix the parts, but you'll have to get one of your engineers to put the whole back together."
The man nodded his understanding, and Vanahara turned back to the engine. "Karinot," she muttered under her breath, before leaning down to pick up the severed piece of casing. She tucked the thick metal under her arm and wedged a foot into a safe gap in the engine, starting the climb up to the damaged area. If she was going to repair an entire engine, she might as well start from the top and work her way down.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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All Nataly could do was shrug when Ling mentioned Tristam's ...mediocre alchemic abilities. He was better than Solomon. That crap he was trying to peddle tasted like sour water. You could shove an entire lime into the thing and it wouldn't improve that taste. He got pretty sour when Tristam started making drinks too, and hasn't really gotten over it since. Kinda shut himself away. Ah well. He was a tool.
"Hmmm, I don't as much now as I used too," Nataly admitted to the Nightshade. "I mean yeah, when I was a little younger, I'd be all over it, going out during the breaks. Instead of practicing my craft, I would down some craft beverages. But, I mean, we all do stupid stuff while we're young, right? Now, I'm a little more serious about it. Plus it's a lot cheaper to spend my time at the Academy instead of in town buying stuff I don't need, you know?" She looked down at her robes. "Course that storm did do a number on my robes. I really shouldn't have worn them out like that. So yeah, I guess that's one reason to go in town...but yeah."
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Name: Nataly Andrade
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Blizzard
Rank: Adept
Nataly is 5'7" and is a slight 116 lbs. Her northern roots show in her pale skin, contrasting with ice blue hair. The hair is cut short, left at about shoulder length and her have bangs bound with purple bands. She has eyes are deeper blue than her hair, and what could be considered a "cute" complexion.
People are surprised by Nataly's slender frame because her robes are huge. They billow out from the sides and are bulky with fluff to protect from the cold that she conjures. Contrary to her skills, underneath the robes she dresses rather revealingly, to help deal with the heat of the southern lands the Academy sit on (relatively speaking). She has a pendant with a cut piece of blue amber on it that she'll often pull out to help her focus when conjuring up her icy magics.
Equipment: Why carry weapons when concealable and untraceable ones can be crafted out of ice?
Demeanor: Nataly has been rather bubbly as of late. The prospect of finally getting promoted from Adept to Weaver has lifted her spirits in recent months, and has seen a surge in her production in classes as well as her kindness towards her fellow Hydros. You do not want to get on her bad side though. If ever wronged in any way, it's not possible for Nataly to just let it go.
History: The Andrades welcomed young Nataly into the family during a nasty blizzard in the Far Northern town of Cartaquilla, which serves as the main port for the Kingdom of Gran Helada. That might have served as a premonition for Nataly's future, but blizzards were a regular facet of life in the frozen lands. For Falco, a fisherman by trade, and Yoreli, a stay-at-home mother, the first daughter in the family after three boys was a welcome change and they doted the young girl from the moment she was placed in the buffered crib.
The first sign that Nataly might be special in more ways than one manifested when she was eleven. Yoreli opened the door to Nataly's room one morning to find the girl playing in a layer of snow, a icy replica of her brother Jaime standing guard as she made snow angels. Yoreli scolded the child for leaving the window open and letting all the snow in but the window was closed, revealing the sunny day that Cartaquilla had been blessed with. As Yoreli looked up she could see the sprinkles of snowflakes falling from the ceiling, then dropped down to her daughter, still happily waving her arms without a care in the world.
This revelation was met with fear and seclusion for Nataly, as Yoreli did her best to hide the witchcraft her daughter perpetrated. Falco paid no mind, usually out on trawling expeditions but Yoreli kept Nataly's powers a secret from her husband and he maintained a loving bond with his child. However, the snow that Nataly so willingly embraced would prove to be her father's downfall. Twelve hours after he left Cartaquilla on a day hunt for crab, one of the worst blizzards in a century struck. It paralyzed the region and trapped all seabound ships for days while the ice raged on. Worry grew with each passing day, and the prospect of Falco returning was fading. It got to the point that on the third day, Yoreli came out into the snow, searching for her sixteen year old daughter only to find Nataly standing in her pyjamas, tears frozen to her face, desperately trying to bend the snow away to open a path for her father to come back. She failed.
Without Falco, Yoreli tried to look for other paths to taking care of her children. She learned about the Academy for people with Nataly's talents, so the girl was sent packing at age 17 for the far south. Nataly was slow to progress off the bat. She still was upset about her father and did not want to conjure up the substance that took him away in her mind, but eventually the icy walls tumbled down and she was starting to get the hang of controlling her gifts. She finally passed her Adept exam at 23, and has been working hard to try and progress up the ranks. Nataly wants to get to the point where she could control the snowstorms of her hometown and at least make sure other kids don't have to lose their parents like she did.
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Alexander had used his body to try and steady one of his patients as he worked while the ship slammed hard. Despite his best efforts he and the patient were still thrown to the ground as he heard the familiar crack of bone combined with an almost unfamiliar searing pain shooting through him. Managing to sit back up he started to mend his own arm to a usable and merely throbbing state. The pain still there but not enough he couldn't simply ignore it and continue with his work. Triage was needed, not fixing every small injury.
"Hopefully that's the end of this and we can continue on our way." He thought out loud as he worked.
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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I didn't doubt you men could handle this. Though saying it should be easy is always asking for things to go terribly wrong. His second sentence said more jokingly than the first. Calming down as the stream of new patients halted.
"If there was a contagious disease in the storm, we would be the first cases I've ever heard of. Of course there is always the standard array of sicknesses associated with storms but those can be solved by bed rest and plenty of soup more often than not. Magic only needed for the worst of the worst."
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
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Joey entered the infirmary, doing his best to keep his injured arm leveled and as painless as possible. The Illuminate Master was still doing some work on other crew mates, leaving him and the mystery blonde waiting for their turn. The rogue figured he could at least strike up a conversation with her. Striding up beside her, he lightly nudged her with his working arm.
"I'm sorry, I don't think we've been formally introduced." He began. "I'm Horatio. Call me Joey, if you'd like. Your name is...something with an S, right? Silvia or something like that?"
"Silvana." she corrected him. "There's no need to shorten it." Her shoulder hurt an awful lot, and she hoped she could get to Alexander as soon as possible. She did what she could to keep the bleeding at bay, and while there was someone who could heal her, there was no need to use her own fire to mend her wound. In order to keep the conversation going, even though she couldn't think of much else than her shoulder, she asked Joey "What happened to you?"
"Oh, this little thing?" He understated the nature of his injury. "Just had a rough run-in with one'a the cannons. Damn near crushed me ribs it did!" He sighed. "It's nothing too bad, I'll live. And your shoulder?" He probably would've helped keep it compressed if he weren't keeping his arm propped up.
"Got nicked by one'a those mangy harpies, didja? Hope you did more to it than it did ta you!" He talked light, in attempts to raise spirits. It worked, since it got a chuckle out of Silvana. "Sliced through it with my fire blade. It's not taking to the skies any time soon, that I can guarantee." She used her free hand to tightly hold the pendant that was now on the inside of her robes. "But even if I managed to take care of that one, I sure hope we're not about to fight any more of them. I've had my fill of harpies for one day."
"Fire...blade?" Bewildered, Joey looked about the girl's person, in attempts to spot any sort of weapon. When he failed to spot anything, he couldn't help but be a little curious. "You're a fire Mage, right? You guys can make weapons...?" He asked, wondrously.
"A Firesmith can. I'd show you, but this isn't exactly the time nor the situation. Maybe later if you ask nicely." she said, giving him a half smile, only half due to her wound still causing her pain. "And what of you? I think I remember you saying you were an Earthshaper when we were all introducing ourselves, though I can't say I know what they split into, like how Pyromancers split into Firesmiths and Firestorms."
Joey let the question hang a beat before reply with half a shrug. "...Ya got me there, luv." He replied. "I know about as much as you do. I haven't been at the Academy long enough to get any sort of training or learn anything. And I doubt any of me human acquaintances would be too eager to help me develop any of me abilities. All I know, is that I can move little pebbles, and sand. dust, and dirt. And apparently I'll get to a point where I'll move bigger rocks. Which is kinda exciting, all things considered."
Soon, there was a lull in the area as the patients ahead of Joey and Silvana were tended to. "Looks like we're up next." He said to the girl as he stepped forward. "Hope ya gots some light left for us, Master." Joey greeted, showing off his injury. "You should probably look at Silvana first, though. She got it worst than I did." He mentioned.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Vanahara grunted in response to the offered ladder, wedging her feet in and buckling her belt to an exposed bar. She was already where she needed to be—it would be inefficient to move away now.
"Hydromancers could move it—chuck it over the railing, get it off the ship," she said shortly, carefully maneuvering her fingers between two snapped struts. "Pyro could melt it down, though. Depends on what you want."
There was a long beat of silence as her brow furrowed, coaxing the delicate shards back into a whole piece. Her bare fingertips traced the seam, making sure that it wouldn't fracture the instant she pulled away. It only took half her attention, though—the rest was building a mental image of the workings of the engine. Ironworker she may be, but Vana had a weakness for beautiful, complicated machines.
"I've never seen an engine like this," she said absently, glancing at the sergeant out of the corner of her eye. "The Academy doesn't keep many airships on hand." Her expression didn't change from her default seriousness, so the rare joke might easily slip by unnoticed.
Vana extracted her arm from the engine, turning to the sergeant and tilting her head to the side. "I can find the mages, bring them back here." She knew that people were sometimes...nervous, around mages. Not that they didn't have historical reasoning behind it, but, well...there was a reason the Academy existed.
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NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
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Of course, though if this continues much longer I may need to start using less magical medicine. Not often I have to work on so many so quickly. Alexander replied smiling as he looked over Silvana's injury. Starting to channel some energy into the wound.
"What about you Joey, mind telling me about your injury. Would save a lot of time when I finish with this." He asked, focusing mostly on the energy he was still channeling as skin and veins knitted themselves back together.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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Oh, uh, Joey found himself being snapped out of a mindless daydream as Master Alexander began tending to Silvana. "Got smushed in by a loose cannon during the rough landing." He described. "Might've fractured it. The pain is wicked sharp, but tolerable if I keep it still." He talked as if such an accident was something he's experienced at some time before. His curiosity ran wild once more, and he wondered just how extensive the Master's abilities could get. "You can do that, yeah? Mend bones and whatnot?" He asked.
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Name: Horatio "Joey" Dunst
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Mastery: Earthshaper
Specialty: Boulder
Rank: Mage
Appearance:
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
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Raven nodded to the mage, and began making his way down to the engine room, with Drew following behind. It would be interesting to have a man with the storms at his fingertips, even if he tried to play it off as a parlor trick. Then again, his armor would probably impress the mage if he had any idea what drove it.
"So, you feel all the waters as they flow around us huh? I guess I had better hope for a storm when we arrive at our destination. We may already be late. A check on the engine room should reveal why. It would typically be an honor for another to be in there, but I imagine the reason we are slowed is because you mages would be able to do something to speed it up." Raven continued down the halls, noting more and more of the troops preparing the ship to go once again, placing things back where they belonged, and just making sure there were not gaping holes in the ship.
"I have never seen it slow, if that is what you are asking. I have seen it grow, and do some very strange things. Perhaps our strange guest would be able to tell you more...particulars. Though, if you think the storm is what people see when they see an elemental, then you should be thanking the gods you are alive. A lot of people would be much happier with this storm not being quite as imposing..."
As they made their way to the engine room, Raven paused to watch the ending of Vana patching up the hull, being able to freely pass by the pair of workers who seemed to be guarding the door. With the commander there, they let Drew in as well.
The sergeant nodded, appreciating the praise of the engine, looking it over as Vana came back down. "Aye, she is has quite the heart don't she? Very well made, tougher than it looks, and able to keep this ship afloat even when she's taken a damn beating like we just did." At the talk of other mages entering, the man shrugged.
"Bah, not too worried about you mages seeing the heart of her at this rate. I'd rather have you seen her and her be well instead of limping along just so you don't see her." As the sergeant turned, he noted the Commander Raven coming through the doorway.
"Mages pretty handy in helping out the girl. Can we keep these guests? They at least serve a purpose." The sergeant called to Raven.
"Maybe this time we can keep a few along. They are quite helpful in the bigger scraps eh?" Raven said with a laugh. "But, I would be happier if this....junk was out of the engine room. I can't have you ending up like that hammer."
"Well, the mages apparently can take care of this, so says the metal one. She says she can get them here too!"
As the propellers were finally reset, many of the crew seemed to give a sigh of relief and went about making sure that they got everything back to its usual condition...and cleaning off the bits of monster that were still scattered about the ship. Once the engine room was all cleaned up, they would be airworthy once again.
Meanwhile, an odd phenomena began to happen with the storm, as it slowly began to stretch in another direction. It was a slow movement, with a few more stones and steel and fire falling outside the bounds of its usual control. Then, more and more it began to stretch northward, like a spike of destruction stretching further out. This obviously did not go unnoticed, as the crew began to call down that the storm was stretching.
Raven heard the shouts as they came down, and shook his head.
"Well mages, clean up the damn engine room. We won't be making any pit stops now. Seems our enemies decided to make their move, and we don't have a time of luxury to do some neatening up."
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The vagueness isn't a bad problem, but there are two concerns, both a bit related to one another. Her age and her rank. Age comes into play because she is the youngest Weaver by a couple years, which wouldn't be the worst of problems except it seems that her metal abilities showed up later when working as a blacksmith.
Since we already have 3 Weavers who are supposed to be in play, I am a little hesitant to take on a vague 4th. If you would be OK just dropping to Adept or Mage that would solve the age problem pretty easily.
Otherwise, it reads alright other than that, so if you would make a decision regarding that I think it would be all set!
Congrats on the dog hunt, and happy to hear you got them back.
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Drew flinched. He didn't really think his question through. He just smiled nervously, glad to get the answers he did but willing to let the point drop. Instead, he whistled when he saw Vana's handiwork. He didn't know it was her specifically, he he knew it had to be an elemental. He was glad to see someone display such talent. But that just meant he had to chip in. He walked over to some of the chunks of ice. Rather than dislodge them and toss them aside, he started to melt it and shape it like clay, freezing it in place again. It wasn't as thick as it could be, but someone else could reinforce it.
Then the shouts came. He gulped, feeling the back of his head flare up in pain. Efficiency was needed here and he had no idea what actually needed to be done. "Hey!" he shouted to the Metalic, hoping his volume would make up for lack of direction. "Metalworker! Is there anything that urgently needs a Hydromancer?" he had to start learning names soon.
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Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
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Oi! You're some of the mages, right? Can ya give me a hand with this?
Ling jumped and looked around. Sure enough, a woman from Hayes' crew was standing there with one hand on her hip and the other held up in front of her, covered in... something. Not oil, it was a solid. Black-grey colour, a stark contrast to the tanned skin of her forearm. Residual shadow essence from the storm. Must have pierced the hull somewhere. Ling approached her. "Um, yes, let me see that... hmm." She prodded the hand and fingers in several places. Nothing changed. "How did this happen?"
"Blasted spike of black magic punched clean through the ship a deck below. Then it exploded, and while there was no more harm done, it turned a full section pitch-black. Can't see or hear anything through it, and ya can't touch it without getting covered in this gunk. Can ya do anything about it, miss? Need to clear it out before something else tears the hole even bigger."
Ling nodded, though she was slightly uneasy about the task. She wasn't the best manipulator of shadow magic, but she couldn't really back down from it. "Lead the way."
Sure enough, one floor below, the hallway was blocked off by a plain wall of opaque, black-grey shadow essence. Ling raised her eyebrows. "Interesting that a single 'spike' can do that. Now, I'm gonna need you to be a little patient with me on this one. I'm no Shadow specialist, but I'll do what I can." She stepped past the skysailor and raised her hands, holding them out an inch or so from the wall of magic. She tried to focus on nothing but the wall, willing it to disperse. It shimmered, rippling from where her hands would have touched it, but settled back into place and held steady. She tried again, scrunching up her face in concentration. This time the ripples were stronger, but still very small compared to the full size of the wall.
"Blast it. You sure this is something you can handle, miss Ling?"
The alchemist stepped back a pace, drawing one of the vials of blue potion from her belt. "If this booster vial isn't enough, we might be stuck with it until a proper Nightshade can attend to it. Best keep back." She uncorked the vial, held it up briefly to examine it, and drank it in one. She paused briefly, waiting for its effects to take hold. One... two... three...
Then her senses opened up, and she felt a surge of power. Shifting shapes emerged in the shadowy wall. Interlinking lines like a massive, twisted spiderweb ran all over the surface. The whole block of essence was still shifting, wild, untamed. Half a dozen lines converged on a single point in the wall. Ling stretched out a hand to reach it, and the lines began to splinter off in her vision and form more tiny connections.
"Aha. Here's the weak point. If I try to dispel it from here..." Ling brought her other hand to bear, trying the dispersal spell again. The ripples were stronger, running across the full surface of the wall. But it wasn't quite enough. So Ling pushed her glasses up her nose and tried a fourth time, clenching her teeth and shutting out everything else to focus.
The essence wasn't co-operating. It was wild magic, resisting Ling's efforts to bend it to her will. She felt it push back. And when it did, some of the splinters that she could see running through the wall turned... solid, was the best way to describe it. Chunks of the wall fell out, like glass shards breaking free from a window. Ling pushed harder, trying to outmatch its resistance. If she hadn't had the booster potion, she would never have been able to do it. But under her forced dispersal of the magic binding the essence together, the wall was slowly but surely giving way.
Behind Ling, the skysailor backed up to a doorway, uncertain of what was happening. More shards popped out of the wall, clattering to the floor. Ling changed her tactic. Instead of focusing on the splinters, she began taking hold of the space between each line and yanking it away, pulling it down piece by piece. After a few minutes of this, Ling felt the potion's bolstering power begin to fade, but she pressed on. Eventually, after she tore out one particularly large piece, the wall collapsed entirely, leaving shards of shadowy essence scattered throughout the hallway and a clear path to the rest of the deck.
And a large tear in the side of the ship, from where the spike had punched through. Cautiously, and breathing audibly harder than usual, Ling began gathering up the shards and tossing them out the hole. No sense in leaving them on board... although she wished she'd gotten her alchemical gloves out of her pack.
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Name: Ling the Silver Vial
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Mastery: Nightshade
Specialty: Alchemist
Rank: Adept
Appearance: As Ling originates from the Dragon Empire of the eastern plains, she is Imperial in appearance and stature; she stands at five feet seven inches tall and is notably lightweight. Her black hair is always tied back in a short ponytail; no sense in letting it get everywhere. She has brown eyes, almost always behind protective glasses out of habit.
Ling can usually be found wearing black pants and a simple black-and-white tunic with long sleeves (which are rolled up when working). Her tunics bear her personal emblem in silver thread: a potion vial with an Imperial dragon curled around it. When travelling, Ling will often don a wide straw hat and a pack to hold textbooks, journals, and similar bulky items. She supplements her outfit with a belt of pouches to hold potion ingredients and the tools to work them, and two sets of leather straps. The first is fitted with loops and pockets to hold potion vials, plus a sheath to hold a silver knife. The second keeps her weapon of choice secured on her back.
Equipment: Aside from a bag of Imperial silver, her usual supplies of potion ingredients, and the tools a travelling Alchemist would normally need, Ling carries a custom-made crossbow and four rectangular boxes of bolts called autoquivers.
The crossbow has several modifications from the standard model: its arms can fold inward for ease of transport; a lever on the side, when pulled, draws the string back without the need for extensive strength; and the stock's space for ammunition is twice the width of a standard crossbow. This last feature allows Ling to fire either standard-issue bolts from a fitted autoquiver, or potion vials that explode on impact, scattering their contents across a patch of land or group of opponents - or allies.
Ling had her crossbow - which she fondly nicknames "Kei" - and its autoquivers custom-built for her purposes. Each autoquiver holds fifteen bolts, and bolts can be replaced at any blacksmith. One of her autoquivers is marked with a skull and crossbones, the classic indicator of poison, indicating she has applied poison to each bolt in that pack.
Demeanour: Some paint the Nightshades as sullen, selfish individuals who seek only a means to achieve their own ends. Ling is almost the exact opposite. She's cheery and outgoing, willing to help others in a situation even if there's no up-front benefit to her. In this sense she might be considered a tiny bit naive. She does, however, have a particular devotion to her alchemy; while working, she enters a state of focus in which nothing outside of the immediate area matters until her task is complete. There's no sense in leaving a potion of any kind half-finished; as a result, Ling ensures she has everything in order before she starts work.
Ling also makes a point of keeping notes on all of her standard-issue potions and experiments. She finds the latter much more interesting than the former: there's no sense of discovery in copying the methods used by the textbooks. She has already filled several journals with these notes, in addition to memorising all of the more commonly made recipes (some of which have her own unique spin on them).
Despite being of the Nightshade mastery, Ling shies away from Sitheria, God of Darkness. Instead, she favours two others of the Council: Alainia, God of Water; and Loriot, God of Fire. Ling believes that Alainia and Loriot, while opposed in their Elements and her own, are the closest to Alchemy at its core.
History:
The Dragon Empire is a fascinating culture. There, the long, snakelike Imperial dragons are revered in almost any art form you would care to mention. Statuary, paintings, the written word, even architecture. Little is seen of the majestic creatures, as they are often hostile to human life and civilisation, yet at the same time the Empire reveres the dragons for their grace and beauty.
Of course, Ling knows nothing of the Empire firsthand, as she was shipped overseas to another Academy at the age of three, when she was tested for magical potential like all Imperial children. There is no Academy in the Dragon Empire: in the year 73 AW, after the destruction of the first Imperial Academy - whether as a result of a spell gone awry or a deliberate act of arson was never found out - Emperor Jutai Fallen Leaf declared that his lands would play host to no mage. To this day, all Imperial children are tested for magical power at an early age. Those that show the signs are shipped elsewhere, and may apply for Imperial citizenship at the age of nineteen despite being confined to Academy life.
The young Ling was part of a group of fifteen Imperial children sent to the Academy, filtered into the Nightshade mastery with two others. Her grasp on shadow magic was limited, while the other young Nightshades reveled in their new-found power. But she persisted, not wishing to fall behind. Eventually, at the age of twelve, the path of the Alchemist was opened to her, and she threw herself into it.
Ling found alchemy intriguing; the chemical transmutation of simple, disparate ingredients into a greater, more powerful whole. She didn't care that the Masters had chosen to wait to see whether her skills would develop. This was where she would thrive, she told herself, pushing her limits on a regular basis. She caught up to her fellow students, those the same age who had chosen their paths before her, within six months, and didn't stop there.
During her later teenage years, Ling volunteered for journeys outside the Academy. Whether the gathering of unusual ingredients that couldn't be found in the Academy's gardens, eliminating a group of bandits before they could attack a nearby town, or just providing an escort for a trip for younger mages, she wanted in on them. She wanted to see what life was like outside the walls. While she has never visited the Dragon Empire on one of these journeys - it is a long way - she studied the region and its culture during this time.
At the age of eighteen, she accompanied a caravan of supplies leaving the Academy for the purposes of trade. She supported the caravan's guards for most of the trip there and back, fending off unwanted company. But while they fought with magical prowess, she hurled vials and passed restoratives to those who needed them. On the way back to the Academy, she ran out of potions, having only prepared a dozen beforehand. It was only after documenting her experiences that Ling realised that potions and poisons simply weren't enough to be properly supportive. She had to be able to cause some effective damage herself; otherwise, she was just another body the caravan guards needed to protect. So she began researching means of expanding upon the simple act of throwing potion vials to cause harm.
There was a recent innovation in throwing short spears from a Metallic kid, that she jumped on and experimented with. While the technique was certainly effective for the javelin, it was almost useless for throwing potions. Too inaccurate without a proper guidance system. And then came the brainwave. A crossbow, modified ever so slightly to accept the small vials she used frequently. Ling, still at the rank of Mage at this time, went to a Metallic Weaver with a bag of coins in one hand and her notes in the other. The Weaver and the Mage spent the next few weeks on her customised weapon, ranging from sourcing the required materials to Ling providing several potion-related favours. But after a month of work, the crossbow was finally finished, and with a few extra modifications for ease of use. Calibrated perfectly for the throwing of vials with just enough force to catapult them a good distance, but not enough to shatter them when she pulled the trigger. As a bonus gift, the customised weapon, which Ling named "Kei", came with a set of long box-shaped containers of crossbow bolts, to be fitted atop the weapon.
Submissions of high-strength potions for examination, as well as a short written paper on her vial-launching crossbow, earned Ling the rank of Adept soon after she turned nineteen. And with this promotion came her choice of title: she became Ling the Silver Vial.
Surnames are uncommon in the Dragon Empire: instead, titles chosen by the individual are the norm. Whether a title comes before or after the given name is up to the individual, but a title will always have some reflection of the person choosing it. To give examples, an adventurer might call himself "Explorer Lun", while a Metallic Elemental might refer to himself as "Shang the Steel Hand".
An Imperial citizen will usually choose his or her title at the age of nineteen, when Imperial law deems them a legal adult.
But now that she had passed the first of her trials, Ling had even more work to do. So she got stuck into it, working late into the night to complete her projects and supplementing her midnight studies with restorative draughts to keep her awake and focused. It was here that shadow magic began to play a part in Ling's studies once more: the art of drawing a fragment of one's own shadow into a bottle to serve as an ingredient called an umbral reagent. A grasp on this particular alchemical discipline eluded Ling for several years, to the point where she began to experiment, finishing the textbook's recipes without the regents.
Every one of them blew up in her laboratory. Without the use of umbral reagents, the Adept-tier recipes were unstable; they needed the refining qualities of the reagents to blend components that - as Ling learned the hard way - reacted badly to one another.
Ling saw this only as another obstacle. She pushed herself harder, driving herself to find a way to either follow the textbook's methods, or create an alternative to the use of umbral reagents. She asked Weavers and historians, gathered the most odd or unusual of components, all in the name of solving this problem. Three years after becoming an Adept, she knew every Adept recipe back to front, but had little practical experience because she still struggled to bottle a tiny piece of her own shadow. But no matter what she tried, her experiments resulted in wasted efforts, not even acidic enough for throwing at something.
Frustrated, Ling stormed out of the Academy with Kei on her back. She hitched a ride with a caravan to one of the nearby cities, seeking something - anything - she hadn't used yet. There was nothing. So, having spent the day searching with no result except a box of vials from a glassblower and a pack of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith - each traded for a trio of Ling's homebrew all-nighter tonics - she settled into a seat in the caravan with a profound sense of having wasted her time.
Halfway back to the Academy, the caravan was ambushed.
"You alright there, miss Ling? You're looking like a bee got under your hat."
"I'm fine. Just keeping an eye on the road." Ling's response was terse and quiet. As always when travelling, she had Kei in her hands, an autoquiver in place. It was better to be safe than sorry, she reasoned, especially since she was the only mage on this trip.
The caravan rounded a corner in the road, to find the path blocked by a makeshift barricade: logs, hastily jammed into place to hinder passage. The driver spat over the side. "Sons of... we've got company." Almost instantly, Ling was on her feet, her weapon up and aimed. Four bandits leaped from their hiding places, an assortment of weapons in hand.
"Get behind me," was Ling's command to the driver before she pointed Kei at the closest of the ragtag bunch. "I am Ling the Silver Vial. If you have even a scrap of self-preservation, you will dismantle this barricade and allow us to pass."
The lead bandit just chuckled. "Yer pretty words dun mean nuthin, girlie. Drop the weapon."
"Oh, you want simpler words? Fine. The bolt in my crossbow is poisoned. One cut is all it takes." It was a bluff, but a carefully crafted one. The man flinched, but recovered his composure.
"There's six of us an' one of you. Y'can't take us all on."
Too dumb to count. Not worth the effort of negotiations. Ling pulled the trigger. The bolt hit him straight in the chest, like she'd trained. She didn't even watch the man fall, instead yanking on Kei's reset switch to reload before putting another shot into the second bandit. One of the outlaws tried to rush for the horse pulling the caravan; if they couldn't take the whole thing, they could at least cripple it, preventing it from moving. Out flashed a thrown vial, shattering on contact and dousing the rogue in acidic fluid. He flailed away from the caravan, screaming as the poison ate at his face.
An arrow, crudely made, punched through the side of the caravan. Ling looked up to find the last bandit standing on a thick branch, carrying a bow and quiver. The second shot grazed the back of her hand; it was Ling's turn to flinch as she felt blood seep out from her skin. But she raised Kei and launched a series of bolts upward, peppering the archer's perch and knocking him out of his vantage point. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over. The one that Ling had hit with the acidic vial remained only in cries, as he had dashed away to find water. Ling spun to the inside of the caravan. "Is everyone all right?"
The caravan master, two young boys and a lady in a sunhat were hiding, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Ling collapsed Kei's arms and stowed the crossbow on her back, hands open to show she meant no harm. Even an Alchemist was still a mage. "It's okay, they're gone. The fighting's over."
"A-Are you sure, miss?"
"Positive."
"If you're certain... hell's gates, miss Ling, you did quite the number on them," the caravan master murmured as he peered out at the scene. He jumped down to check on the horse, which was skittish and restless.
"I didn't hit him with the vial, did I?" she queried.
"No, no, he seems fine."
"Oh, good. Last thing we needed was a panicked horse."
"Last thing we needed was this damn ambush. If'n you can give a hand with getting these logs out the way, that'd be aces. C'mon, boys, time to earn your keep." The man beckoned to the two lads in the caravan, who jumped out and hurried to help him with the barricade. Ling hesitated, however, taking the time to examine her hand, which had taken a glancing blow. There was no sign of poison affecting the area, which was always a good sign. However, as she raised her hand to study it in the light, the entire injury turned solid grey, even the thin trail of blood. Ling dabbed at the viscous liquid with one finger; it remained the same grey-black colour.
Ling could feel the presence of her shadow magic, stronger than ever. Inspired, she hurried to her space in the caravan, drew a vial from its box and collected the shed blood within. The glass and its contents seemed to glow in her hand.
Reagent magic will become easier over time as you get used to touching your shadow. Ordinarily an intangible presence, the spell twists your shadow's properties, changing it, allowing you to gather it in your hand as you would do with mundane water. When the preparation stage is complete, pour a handful into a vial and allow it to sit for a few minutes until it turns darker and thicker, similar to blood.
The paragraph on umbral reagents came to Ling's mind easily. The vial's contents were almost an exact match to the accompanying sketch. But she hadn't done as the textbook prescribed. It was almost involuntary, like her shadow magic was called to the spilled blood, mixing of its own accord.
Ling bested the bandits easily, thanks to Kei and an acidic vial. When the trip was concluded and Ling was safe in her laboratory, she drew out a vial of blood she had collected after the fight and examined it. It bore all the physical signs of an umbral reagent, as described in her textbooks, but there was only one way to be sure it had the alchemical properties of one. Ling quickly prepared an introductory Adept potion for regeneration of injuries. Two bright red flasks, whipped up within minutes... all that remained was to blend the two together in the same flask as the reagent, according to the book.
So she tipped her vial of infused blood into a flask, lit a fire beneath it, and tentatively poured the other two in with the grey, holding her breath all the while. The three liquids began to bubble and merge, aided by Ling's tentative stirring, then the potion turned a bold, dark red, unlike the two from a minute before. No explosion. No shattering of glass.
Ling had found the key, her way to progress as an Adept. Her first priority, however, was to inform the Masters, to ensure she wasn't breaking any rules or wouldn't accidentally poison anyone with her blood-fueled potions. The ensuing discussion was intense, thorough, and more than a little scary; she was called on to repeat the creation under a Master's scrutiny. She managed it, though, and didn't poison him in the process. That was always good; there was often a chance that a healing potion, even one made to the letter, could turn out to be lethal. And since she was dealing with previously uncharted territory, anything could happen. But nothing did. The shadow-infused blood acted in the exact same manner as an ordinary umbral reagent.
After another hour of talks with the Masters, Ling was cleared to continue her work in this unusual fashion. And continue she did. She took to carrying a knife to draw her own blood for her reagents. Coaxing shadow magic into the shed blood quickly became easier, aided by restoratives and regeneration potions, but she couldn't draw too much too quickly or she would have to wait even longer to resume her work. She depended on being in some degree of physical fitness, to ensure she could heal quickly from the cuts she inflicted on herself. Thankfully, any scars she might have gathered were quickly healed by her own creations. And occasionally an Illuminate healer, in the first stages of her experiments when she cut too deep and caused more pain than she had intended.
After several years of further study, Ling is slowly working her way through her textbooks. She still relies on drawing blood to produce her reagents instead of just drawing scraps of shadow directly. While she understands the Masters' concern for her variation on the core practices, she still feels a tiny bit held back by their observations. Her method is unusual, but just as effective as the standard procedure. But she brushes it off, and tries to be her usual bright and cheery self; the Masters do what they do for a reason.
|
5,098
| 134
| 80
| 1,032
| 421
|
Vanahara kept her focus on her work, the muscles in her back straining as she hauled half a gear that had been sheared straight through back into place. She mended two pieces at once, a palm on each one, and listened to the sergeant with one ear. Both hands occupied, she frowned at a particularly stubborn cog that was just an inch out of alignment, and the boot not wedged into the structure lifted sharply, bringing the cog with it and another section of the engine back into play. Her mental map of the engine was taking shape now, and with a little luck and a lot of metal, she might even be able to model it. What her village and others could do with a fully operational steam engine, one that had functioned until now without any Mechanist to keep it up—
Commander Hayes arrived in a flurry of salutes and respectful nods, and she discarded the errant thought for now. Releasing her belt from the engine and extricating her fingers from the machine, she dropped the remaining two feet to the ground. As she straightened, she gave the Commander a nod of her own. What they were discussing, though—staying on with the ship?
"Headmaster might keel over if any of us actually stayed," she noted absently, but she wasn't actually rejecting it outright, if the offer was even serious. If it wasn't, she'd shrug and move on—if it was...that might actually require some thought. Best to know more about the situation first.
Her eyes flicked to the opposite side of the engine room when the shouts rang down from the deck that the Storm was morphing. "Mothers preserve us," she muttered, more out of irritation than any real fear. At least Hidalgo was moving the ice from spikes to plates against the walls—if there was anything special about it, they might actually get to study it later. When the hydromancer called to her, she turned, casting both her eye and her senses over the engine room—while the main engine was in order now, there were still a few kinks in the system, repairs she could speed up. With another nod to the Commander, she excused herself with a muttered word.
"How good are you with steam and pressure?" she shouted back to Drew, pointing across the room to where a large pipe ran against the wall even as she moved towards it. There was a minute crack in it that was leaking a thin spurt of steam into the room—not a big enough problem to panic over, but it might get worse if they needed to move in a hurry. "Metal won't seal right if there's water in the way. Stopper it up best you can and I'll seal the pipe behind you."
|
NAME—
Vanahara Pike
AGE—
23
GENDER—
Female
MASTERY—
Metallic
SPECIALTY—
Ironworker
RANK—
Adept
APPEARANCE—
EQUIPMENT—
Vanahara is practical in every way. She wears a tool belt whenever possible, and keeps some in her pocket if she can’t—she has pouches for random scraps of metal, wires, and bolts, some small blacksmithing tools—but the main part of the belt is entirely metal. She also wears iron bracers that stretch from wrist to elbow, with a leather lining that stretches into fingerless gloves. With a little Ironworker finesse, she can quickly spread the metal of a bracer into a small shield, or a larger one by bringing her forearms together. It doesn’t end there—Vana keeps metal on her wherever possible. Tucked into her boots, pins in her trousers, buckles on her vest, the ornaments in her hair; she refuses to be without a weapon if necessary. On that topic, she keeps at least one pre-formed set of brass knuckles on her at all times. She prefers not to fight, but she’s been helpless before, and doesn’t want to be there again.
DEMEANOR—
For her size and obvious strength, Vanahara is surprisingly quiet. She’s not unfriendly, but reserved, more willing to listen to others than talk herself. She considers every word before she says it—this slow speech and her large size combine to give the impression of stupidity, at first glance. Make no mistake, though, she’s smarter than many of her peers—she just waits before she uses it, and she never tries to show off.
It can be difficult to get to know Vana, but you will never have a more loyal friend. She sticks by her friends through thick and thin, and is more than willing to stand between them and danger, and would trust them with her life. Unfortunately, no one has actually ever met one of her friends—they’re starting to doubt she has any.
HISTORY—
Vanahara was born in a small desert village called Sunder, the Storm always brewing on the horizon. Due to their proximity, their hostile surroundings, and their remote location, the people Vana grew up around were tough, but close-knit. Her family have been blacksmiths for generations, ever since the village sprung up and possibly before then—as such, Vana can’t ever remember the exact moment she recognized her elemental talent, as she's been around metal and tools her entire life, and can't quite pinpoint the moment it slid into supernatural ability. She had three brothers and sisters, all significantly younger than her, and it always seemed to them like she was just the perfect eldest sister. Her father was hard to please, but his praise meant everything to her with the absence of her mother; he was a devout follower of Karina and Loriot, like most of the villagers, and instilled that same sense of duty and purpose in his daughter. It seems like she’s always been bending metal to her will; when he realized she was more than just a talented smith, he said she was proud of her and sent her off to the Academy. Vana’s family is all about duty; she misses them, but she recognizes an opportunity to improve herself and the world, and she’ll do what she’s told. She hasn’t seen them in more than a decade, now—maybe soon she’ll see them again.
Vana hasn’t made many friends, mainly due to her intimidating size and her quietness, but she’s not quite lonely. She's made some enemies, simply because of her skill on the dueling floor, but she's not the type to hold a grudge over anything as simple as that. She dedicated herself to learning about her abilities, and as such has become quite proficient. She’s quite talented, and controls metal almost instinctively, and she’s more than willing to follow orders—she’s a prime candidate for a military outfit, but what she really wants to do is help people with her gift, whether that's making armor for peacekeepers or going home to protect her family and her village. She wants to keep people safe, and make her father proud.
|
5,099
| 134
| 81
| 1,607
| 80
|
Drew nodded, walking over to the pipe. "Yes, ma'am." he said, glad to have a task he could handle. He took a deep breath, then exhaled through his nostrils, feeling the air move down near his hands. He started moving his hands to warm up before wiggling his fingers to feel the motion, slowly moving them towards the steam. It did not scald him because none of it came into contact with him, instead splitting into two streams of hot air when his hand approached.
He made it spin around for a bit, happy to play around with the heated water so he could properly redirect it into the pipe, making it function like normal. "Okay! Ready to go!" As he waited for the metal to seal, he decided to actually try and socialize. Not the best situation, but he knew he wouldn't try it again once things were calm. "So... what's your name, miss?"
|
Name: Drew Hidalgo
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Mastery: Hydromancer
Specialty: Storms
Rank: Adept
Appearance: Drew is tall, but he tends to slouch or hunch over, so he appears to be average height. He wears a simple light grey robe with a hood (though he hardly wears the hood). He has pale skin, medium-length brown hair, a constant 5 o’clock shadow that he can’t seem to get rid of or get to grow further, and green eyes that tend to be half-closed all the time. Between the slumping and the closed eyes, Drew constantly looks like he’s asleep.
Equipment: nothing beyond the essentials.
Demeanor: Not terribly sociable, but not a brooding loner. He’ll stay with groups and chime in occasionally, but he usually just sits back and listens. Willing to let others know what he thinks, but he does try to have some tact about it. Has an odd distrust of Nightshades. Hard to earn his trust, but he’ll trust you almost unconditionally once you earn it.
History: Compared to most, some would say Drew’s upbringing was dull. He was born to parents who were well off, even if they weren't actually wealthy. His powers manifested at the earliest point possible and his parents sent him off to the academy with little complications. They were very supportive and tried to stay in contact with him whenever they could, though their jobs as nomadic merchants meant they had much to deal with.
Drew would discover he had a talent for some of the more niche parts of the path of the Storm, though the basics of the Hydromancer were harder for him to grasp. Though he had trouble making water solid and even making great quantities of liquid, he was very skilled at manipulating vapors, forming mists and clouds and even generating and controlling the element of lightning. He could still make rain and make liquid from gas, but his expertise was in the winds, not the waters.
Time would pass and he’d do above average in his classes. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t a pariah either. He made friends and even had a few relationships, but they all just seemed to drift away over time, and neither side really strove to maintain contact. He became just another face in the crowd, the guy who sat at the back of the classrooms and sat around his living quarters quietly.
The one constant companion he had was his little sister, Fei, who was discovered to be an elemental years after Drew was enrolled. She looked up to him and thinks of him as the smartest, coolest mage in the academy (especially because of his skills making lightning). Drew never tried to impress anyone at the academy, never giving in to any dares or listening to the instructor’s wishes for him to better himself or “live up to his true potential”. He does well in his classes, had his specialties, so he thought that was enough. But deep down, he does try to be the mage his sister sees him as. It’s why he finally got the motivation to finally try and get himself promoted to weaver (he was considered, and good words were said, but he was ultimately rejected) and why he’s going on this journey.
|
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