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Danielle finished cleaning off Azzy's head wound, which would be fine and require no stitches. She pressed one of her many hand towels gently to her head to try and stem the bleeding. She turned around to observe the rest of the scene and saw Tyler, with the same look on his face she's seen on too many others.
"Hey Tyler," She started, putting Azzy's hand on her head to hold the cloth as she went to go over to Tyler.
"Tyler look at me." She said, putting herself in Tyler's line of sight.
"Don't focus on them or the hour, just focus on me. It's all good, yeah? No need to be hopping all over town." Danielle said with a small smile.
"Why don't you tell me what's going on in your head? We can talk this out, figure it out together okay?" Danielle asked him.
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Name: Danielle Hyperion
Age: 24
Height: 5'7
Gender: Female
Occupation: She owns the only decent cafe in town, the Cafe Seville
Personal Interests: Computers, cars, her cafe
Fears: Her abilities failing, the dark, darklings
Power: Fire Bringer
Misc. Info: Like any other Firebringer, she doesn't suffer from any adverse affects in the sun
Sample: Danielle lit the thirteen candles all around her shop, looked up at thirteen photos with thirteen objects each in them(new photos every two weeks) that were tacked above her door and window, and turned on the radio, which was on station 93.1, and her phone which transmitted to station 93.1 playing only music from 1921. She wasn't sure those last two actually did anything but she loved music from the early twenties and every little bit helped. She was terrified of the Darklings, and never, ever, went out of her cafe during the Blue hour. She had met other ones like her, who tried to persuade her to join them outside, but she wouldn't have it. She knew, theoretically, that if anyone was safest from them it would be her and her ability since they hated the light and the technology, but it still freaked her out. If her abilities ever failed, which they hadn't so far, she'd be screwed against the darklings. Most everyone was scared of the dark at one point or another, and there was a very good reason. The things that go bump in the night were very real and Danielle, with her lights and her technology, was very high on their kill list.
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Echo was late to react to the ruckus outside on the stairs. By the time she had noticed the blue time had even struck, the other midnighters were all outside at the base of Dani's stairs. Echo rushed outside, practically a blur to the other midnighters. In less than a second she was behind Azzy. "You alright?" She asked the mindcaster before moving deliberately slowly to stand before her so that she wouldn't startle her more than she already was. "What exactly happened?"
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Name: Echo Greene
Age: 26
Height: 5’ 2”
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Occupation: Track Coach at the local High School
Personal Interests: Track, Hiking, Making sick weapons
Fears: Heights, tripping, bridges
Power: Wayfinder (Wayfinders can see the fastest way to get to where they are going and have the ability to run at high speeds during the secret hour, although this power may not be extended to another Midnighter Like acrobats, they eat alot during daylight hours and like all midnighters, their eyes turn indigo when they look at the Midnight Moon..)
Misc. Info: Moved to Brisbane about a year ago after graduating college. When she discovered there was an opening at the local High School she jumped on it, already having developed a love of running. She loves nature but refuses to go into the woods from Eleven to midnight unless it is during the blue time.
Sample: Echo felt the adrenaline rush through her as she ran down the streets, the blue glow surrounding everything as it always did at midnight. Her black hair flowed behind her, making her head look like a comet with a blackish blue tail.. Were the cars able to race next to her she would be side by side with them, able to keep up until the dreaded time came when the Blue Moon would set and she would be living life in 5 Mph again. She sometimes wished that the players on her track team could feel the rush of 25 Mph, or even the other Midnighters. She had tried once, to give one her speed. It hadn’t gone well, the other Midnighter had ended up with a sprained wrist. Returning her thoughts to her surroundings, she looked at the line of “Focus” which showed the way to the Cafe. Hopefully the others wouldnt be too mad she was late...
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She reaffirmed it, in her mannerism, in her voice.
A part of Tyler wanted to jump just because Dani didn't want him too, a part of him just wanted to see what he could do and lastly a part of him wanted to do an ordinary boring jump and realise this was all a bad trip or concussion.
There was too much attention on him, he didn't know what to do, how to act. More importantly he didn't know how to recover or explain his actions.
He felt that she was talking to him like some sort of child or mental patient. He felt the eyes of all of the others watching and waiting.
He couldn't be here, the image he built for himself was shattered and he didn't want to face the embarrassment of seeing these people any more.
There was no going back...
"Sorry doll, thanks for everything. But, I just, I can't."
With an explosive contraction in his leg muscles he pushes off of the ground as hard as he could. Tyler soars off into the sky.
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Name: Aslynne Marie Hawthorne (A.K.A Az or Azzy)
Age: 25
Height: 4’10” (147cm or 1.47m)
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Occupation: Stable Owner and Manager, Trainer and Instructor at Windstar Stables
Personal Interests: Reading, Horses, Equestrian Sports of all kinds and kicking Darkling ass
Fears: Loss of control over her abilities, physical touch, large crowds, fire and hospitals
Power: Mindcaster
Misc. Info: Aslynne must almost always have to have music in her ears while in large crowds due to the constant “mind babble” from Daylighters, she loves animals because touching them doesn’t bring or cause pain to others. She’s still in the process of learning to control her rather difficult abilities while trying to balance a normal life. She cannot date or be intimate thanks to her fear of touch. Daylighters wouldn’t understand and she’s sure no Midnighter would want to take the time or risk their mental health at trying to be with her. She wears long sleeves and gloves no matter the season to prevent accidental touching.
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~Dec. 2, 2043~
It was a rainy day... Just like all the days the bad stories began with. I know. Mommy told them a lot. Father got angry often because of that... Or at least that's what I thought... Older people always underestimate me. Always, every single time. Just because I'm 9 doesn't mean I don't understand them. Grown ups just don't understand, always using their fancy words. 'Fancy', that was one of them. Well, when I was younger. I tried to warn them. I noticed. I saw it coming. I did! They didn't... But now it's too late. Father could have stopped them. He has a gun. I saw it, many times. Mommy didn't like the gun. Father placed it against her head a lot. That's why she hated it. I know that. I am able to understand. They always thought I couldn't. And now they're dead. Because they didn't listen, they are dead...
Tears run down my cheeks, but crying won't safe me now. Playing the grown ups game won't safe me. Pretending I'm just an innocent (another one of their fancy words) little girl won't safe me. I can hear their claw-like hands, that's how father called them right?, on the other end of the door. Slowly working their way in. I can feel my heart beat in my throat. Why? Why me? Why didn't anybody listen? Why do I deserve this? I can hear their breathing. I can hear their hunger, I can hear their claws. I can hear everything. The screams out on the street. I am screaming too. Once I knew there was no escaping, I lost control. I, me, the one who understands, who foresaw, I lost control to the chaos and the fear. And look at me now. A nine years old girl, desperately clamping a bedpost. Crying and screaming like it will change anything. Look at me now, my final moments. How did father call people who gave in to fear? Ah yes, a disgrace.
"Last night block D which is located in Grinï got wiped out in a fire", the newsreader said, "now, for those of you unfamiliar with the block-system, here is a short explanation. If you all look at the diagram behind me you'll recognise our city, Trinea." Behind the newsreader there was a green screen but to the people viewing the show at home on a television the diagram the lady mentioned would actually appear behind her. Then again, most people would still rather look at the newsreader. All work had obviously been put into making her look beautiful. She wore a simple dress, low cut around the neck. Long blond hair, with long, stretched curls till around her bottom. Huge green eyes that, in real life, would have made anyone feel like they could look right into their soul. Perfect proportions, exactly the right amount and kind of make-up.
While every spectator was obviously distracted by the inhuman beauty of the newsreader, the explanation of the block-system continued. "So, every part of the city is divided into blocks with their own name. They start in Grinï with A and end in Trin with GAT", the newsreader spoke. A faint red colour was visible on her cheeks, nobody needed to tell her the dress was a bit too low cut. Then again, that was exactly what the director wanted. Bad news always had to be given by a beautiful face, it makes things easier to deal with and to make it more believable. An entire block destroyed by fire during a rainy night... Yet, the information had come from the government and so it had to be true.
"Hahaha", the man laughed, "a fire? That's what they came up with? That's priceless!" He was sitting on a throne and wore a red cape. Like all of the people in the underground church. "Yes, our plan was a success and this confirmed out operative in the government is still active", another man spoke. "Well, that's good news then", the first replied with a big smile on his face, "hail Zed!" The others repeated after him: "hail Zed."
~Dec. 3, 2043~
-Alexia
Mayor Dr. Prof. Gerard Ellestine stepped out of the car. Unlike the day before, it was hot without even a cloud in the sky. "A good day, Mayor", the driver and close friend to the Mayor said. "A good day indeed", Gerard replied, "let's hope it stays that way, for once..." His facial expression seemed almost depressed. The fire in Grinï had shocked him. Especially since it wasn't really a fire. Not that the citizens were allowed to know, nowadays, people didn't mind not knowing things. Most people anyway, Gerard wasn't a fan of that, but he used it to his advantage anyway.
The Mayor made his way to the front door of the research complex and opened it. He felt naked and exposed in the open without many guards. Many distrusting events, all kept from the regular populace had been occurring lately but those matters were for others days. Today was an inspection day. The heads of the research centres would give him reports on how their research had progressed. It wouldn't just be today but probably tomorrow and the day after. If many things had been found out, no matter how trivial, it may even take an entire week. Mondays are the worst...
Inside, behind the desk, sat an administrative worker. "Ah, Mayor, I'll inform Head Darkling of your arrival", she spoke upon noticing the elderly man entering through the door. "Good, I'll just wait here then."
-Neil
"Neil, there has been a robbery at block FAA, 5th street, house number 12", a person from Mission Control said though a walkie talkie. Mission Control, or MC, is the place where all the reports come in and then they sent them to the police officers who are supposed to be closest to the incident. "No further intel available at this moment. Two other officers were also contacted."
-Armani
"MC to Armani. We require a status update. Gen. doesn't expect too much though, the louder it gets in the city, the quieter the brainless. By the way, since we're talking anyway, want to go on a date with me? MC over." Mission Control, or MC, is the headquarters of communication for Scout. Not everybody there takes their job as serious as they should. "Yo Victoria", the person next to the one contacting Armani said, "anything to report? Like a kill or an usual thing? Like your ass? Damn girl, I'd love to hit that. Would please go out with me?" As the two men placed their hands over the voice recording devices, laughter arose in the room. "Hahaha, Stealer and Vic are going to kill you guys now that you've pulled this again. How many times have you done this already?" "Four maybe five times...?" "You guys must have balls of steel!"
-Renia
"So... You're Renia", a female voice said. Though, while it was female it was anything from sweet. "I'm Leona. I'll be the one interviewing you. First question, how did you get here?" The room was small and damp. The single light in the ceiling wasn't enough to properly lit the room up and so Leona's face and body were covered in shadows. Besides a door, a table and two chairs the room was empty. The wall was only disturbed by a mirror which could be nothing but a glass you can only look through from one side, the side was not facing the two woman in the room.
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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The building smelled of rot and death. The once blue walls were now faded and cracked, no doubt the result of abuse from weather and time. The floor creaked, threatening to collapse onto the many floor below. Beside the doorway lay a pile of corpses. All had a bullet lodged right in their heads.
Victoria roamed around the room. She knew she wasn't allowed in place like these. Zombies lurked around every corner and there was always a chance of the aged buildings caving in. But damn, were these places absolutely fascinating! If the building hadn't already been looted, then there were all sorts of things to find. And if Victoria did get in trouble, she could say that she was just doing her job of killing the undead.
"Yo, Victoria," a voice filtered out of her intercom. "Anything to report? Like a kill or an usual thing? Like your ass? Damn girl, I'd love to hit that. Would please go out with me?"
Victoria grinned. Mission Control. They were almost adorable, the way they acted. Almost.
"Five kills," she answered back. "Me. You. Tonight. 7:30. I'll be waiting, Victoria over." She had no intentions of following along with this plan. All the more reason to humour them.
She chuckled and turned around. Her smile quickly dropped. Less than three feet away, a zombie stood. It staggered and groaned; definitely not an intelligent one. It lumbered toward the girl, letting out a guttural growl. Muttering an "oh shit", Victoria whipped out her gun. She sidestepped before the undead could touch her and fired.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Two bullets in the chest and one in the skull. The zombie groaned before falling to the ground.
Victoria hurried away. No doubt that would have caught some attention.
|
Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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I hid in an abandoned. rotten smelling dumpster, I held the top open just enough to see through and I must say that I felt like I was in dumb comedy horror flick because this was insanely stupid. As the zombies-and occasional mutated-walked around outside I closed the top and groaned silently. Why does it always happen to me?
Once again I heard my radio echoing in this stupid hunk of metal. "Still here. Good to know things are quiet out there. Nah, he already did that this morning, it's my turn now and he's out of breath. Require any back-up for the investigating?Over" I nod as if they were there with a hint of a smile on my face as I start to respond, "no-" I was unfortunately cut off. "Armani, new orders from the Gen. Map the area out and locate the major groups of brainless on them. It seems the Defence Force is going to sweep some slums clean. And I know we already have maps, he wants more accurate ones, like where there are stores, usable houses, etc. you know the drill. Also, they want a head count of the zombies. Over." I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed, my elbows hit the metal of the dumpster and it echoed quite a bit, it must have caught some attention because I heard the constant footsteps stop and shuffle around outside.
I couldn't respond, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. "So screwed..." I mutter as I turn off my radio and silently pull out my Glocks as I also unsheathe my brass knuckles, this would end up in a fight. I needed to get to high ground and call for backup there, hopefully that wouldn't be as much as a problem as I would think. I hear the occasional heavy bang on this tin can as a heart mutated with a strong nose walks by. How could this get worse? It really couldn't...
I turned on my radio again and in a last futile effort for help and comfort I started my response. "I need backup, southwest corner of the outer city. They have me surrounded in a...green dumpster graffiti signs everywhere. I think about twenty are here now, not sure how many are in the area but this probably attracted more. When I get back unscathed you are paying me a grand fifty. Stealer over and out." I can't help but laugh as I once again turn off my radio and listen to the rhythmic banging of heart mutated about to feast.
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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"And you were so promising...", Leona said and sighed. It was as if all emotion in Leona's face and all interest in Renia were suddenly gone. "Renia, I would have loved to answer your questions if you'd have been a little bit more respectful. I'm not just some lowly soldier. Now, I could answer all your questions or I could just kick you out of Trinea. Honestly, I don't really care. You seemed very interesting to me, but then you just decided to start commanding things." Leona didn't even look at Snyper anymore, instead she was inspecting her nails. "Now, would you mind asking me those questions again, a bit more polite? Also, please don't think I'm being unreasonable, the military of the country the current rulers of Grinï originate from would have imprisoned you for what you just did. Was I respectful towards you? Did I do something to offend you? I don't think I did..."
"I apologize, a bad habit from my days in the military and when I was leading my own mercs. I was not sure of your position towards me and I just used my usual way of dealing with such situations. Now cloud we please cut to the chase? I would like that you answer my previous questions, if that is possible" Renia replied, while doing her best to sound as good-willed as possible. "Man, dealing with living humans which are not trying to kill you is such a bother," she thought while keeping her best smile on her face. Just to keep her mind of the wish to shoot someone to get her annoyance out of her system, she run the calculations that every good sniper makes before making a shot inside her head. It calmed her nerves down a bit, but only for now ...
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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Renia smiled at the armory and said: "All geared up for a small war? Well before I start, I would ask if can I have two free shots with each of the weapons before you start to count my score so I can adjust to each of them?" She walked to the stand and took the pistol first, preferably a H&K 45 or SIG Sauer P22X, and approached the range, while already calculating data in her head. Trough she was ill suited for anything else scientific Snyper cloud easily put a modern ballistics calculation computer to shame and was doing that just now in her head, more to calm herself down then an actual need to check the calculations which she already perfected. She smiled faintly and waited for Leona to both answer her question and give the "begin firing" sign...
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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"Well, they don't call you Snyper for no reason I see", Leona said happily. This was perhaps the first time she was actually happy. Ever since the Apocalypse began, the need for skilled gunmen (and gunwoman) started to grow immensely. Regular soldiers tended to lose due to not hitting the vital spots. Then again, they were trained to fight humans, not brainless. Leona realised after the first few shots that the Defence Force absolutely needed to enlist Renia.
Leona reset the targets according to Renia's wishes.
"The Mayor ordered her to be treated in a safe facility, in case she turns. Look at what a single outbreak did here. This building is not well protected, until we can confirm that Dr. Alexia is safe we need to take her into custody. Don't worry we'll treat her well", the soldier spoke to the scientist who seemed to be in charge while Alexia was still unconscious. Just after using Project 7 to safe the research centre, the Defence Force arrived. All special units, covert ops kind of stuff nobody even knew existed. All the scientists needed to sign papers that they would keep this incident quiet as it could disturb the masses. Only after they signed, the scientists were allowed to leave. Alexia was brought to a secret complex of the Defence Force somewhere underground.
"There attacks need to stop", the Mayor of Grinï spoke calmly to the Mayor of Trinea. Since Trinea still hadn't been attacked, Grinï was under the impression that the 'workers' did not see the need to investigate. Trinea, of course, did see the need. However, they could not provide anything since both the science and the police work required were not in their power to give. This resulted in Grinï thinking Trinea betrayed them since they offered so little cooperation and while the Mayor spoke calmly, his eyes were filled with fury. The Mayor of Scientea wasn't at the meeting, he still had a mess to clean up, and so the two almost warring factions got further and further away from actually working together. With every word spoken, both Mayors felt more and more betrayed by the other.
"So you've planted the fakes", the hooded man spoke to the hooded woman. "Yes", she replied, "the feigned evidence seemed to real I found it hard not to believe myself, since when did you have such a skilled forger at your disposal?" The hooded man laughed: "for much longer than you'd ever expect..."
-The forgeries in question were documents that spoke of betrayal, both by Trinea and Grinï, of course neither was (entirely) true-
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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Renia again took a single shot which was, relatively speaking, quite of the center, but only because she needed to adjust to the faint difference between each gun and ammo combination. The second free shot was much more accurate, only 9 or so millimeters of the center, quite remarkable considering that it was a shotgun's shot. Soon the targets had been all decimated again, this time the shots were spread out quite further, some were even a dozen of centimeters away from the center, but given the accuracy that shotguns usually displayed it was almost perfect. "Hell it was a long time since I shot a shotgun with sabots, I might have been more accurate with a few more goes, but I believe this is enough. Also this sabot slugs are praise worthy, almost as good as those four ones from who-knows-where which I sent all inside five centimeters of a pretty distant target. I would like to test their stopping power one day too, but that is for some other time, for now reset the targets while I go and grab an rifle." Snyper then proceed to prepare a M1903 Springfield rifle and ammo for it...
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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~Alexia
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you", the Mayor replied, "but as you may have noticed with this entire thing going down, professor Darkling, these are not simple times and I honestly don't know who I can trust, so that goes for you as well. I'll believe you for now, but I'm not going to take any chances."
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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No problem, Snyper said while stepping off the practice mats: "Where should we go to play the video? I doubt this gym is equipped with audiovisual equipment." Out of her bag she took out a camera, enclosed together with numerous SD cards within a water-proof bag and quickly took out one of the SD cards and put it in her pocket. She then waited for Leona to lead them on.
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Name/Nickname: Alexia "Shade" Darkling
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Hetero/Homo/Bi: Hetero
Faction: Scientia
Position: Head Chemist
Get scienced!
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Two short years ago
He puffed on the cigarette that was firmly planted between his lips. His gloved fingers wrapped around his steering wheel, the sun was slowly making its way up, he couldn't be sure how long he had been driving for. All the roads and scenery had blurred. After the boarder there was no turning back. He slowed his car to a crawl and waited as the traffic slowly inched up. He couldn't be sure if they worked with Acadia or not. He had no idea, or if they'd search his car. He had documents which could put a lot of powerful men behind bars. It was his only ticket to freedom, if he kept these then they'd never chase him.
"God, this is taking longer than usual, why is there even traffic here?" He thought to himself. He put his cancer stick out and rolled his window down. When the guard approached, he noticed the unusual shaggy beard the Canadian boarder patrol had. He handed him his passport, he was cool, icey cool. He inched his hand towards the edge of his seat, he had a gun there. Then the man handed him his papers back and let him go. He accelerated his car, and left the gate letting out an easy breath. He was home, and free. He had no idea what those bastards had done to him, but they left him with a wicked head ache.
After a few stops and a nap he had made it to Empire. He Ditched the car, and burnt it careful to erase any evidence he was there. Made his way down town and checked into a hotel, using cash and an Assumed name. The next few days he spent looking for an apartment, eventually he found a one that suited him, it wasn't too big and flashy but by no means was it cheap or small. He grabbed his few belongings, and left.
A Few months later
He had all new furniture, pictures and posters. His home felt like a real home, something he hadn't had in years. There were a few places around the apartment which held hidden compartments some for his documents, others for his "defense" measures. He walked into his bedroom, and opened his closet. Originally it had been a large walk in, but he put a false back in and now used it to hold his arms. "God bless the second amendment" he spoke to no one in particular, as he opened the door, and selected a belt and holster. He slid his trusted .45 in, and grabbed his rifle. He closed the door behind him and set out for his contract.
That night he sat ontop of short office building, looking across several streets, through his scope. He watched his target file papers and work on his computer. Several times he had the opportunity to take his life but decided against it. After all, the man had hired him to watch his back. He was a fresh college graduate who happened to now be an engineer, he was onto something big, an engine that was self sustaining. he thought it would remove our dependence on oil completely. And for that he felt he was in constant danger.
His head began to hurt, and his vision blurred for a moment, then became acutely sharper. This happened every now and then, it was weird, but it would return to normal after another head ache. A blacked out SUV marked with Arcadia's shield pulled up out front, four men stepped out strapped with SMG's Before they could enter the building, he layed them out. Their life blood seeped into the cracks of the concrete. His rifle was never heard, it being silence. He packed up and moved location, his new location happened to be two floors down, but with line of sight on his target.
The rest of the night wasn't too much of a bother.
He arrived at the mans house early the next day, for a fat paycheck. He rang the doorbell and waited. A shotgun blast cleared a hole through the door and layed him out on the sidewalk. He sputtered and groaned, blood was dribbling from the corner of his mouth. The door opened and a large man stepped out, he was from acradia, he knew this because they had been friends at one point. Francis McKnight. "Sorry Buckley" he said in his southern accent. He stepped up beside him, Hal's vision was blurring. He reached upwards, and grabbed onto the mans coat. His eyes were wild with anger, and pain. He muttered two words before falling limp "Fuck you."
But something strange happened, he woke up in the trunk of his own car, his hand moved to his chest, it felt raw and it hurt but there was no scatter shot wound. He reached into his pocket and lit his lighter, he felt the car bump, his mind was confused "I shouldn't be alive... whats happening?" He thought. His pistol was in the trunk with him, it would have been okay if he hadn't miraculously survived a fatal wound. He pushed on the square which lead into the cab of the car. He peeked his head through when middle seat folded silently. He managed to crawl half way through before Francis looked into the rear view, both had a look of disbelief. He fired off three shots into the seat, all of them lethal. The car swerved and screeched, they hit a guard rail, then bounced into the other lane and of into a field where the car hit a ditch and rolled.
After awhile of freeing himself he crawled out of the wreckage and wondered off a few feet and sat down. His chest hurt, because a friend who helped him escape betray him, and cause he was sure there was some buck shot left in him. He rubbed his bare chest and struggled to find a cigarette. "Figures you would have taken them off of me you, rat."
Present - Empire City
He sat at his computer waiting, for an email, one he had been waiting on for a week. His contact had an offer, he was to watch an older man, had a family lived a thirty minutes away. There would be perfect vantage points. His job was to eliminate him if he were to leak any secrets. "Blip" his email had one in the box, it was his contact. "Perfect" he said again talking to himself. He grabbed his rifle, and stalked out of the house. He jumped in his new truck and began his drive. HE'd have to wait until nightfall before he could act. Another long night.
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Name: Hal Buckley
Age: 28
Alias: DeadWatch
Equipment: Sniper Rifle calibered in .338 Lapua, Handgun in .45, Knife, An array of hand grenades.
Power/Special Skill: Healing Factor, can come back from the most serious wounds. Improved eye sight, and Adequate at hand to hand fighting.
Backstory: Served with the United States, special forces for eight years, before leaving the service. Joined up with private security, after several months he was put in a special weapons program located in Canada, the result left him with hawk like eyes, and the ability to recover from almost any wound. He left the private security company known as Arcadia, after being subjected to horrible experiments. He escaped Canada and returned to the United states, and continues to work as a private security, though on his own this time.
Personality: He has two personalities, the man at work and the man off work. At work he's professional, taking the utmost care for his job and carrying out his missions with lethal precision. Off work he's able to unwind and relax. Often times he can be found bar hopping or out and enjoying himself, people out of his line of work view him as cocky, but those who know what a soldier goes through understand whats its like to be so close to death all the time.
Future Gear: TBD
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One Year Ago
Raven stood on the roof of the building, watching the man walk inside the hotel. He looked nervous, and his dark eyes flitted around the lobby, scanning every person in the room as if they were about to pull out guns and attack him. Her keen eyes watched him as he went up to the counter, talking with the receptionist before picking up the pink hotel phone. She knew from research; that phone called the hotel rooms, and the hotel rooms only. She was confused, why would her target be calling a room? She had been told he was alone, and he definitely had no accomplices. She had been told that he was going to the hotel to meet one of the other criminals in his business, and that guy was not staying at the hotel. She looked at her watch; the man was meant to walk in in 10 minutes. They would walk out together, and she would eliminate the target. Yet, before her eyes, her target was waiting for someone else entirely! Someone in the hotel already. She saw the elevator doors open...
She was shocked to see a woman and a small child exit. The man kissed the woman and picked up the child, but the two adults looked fearful. They gave something to the receptionist, and were obviously discussing payment of the room. Raven looked over to the roads just as the black car drove up. It was the man. He walked up to the hotel, and just before entering, looked up at her and gave her the thumbs up. Wow, this keeps getting stranger and stranger, she thought. What was meant to be a simple target kill now had the supposed criminal working for her employer and the target with a small family. She had no more time to think, however, as the two parties had met. That's when the man pulled out a gun and shot the child.
Present Day
Raven waited in the alleyway, silent and thinking. She had already discussed her plan with her 'target', and he was already in hiding in the location she had placed him. She had tracked her employer well enough to know that he came down this alley to buy drugs for personal use in exactly 10 minutes from this moment. Raven had already spoken to the drug dealer and... come to some arrangements. She smiled. This was always her favourite part of the game. The look upon their faces when they are killed by their own hire...
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Name: Weston 'Doc Lok' Lokrin
Alias: "Guardian"
Age: 28
Appearance:
Equipment: Cybernetic arms and legs, Spinal augmentation, an advanced first aid kit.
Skill: Vast medical and Cybernetics knowledge, Cybernetic augmentations {Uncanny strength, speed, and leaping}
Backstory: Weston was born into a wealthy family but also with a degenerative disease that if it managed to run its course he would have to lose his arms, legs and slowly rot away in a hospital before he turned 30. But Weston wasn't about to let himself go out quietly and with the support of his family and years studying and testing he discovered the cure for his disease at the age of 20. Sadly what was left of his body was weak and no therapist or gym membership would bring him back to full functionality, so Weston turned his R&D focus on to robotics and cybernetics. Through hard work and a large portion of his families wealth within 6 years he had designed and built new arms, legs, and spinal augmentations that not only brought him from his weakened state but gave him many new advantages. Weston was alive and well and bored, with his life back he did know what to do with it. While he could be a doctor for a hospital and save people who have been hurt, why not stop them from being injured at all and fight against crime and disaster. From then on Weston took on the alias of Guardian, the protector to the little people.
Personality: Determined, Stubborn, Blunt, so when the Doc puts his mind to it he gets it done but he will only do it his way and won't mind telling you he won't change his mind and how wrong he thinks you are.
Future Equipment: Guardian's Wings, Stemgel, Guardian's Shield
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Dark roast with cream for Mr. Stanford! A young man called out as he set a paper cup of coffee down at the pickup counter. He spotted a small puddle of water on said counter and grabbed a wash rag to wipe it up.
"That's an interesting accent you got there." The customer, Mr. Stanford, said as he came up to get his cup of coffee. He smiled and dropped a tip into the jar. "Where are you from?"
"Military family," The barista said with a polite smile. The lie was so well practiced that it went completely undetected. "I traveled all over when I was a kid. I picked up a few things here and there."
"Oh, that's pretty cool. Well, have a nice day."
"Thank you sir, you too."
It had taken a while to get these types of transactions down pat. Humans were such finicky creatures, with so many social ques. The fine details of a simple conversation between strangers were difficult for a complete foreigner. But Cal managed to pick up on it fairly quick. The English language itself had been just as hard.
He was pretty proud of himself. He managed to hold down a job, live what he thought was a normal life on Earth, and even made a few friends with whom he could enjoy the traditions of "Thirsty Thursday" with. Cal hummed quietly as he cleaned off the counters, then went to go wipe down tables. Yes, life was good here.
His headset rang as someone pulled up to the drive-thru. Cal quickly pressed the intercom button to take their order. "Hi! Welcome to Yo Jo Coffee, what can I get for you today?" He said in an overly pleasant tone, as his managers had trained him to, and made his way back behind the counter.
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Name: Kail "Cal" Ingiric
Alias: Variant
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Personality: Kail is a member of a species from several galaxies away. That said, he has a few cultural differences from your typical human. His species is collectively the wet blanket for an entire planetary system. The Narikitan, as they are called, are peacekeepers. They have been known to invade entire planets for the soul purpose of ending some raging war there. With that in mind, Kail still harbors much of that pacifist nature. He doesn't particularly like violence or fighting, but after a few years on Earth, he's come to learn that it sometimes can't be avoided.
He is a very mild mannered creature, despite his appearance. Kail does his best to be polite to new people, help those who need it, and generally just be a huge pushover. Kail is very kind and generous, particularly is people treat him the same way. He can get a bit pissy when someone is being rude or acting otherwise uncalled for.
Equipment: He has a few toys left over from his crash site, but most of it is junk that doesn't work. He doesn't really own any weapons.
Power/Special Skill: His 'powers' are all things that are common among his species. He is very intelligent, having a knack for picking up languages and tinkering with devices. His two sets of arms come in handy. The upper set is twice as strong as the average human, while the lower set is just about on par.
His complex jaw and vocal cords allow him to mimic sounds with uncanny accuracy. This come in handy while trying to learn all those pesky human words.
His main power is shape shifting. The name "Narikitan" translated into English literally means "variation". His species is capable of taking on the form of any other species once they have come into physical contact with them. However, they are only able to turn into an exact clone of the creature they touched, including whatever mutations or deformities that specific creature has.
Appearance: In his default form, Kail appears to be a half mammalian, half insect creature. He is covered in short, grey and white fuzz, with several parts of his body sporting carapace-like armor. He stands at almost 7 feet tall, with two sets of arms and a large, flexible tail. His mouth is likely his most unsettling aspect. Kail has a three part jaw. The upper half separates outward, and the bottom jaw moves up and down. Typically, when he speaks human language, the upper set moves together while the lower jaw moves. When he switches to his own native tongue, or any other alien language he may speak, its a different story.
He took his human form, "Cal", from a man he happened to find asleep in a car outside of a bar. He appears as a 20 something year old Caucasian male with olive tone skin, curly reddish brown hair, and brown eyes.
Backstory:
Kail came from a planet and species that seemed to dedicate itself to keep peace in its galaxy. Most of the time they did a pretty good job at playing the mediator between waring planets, but there were always those few extremists who took things too far. But let's not talk about them.
Several decades ago, Kail's galaxy came under attack by a race no one had ever seen nor heard of before. The invaders were violent, destructive, and hellbent on conquering. Naturally, the Narikitan moved in to settle the fighting. However, their efforts were not met kindly. After years of war with these monsters, their planetary system was all but torn apart. The species that didn't bow to the invaders were enslaved, and the ones that did were drafted to fight future wars.
Kail was born into this war. When he was still a teenager, him and his parents were taken onto a slave ship and flown halfway across the universe to be sold. His father, who was the son of one of his species past leaders, decided that he wasn't going to have it. When they arrived at their destination, Kail's father turned and attacked his slavers. A riot broke out, which resulted in Kail's mother being gravely injured. His father and him managed to get back onto the ship and fly it away from the slave planet.
They lived on the run for several years. Eventually, Kail's father died from medical complications, leaving Kail to wander the universe on his own. When he was 23, he happened upon the little blue and white marble that was Earth. While pondering whether he should stop and re-supply his ship, Kail was caught in an meteor shower that resulted in his ship getting damaged and pulled down into the Earth's gravity.
The ship crash landed miles outside of the city where he now lives. Kail managed to make it out okay, and upon going to search for help, he quickly discovered that the inhabitants of this planet weren't too keen on visitors. Nor did they have any form of public space travel. It looked like he would be stuck here for a while, so he quietly adopted a new form and integrated into human society. After a few years on Earth, Kail has gotten fairly used to his new life. He decided that living here wouldn't be too awful bad. Slavers wouldn't find him for sure, the species was (relatively) peaceful, and Earth was just pretty. He took on the human name "Cal", and now works at a human coffee shop full time to pay for his human apartment.
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Empire was miserable. She had spent so long away from civilization that she had all but forgotten how loud it could be, inside her head and out. She felt as though she'd lost all ability to tune even the slightest bit of it out. While the headache she'd gotten on the plane was severe, it was nothing compared to the raging in her head now. The discomfort must have shown on her face.
"Something wrong, Emmy?" her mother asked as they all sat around the dinner table.
December forced a smile. "Just jet lagged I think. I couldn't sleep a wink on the plane."
Her father did his best to not sound like her long absence wounded him, but of course, she knew. "I hear if you travel frequently it doesn't affect you so badly. Maybe you should drop in more often."
"Oh, Jim, don't start," her mother chided, passing the plate of dinner rolls around the table. "We're very glad you're here honey, and we know that you couldn't afford to travel much on your stipend."
She nodded and had a bite of mashed potatoes before responding. "Sitting out in the middle of nowhere monitoring seismic equipment doesn't pay a lot, yeah. It's even harder to find someone to come out and take over though, that's the real problem. Someone has to be there. Until they found a replacement I couldn't go. I wanted to come home sooner, I promise, Dad." She didn't realize she was drinking quite so deeply from her glass of wine until she saw both of her parents staring at her.
"Rough flight?" her father asked with a bushy arched eyebrow.
She nodded and kept up the façade. "Two obnoxious toddlers behind me the whole way. You know how it is, parents that just ignore the fact their children are bothering everyone else on the planet."
She felt a strange little prickle on the back of her neck, as though she were being watched. Of course, she wasn't alone in the room, but it was more than that. Momentary glimpses like she was observing herself and the room from a distance. She just tried to shake it off. It wasn't as though it were the strangest thing that had happened so far to her now that she was in the city once more.
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Name: December (Emma or Emmy) Ellis
Age: 28
Looks:
Costume:
Yes, it absolutely did need a fur collar, I assure you.
Equipment: None yet
Power/Special Skill: December's abilities are of the mental variety, but largely untrained and somewhat unpredictable. The one that is most honed is telepathy, which is what gives her an advantage in a fight. By knowing her enemies' thoughts, she knows what is coming her way a moment before it does. She is by no means an exceptional fighter and being able to "see" what is coming doesn't mean she can avoid it entirely. This is why she prefers to not be in the middle of the fray, or to keep some muscle around. She struggles with the ability to "turn off" her telepathy, unable to shut out the outside world. She needs training to focus what skills she has and discover any more that may yet be latent.
Backstory: As a child December suffered from what her parents and doctors assumed were Night Terrors, but were rather the early manifestation of the mental abilities that would show later in life. She would "sense" upcoming disasters and tragedies for days before hand, leading to sleeplessness, agitation, fear, and even depression. As she got older the sense seemed to fade, her parents attributing the change to successful therapy. However her ability to hear the thoughts of others followed soon after in middle school. She never told anyone about her special abilities and moved away from home as soon as she had the opportunity. She took jobs that left her as isolated as possible so that she could have a clear head. One one of her rare visits to see family she started to consider just what she might be able to do with her gifts.
Personality: Outwardly December is generally friendly toward others and tries to avoid being actively hostile toward those she doesn't get along with. Inwardly she struggles with finding her identity and her place in the world. She knows that her gifts are potentially useful and that she should use them to do good, but being around groups of people, even small ones, can quickly become unbearable as she gets inside their heads whether she wants to or not.
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Years Ago
"Weston, you know I've been monitoring the progress of your affliction and I felt you should know now that in 10 years time you will lose the usage of your arms and legs... I'd could get into the gritty bits but-" Doc Watts was cut off by his young patient
"Tell me, I want to know, I need to know." Weston looked up at his doctor, but he didn't feel sadness to the news that he wouldn't walk or feel or have limbs in a decade, he felt challenged to do the impossible.
"When that decade runs out your arms and legs will be so useless that we will have to remove them, because it only starts with your limbs, then it moves inwards and the best way to keep you alive is amputation... It isn't what we want to do but it's all we can do." Watts was concerned, he saw a young man who should be devisated by this information and all he was getting back from his patient was what seemed like a combination of anger and determination.
Weston wasn't going out quietly and if he lost his life curing himself then so be it. He left the family clinic with a purpose, a mission and a fire in his eyes and it would be no time soon before he knew if he would succeed or fail.
4 Years later
"I wasn't fast enough" he would have slammed his fist on his lab desk if it would have shattered his wrist like it had a number of times before. "I'm cured, but now I'm just this frail freak in a chair!"
"Oh yeah, a freak who cured not only his own disease but a few others along the way is such a hindrance to society. I don't understand why your inability to walk and punch someone makes you useless. You have a genius mind and when you put your mind to it you have completed amazing tasks. Chair or not, you're still a genius." Weston spun around in his chair and glared at Watts as the doctor stood just within the doorway.
"I know- what- but what do I do to get out of this chair? Make a muscle serum or a super protein shake? I can't regrow muscle, I don't want this restriction, I don't want to live this kind of life, if I have such a genius mind then why can't I fix my fucking limbs!" The two were silent for a moment before Watts noticed something in Weston's eyes, something he saw 4 years ago that lead to a miracle cure. Little did he know just what was going to happen next.
Present Day
"Welcome to Yo Jo Coffee, what can I get for you today?" Said the intercom of the drive thru as Guardian tossed the first goon into the drive thru menu.
"Yeah, I'll take an iced coffee, extra shot-" Another goon jumped at him with a knife and he swiftly kicked him in the jaw with a roundhouse "of espresso and just throw some whipped cream on top... You guys want anything?" He knew the other 6 muggers wouldn't want anything unless it were on him, cheap bastards.
They gave each other a glance and he was sure they were all about to attack at once, it could have worked if they were a bit more subtle about it. Guardian made an evasive leap as the thugs attacked landing by the window of the drive thru, he wondered if they would have his coffee by the time his attackers were on their feet again.
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Name: Kail "Cal" Ingiric
Alias: Variant
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Personality: Kail is a member of a species from several galaxies away. That said, he has a few cultural differences from your typical human. His species is collectively the wet blanket for an entire planetary system. The Narikitan, as they are called, are peacekeepers. They have been known to invade entire planets for the soul purpose of ending some raging war there. With that in mind, Kail still harbors much of that pacifist nature. He doesn't particularly like violence or fighting, but after a few years on Earth, he's come to learn that it sometimes can't be avoided.
He is a very mild mannered creature, despite his appearance. Kail does his best to be polite to new people, help those who need it, and generally just be a huge pushover. Kail is very kind and generous, particularly is people treat him the same way. He can get a bit pissy when someone is being rude or acting otherwise uncalled for.
Equipment: He has a few toys left over from his crash site, but most of it is junk that doesn't work. He doesn't really own any weapons.
Power/Special Skill: His 'powers' are all things that are common among his species. He is very intelligent, having a knack for picking up languages and tinkering with devices. His two sets of arms come in handy. The upper set is twice as strong as the average human, while the lower set is just about on par.
His complex jaw and vocal cords allow him to mimic sounds with uncanny accuracy. This come in handy while trying to learn all those pesky human words.
His main power is shape shifting. The name "Narikitan" translated into English literally means "variation". His species is capable of taking on the form of any other species once they have come into physical contact with them. However, they are only able to turn into an exact clone of the creature they touched, including whatever mutations or deformities that specific creature has.
Appearance: In his default form, Kail appears to be a half mammalian, half insect creature. He is covered in short, grey and white fuzz, with several parts of his body sporting carapace-like armor. He stands at almost 7 feet tall, with two sets of arms and a large, flexible tail. His mouth is likely his most unsettling aspect. Kail has a three part jaw. The upper half separates outward, and the bottom jaw moves up and down. Typically, when he speaks human language, the upper set moves together while the lower jaw moves. When he switches to his own native tongue, or any other alien language he may speak, its a different story.
He took his human form, "Cal", from a man he happened to find asleep in a car outside of a bar. He appears as a 20 something year old Caucasian male with olive tone skin, curly reddish brown hair, and brown eyes.
Backstory:
Kail came from a planet and species that seemed to dedicate itself to keep peace in its galaxy. Most of the time they did a pretty good job at playing the mediator between waring planets, but there were always those few extremists who took things too far. But let's not talk about them.
Several decades ago, Kail's galaxy came under attack by a race no one had ever seen nor heard of before. The invaders were violent, destructive, and hellbent on conquering. Naturally, the Narikitan moved in to settle the fighting. However, their efforts were not met kindly. After years of war with these monsters, their planetary system was all but torn apart. The species that didn't bow to the invaders were enslaved, and the ones that did were drafted to fight future wars.
Kail was born into this war. When he was still a teenager, him and his parents were taken onto a slave ship and flown halfway across the universe to be sold. His father, who was the son of one of his species past leaders, decided that he wasn't going to have it. When they arrived at their destination, Kail's father turned and attacked his slavers. A riot broke out, which resulted in Kail's mother being gravely injured. His father and him managed to get back onto the ship and fly it away from the slave planet.
They lived on the run for several years. Eventually, Kail's father died from medical complications, leaving Kail to wander the universe on his own. When he was 23, he happened upon the little blue and white marble that was Earth. While pondering whether he should stop and re-supply his ship, Kail was caught in an meteor shower that resulted in his ship getting damaged and pulled down into the Earth's gravity.
The ship crash landed miles outside of the city where he now lives. Kail managed to make it out okay, and upon going to search for help, he quickly discovered that the inhabitants of this planet weren't too keen on visitors. Nor did they have any form of public space travel. It looked like he would be stuck here for a while, so he quietly adopted a new form and integrated into human society. After a few years on Earth, Kail has gotten fairly used to his new life. He decided that living here wouldn't be too awful bad. Slavers wouldn't find him for sure, the species was (relatively) peaceful, and Earth was just pretty. He took on the human name "Cal", and now works at a human coffee shop full time to pay for his human apartment.
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2 years ago
"Boris! As a Warlock of the ancient Hex bloodline, you shall forever serve me and my master when we wish it. Know that should you attempt treachery then you shall experience pains far worse than any mortal torture in all of human history!" Baal said menacingly to Boris. Boris was kneeling before the great demon and nodded his head understanding his master's words.
"I understand master and will do your bidding" he replied and his vision of the demon vanished and he found himself on his knees in an abandoned mansion where he had destroyed a rogue warlock who had sought to betray his demonic masters. He did a good job of hiding his desire to be free from his masters, but there were times when he had to convince himself to not completely give into the evil within him. He was struggling with keeping his darker self at bay, but he felt himself slowly loosing the battle.
present day
His memories on that day for whatever reason were in his mind and gazed out over the city from the top of a building. His familiar Morbid was perched on his shoulder.
"Fly my friend, find those who plague the weak and innocent so that I can send them down to hell" Boris commanded his familiar and the crow took off from his shoulder and began to fly over the buildings and streets on the look for criminal activity. Boris saw what the crow saw and after a few minutes of flight spotted prey. Boris smiled and made his way towards the alley where Morbid was circling.
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Name: Boris Hex
Age: 22
Appearance:
Equipment: Boris has a warlock staff, which helps him focus his magical powers, and a tome of madness which is a book which allows him to summon dangerous spirits.
Power/Special Skill: His powers all stem from black magic that he received when he made a pact with a demon.
Hex: This black magic spell allows Boris to attack his enemies minds with a wave of magical energy that can cause a good amount mental damage and drive his victims to madness.
Eldritch Blast: Boris fires off a powerful blast of force that cause a large of amount of concussive damage. The size and power of the blast is determined by how much power he puts into the attack.
Familiar: This ability allows him to summon his familiar which is a crow named Morbid. Familiars are spirits that take a physical form in the shape of an animal, when they are in a physical form they can be killed and sent back to the spiritual plane and can't called back for several hours. His familiar can used to scout out an area and he can perceive everything that it can see, hear or touch. Morbid can also fire off magic blasts of his own, but they are not very strong.
Hellfire: Boris can create crimson red flames that take the shape of dangerous animals and burn much hotter than normal fire. This ability using up a large amount of magical power and can drain him of power much quicker than his other abilities.
Demonic Summons: By calling on the dark forces, Boris can summon demonic entities that can attack his enemies. Like with his Hellfire ability this power can lower his magic reserves much quicker than his powerful abilities.
Armor of Baal: This spell covers Boris in black transparent tentacles that can protect him from harm, but if he takes too many hits then the spell will begin to deteriorate.
Backstory: for thousands of years, Boris' family has harbored a dark and demonic bloodline that first came to be when an ancestor sold his soul for great magical power. As a price for attaining such a curse was placed on the Hex family and those that showed magical promise would forever be doomed to fall into the black arts of the Warlocks. Boris was one of those few in his family, but he like all of the others made a pact with a demon to save a loved one from death. When he was fourteen Boris' father was diagnosed with cancer and only had months to live.
That was when the demon Baal who had been worshiped as a god by the ancient Canaanites came to him with an offer to save his dad in exchange for making a pact with it. Boris' asked what the demon would do with him once the pact was made, and Baal merely answered that the power that he would give him would be his to control, but if he had an order for him then Boris would have to follow it. Baal reached out with his grotesque hands and placed it upon Boris' chest and he felt his skin burn as the demon marked him.
When the process of the pact was complete Baal vanished, but not before leaving one last message, "remember once a pact is made it can never be broken, you are damned for all eternity." The next day Boris saw that his father had miraculously been cured of his cancer and decided to go celebrate. But things would take a dark turn when their car was hit by an intoxicated driver and his father was killed. While he was pulled from the wreckage, Boris swore he had seen Baal among the crowds of onlookers and he heard the deep and creepy laughter of the demon.
Boris realized that he had been tricked by Baal and given up his soul for nothing. With his father dead, Boris wandered the globe learning to control his powers and trying to find a way to rid himself of the demonic power within him. He also has been trying to use his powers to right wrongs done to others with his dark powers.
Personality: dark, cold and determined.
Future Gear:
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Parking garage
He layed on top of a parked moving truck which was also on top of a parking garage. His rifle several feet from the edge hiding it from people below. A white blanket on top of him hid him from aerial observation. There was absolutely no one out at this time, they had all gone in for supper. He let out a deep breath, he jotted down the wind speed and range in his note pad.
He'd created nearly the perfect bullet in the sense that it was perfectly weighed and nearly flawless. Its entire essence was for this moment. If destiny was real, this bullet's would be to end this man's life. He went back to his rifle, it was aimed high and to the left. If wind conditions were sustained, he'd be able to make the perfect shot.
Peeking back through his range finder he observed the family, the only thing that wasn't going perfectly was his "bugs" kept getting interfered with. He'd only catch snippets of their conversation. So far he'd gathered the younger female was the man's daughter, and the man's name was in fact Jim. "Well Jim, I catch you leaking secrets, your nights going to get a hell of a lot shorter." he said to himself.
He reached into a chest pocket and pulled out a strip of jerky and chewed on it, listening to the garbled sounds of the bugs. If he were to take the shot it would be just shy of two miles. Even if he didn't spill the beans in the dinning area he had view of what was to be the man's bedroom according too the Intel he was given.
He slowly chambered the bolt action rifle, allowing the almost perfect bullet to slide into the chamber. He had one shot and only needed one shot, if he didn't kill him which he highly doubted at least it would scare him enough to shut his mouth until he will be able remove him in the near future.
"I'd kill for a vacation to some tropical place, somewhere with beautiful women and endless booze." He thought bitterly. As his head began to throb a little. When ever he got headaches his sight dulled, back to what he assumed what it used too be. It had become so acute that he could see things hundreds of yards away with near perfect celerity. Not to mention he couldn't seem to die. He'd taken four bullets a month a go and lived to tell the tale. If its bad enough it usually knocks him out for several hours before he wakes up. "This old man isn't going to spill any secrets, I otta just take off and go home. Maybe make some Tacos or something." he was thinking out loud now. Something he would never have done if he was working with the military again, or even arcadia.
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Name: Hal Buckley
Age: 28
Alias: DeadWatch
Equipment: Sniper Rifle calibered in .338 Lapua, Handgun in .45, Knife, An array of hand grenades.
Power/Special Skill: Healing Factor, can come back from the most serious wounds. Improved eye sight, and Adequate at hand to hand fighting.
Backstory: Served with the United States, special forces for eight years, before leaving the service. Joined up with private security, after several months he was put in a special weapons program located in Canada, the result left him with hawk like eyes, and the ability to recover from almost any wound. He left the private security company known as Arcadia, after being subjected to horrible experiments. He escaped Canada and returned to the United states, and continues to work as a private security, though on his own this time.
Personality: He has two personalities, the man at work and the man off work. At work he's professional, taking the utmost care for his job and carrying out his missions with lethal precision. Off work he's able to unwind and relax. Often times he can be found bar hopping or out and enjoying himself, people out of his line of work view him as cocky, but those who know what a soldier goes through understand whats its like to be so close to death all the time.
Future Gear: TBD
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...I catch you leaking secrets...
"So, what made you decide to run off and do that anyway?"
December had been asked the same question by her father more than once, and she just didn't have an answer that had satisfied him, apparently. She couldn't tell him the truth. "Oh, you know, I needed to get out in the middle of nowhere so I wouldn't hear other people's thoughts in my head anymore. No biggie." Yeah, that just didn't work.
She sighed, still not able to come up with a better lie. "I just needed to get away," she shrugged. "Empire is... a mess. It was when I left, and it's worse now. Night after night after night on the news, it's all crime and depressing stories. I just needed somewhere I didn't have to hear that anymore. Or anything at all, for a while."
"Well you could have stayed on the continent at least, you know. You didn't have to go half way around the world."
"Jim." Her mother's tone was sharp. The two of them had had this argument before, apparently. Her father seemed to be sure that something awful had happened. Her mother blamed him for refusing to move because he was waiting on a promotion that never came...
...kill... ...beautiful women... ...booze...
She lifted a hand, rubbing at her forehead. The room was becoming almost as unbearable as the rest of the city. The uncomfortable feeling was only growing, and she didn't think it had anything to do with her parents, either. Something about... a moving truck?
...tacos...
"Maybe I should stop coming home. All you guys do is argue when I'm here."
That caused both of her parents to stop talking, but it only made their inner thoughts rage harder, and that was worse. She picked up her wine glass and drained the rest. She didn't even feel hungry anymore.
|
Name: December (Emma or Emmy) Ellis
Age: 28
Looks:
Costume:
Yes, it absolutely did need a fur collar, I assure you.
Equipment: None yet
Power/Special Skill: December's abilities are of the mental variety, but largely untrained and somewhat unpredictable. The one that is most honed is telepathy, which is what gives her an advantage in a fight. By knowing her enemies' thoughts, she knows what is coming her way a moment before it does. She is by no means an exceptional fighter and being able to "see" what is coming doesn't mean she can avoid it entirely. This is why she prefers to not be in the middle of the fray, or to keep some muscle around. She struggles with the ability to "turn off" her telepathy, unable to shut out the outside world. She needs training to focus what skills she has and discover any more that may yet be latent.
Backstory: As a child December suffered from what her parents and doctors assumed were Night Terrors, but were rather the early manifestation of the mental abilities that would show later in life. She would "sense" upcoming disasters and tragedies for days before hand, leading to sleeplessness, agitation, fear, and even depression. As she got older the sense seemed to fade, her parents attributing the change to successful therapy. However her ability to hear the thoughts of others followed soon after in middle school. She never told anyone about her special abilities and moved away from home as soon as she had the opportunity. She took jobs that left her as isolated as possible so that she could have a clear head. One one of her rare visits to see family she started to consider just what she might be able to do with her gifts.
Personality: Outwardly December is generally friendly toward others and tries to avoid being actively hostile toward those she doesn't get along with. Inwardly she struggles with finding her identity and her place in the world. She knows that her gifts are potentially useful and that she should use them to do good, but being around groups of people, even small ones, can quickly become unbearable as she gets inside their heads whether she wants to or not.
|
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And suddenly special guest vigilante: Yo Jo Barista! He was pinning down the one loose mugger while the rest were still trying to untangle each other. Disarmed and disoriented they were a most perfect target and Guardian charged at them, bringing swift justice that came in fist shaped packages. One of his kicks actually launched one of the thugs into a nearby parking garage causing one of the car alarms on the lower levels to go off. When his swift beating came to an end the muggers didn't have any fight left in them, not even the goon the Barista had pinned looked like he wanted to resist after seeing his pals get pummeled. Guardian turned to face the coffee house employee and his catch.
"The police have been alerted and they should be on their way here as we speak" He walks up to the drive thru window, exchanges a $10 bill for his coffee and then approaches the downed goon "I've also sent the police pictures of you trying to attack those girls as well, you should have known better than to try something like that in my city. And If I ever find any of you punks trying some shit like that again..." he sips his coffee, staring at the criminal from under his hood "I'll cut off your balls and kill you" It was then the sirens started to become audible "Well, I better run so remember that, Guardian saved the day." He quickly turned and bolted toward the parking garage before leaping into the air.
As he sailed through the air he realized he just didn't have enough power in that jump as the wall of the parking garage was rising up to meet him. He reached out and grabbed a hold of the top of the wall and used his legs as stoppers to keep his body from smashing into the building. The collision didn't cause him any pain but he didn't want to stay on that wall for very long and hopped over to the other side. May not have made it all of the way to the top but I still managed to crash into the wall of the top floor.
|
Name: Kail "Cal" Ingiric
Alias: Variant
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Personality: Kail is a member of a species from several galaxies away. That said, he has a few cultural differences from your typical human. His species is collectively the wet blanket for an entire planetary system. The Narikitan, as they are called, are peacekeepers. They have been known to invade entire planets for the soul purpose of ending some raging war there. With that in mind, Kail still harbors much of that pacifist nature. He doesn't particularly like violence or fighting, but after a few years on Earth, he's come to learn that it sometimes can't be avoided.
He is a very mild mannered creature, despite his appearance. Kail does his best to be polite to new people, help those who need it, and generally just be a huge pushover. Kail is very kind and generous, particularly is people treat him the same way. He can get a bit pissy when someone is being rude or acting otherwise uncalled for.
Equipment: He has a few toys left over from his crash site, but most of it is junk that doesn't work. He doesn't really own any weapons.
Power/Special Skill: His 'powers' are all things that are common among his species. He is very intelligent, having a knack for picking up languages and tinkering with devices. His two sets of arms come in handy. The upper set is twice as strong as the average human, while the lower set is just about on par.
His complex jaw and vocal cords allow him to mimic sounds with uncanny accuracy. This come in handy while trying to learn all those pesky human words.
His main power is shape shifting. The name "Narikitan" translated into English literally means "variation". His species is capable of taking on the form of any other species once they have come into physical contact with them. However, they are only able to turn into an exact clone of the creature they touched, including whatever mutations or deformities that specific creature has.
Appearance: In his default form, Kail appears to be a half mammalian, half insect creature. He is covered in short, grey and white fuzz, with several parts of his body sporting carapace-like armor. He stands at almost 7 feet tall, with two sets of arms and a large, flexible tail. His mouth is likely his most unsettling aspect. Kail has a three part jaw. The upper half separates outward, and the bottom jaw moves up and down. Typically, when he speaks human language, the upper set moves together while the lower jaw moves. When he switches to his own native tongue, or any other alien language he may speak, its a different story.
He took his human form, "Cal", from a man he happened to find asleep in a car outside of a bar. He appears as a 20 something year old Caucasian male with olive tone skin, curly reddish brown hair, and brown eyes.
Backstory:
Kail came from a planet and species that seemed to dedicate itself to keep peace in its galaxy. Most of the time they did a pretty good job at playing the mediator between waring planets, but there were always those few extremists who took things too far. But let's not talk about them.
Several decades ago, Kail's galaxy came under attack by a race no one had ever seen nor heard of before. The invaders were violent, destructive, and hellbent on conquering. Naturally, the Narikitan moved in to settle the fighting. However, their efforts were not met kindly. After years of war with these monsters, their planetary system was all but torn apart. The species that didn't bow to the invaders were enslaved, and the ones that did were drafted to fight future wars.
Kail was born into this war. When he was still a teenager, him and his parents were taken onto a slave ship and flown halfway across the universe to be sold. His father, who was the son of one of his species past leaders, decided that he wasn't going to have it. When they arrived at their destination, Kail's father turned and attacked his slavers. A riot broke out, which resulted in Kail's mother being gravely injured. His father and him managed to get back onto the ship and fly it away from the slave planet.
They lived on the run for several years. Eventually, Kail's father died from medical complications, leaving Kail to wander the universe on his own. When he was 23, he happened upon the little blue and white marble that was Earth. While pondering whether he should stop and re-supply his ship, Kail was caught in an meteor shower that resulted in his ship getting damaged and pulled down into the Earth's gravity.
The ship crash landed miles outside of the city where he now lives. Kail managed to make it out okay, and upon going to search for help, he quickly discovered that the inhabitants of this planet weren't too keen on visitors. Nor did they have any form of public space travel. It looked like he would be stuck here for a while, so he quietly adopted a new form and integrated into human society. After a few years on Earth, Kail has gotten fairly used to his new life. He decided that living here wouldn't be too awful bad. Slavers wouldn't find him for sure, the species was (relatively) peaceful, and Earth was just pretty. He took on the human name "Cal", and now works at a human coffee shop full time to pay for his human apartment.
|
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Top of a parking garage
His fingers adjusted the optics on the scope a click as the wind changed. He adjusted his rifle slightly, jotting down some more notes. He looked back through his spotting scope. His stomach rumbled watching the family eat and drink. A familiar thought entered his head. He pictured a warm beach, a chair, the ocean and a tall drink in his hand. "Two more jobs, and I can use some of my savings to take a month off." He said internally. The apartment was tastefully decorated.
He felt a slight buzz at his hip, reaching down he looked at his cell. A new email was waiting to be read. He thought for a moment wether or not too read. Was it really the time? He gave a mental shrug and looked anyways.
-------
To: Mr. B
-------
From: C
--------
Subject: Job
-------
Change of plans, if you read this, Target has changed. Kill the family. Send a message.
Mr. C
-------
He blinked several times and looked back through his spotting scope. And sighed, he had strict rules, no women no children. And before him was two women, and an older man. He was frustrated, recently they had been asking a lot of him. Bending his rules one by one. Usually he wouldn't mind they were simple rules like, no day jobs, or no politicians. He didn't mind bending those rules, but these were his core values they were asking him to sabotage. Adjusting his calculations, and shifting his rifle he'd now have a clear shot on the older woman. He paused his inner struggle very real. "Send... a message."
|
Name: Hal Buckley
Age: 28
Alias: DeadWatch
Equipment: Sniper Rifle calibered in .338 Lapua, Handgun in .45, Knife, An array of hand grenades.
Power/Special Skill: Healing Factor, can come back from the most serious wounds. Improved eye sight, and Adequate at hand to hand fighting.
Backstory: Served with the United States, special forces for eight years, before leaving the service. Joined up with private security, after several months he was put in a special weapons program located in Canada, the result left him with hawk like eyes, and the ability to recover from almost any wound. He left the private security company known as Arcadia, after being subjected to horrible experiments. He escaped Canada and returned to the United states, and continues to work as a private security, though on his own this time.
Personality: He has two personalities, the man at work and the man off work. At work he's professional, taking the utmost care for his job and carrying out his missions with lethal precision. Off work he's able to unwind and relax. Often times he can be found bar hopping or out and enjoying himself, people out of his line of work view him as cocky, but those who know what a soldier goes through understand whats its like to be so close to death all the time.
Future Gear: TBD
|
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...Kill the family...
December pressed her fingers firm to her temples. Between every thought from the surrounding apartments, her parents,' her own, and... whatever it was she was getting her head was getting too crowded. But it was this... extra that she was picking up on that bothered her. Fuzzy like a radio station that wouldn't tune in and you couldn't quite make out the song on it.
"I can't do this. Something isn't right. Please, just listen to me, both of you." She stood up, jostling the table as she did and sloshing some of the wine from the other two glasses on the tablecloth. "Go into the living room and turn out the lights. Stay there until I get back and don't move."
"Emmy, what are you talking about?"
"Please just listen to me!" She had already shut out the lights herself. She was pushing them both toward the living room, away from the windows. "Stay here."
She left her jacket behind on her way out the door. The elevator was forgotten and she raced down the stairwell, flight after flight passing in a staccato tapping of boot heels on concrete. She burst out the side exit onto the sidewalk and started running. She didn't even know where she was going. Just that she had to find a parking garage.
Send... a message.
|
Name: December (Emma or Emmy) Ellis
Age: 28
Looks:
Costume:
Yes, it absolutely did need a fur collar, I assure you.
Equipment: None yet
Power/Special Skill: December's abilities are of the mental variety, but largely untrained and somewhat unpredictable. The one that is most honed is telepathy, which is what gives her an advantage in a fight. By knowing her enemies' thoughts, she knows what is coming her way a moment before it does. She is by no means an exceptional fighter and being able to "see" what is coming doesn't mean she can avoid it entirely. This is why she prefers to not be in the middle of the fray, or to keep some muscle around. She struggles with the ability to "turn off" her telepathy, unable to shut out the outside world. She needs training to focus what skills she has and discover any more that may yet be latent.
Backstory: As a child December suffered from what her parents and doctors assumed were Night Terrors, but were rather the early manifestation of the mental abilities that would show later in life. She would "sense" upcoming disasters and tragedies for days before hand, leading to sleeplessness, agitation, fear, and even depression. As she got older the sense seemed to fade, her parents attributing the change to successful therapy. However her ability to hear the thoughts of others followed soon after in middle school. She never told anyone about her special abilities and moved away from home as soon as she had the opportunity. She took jobs that left her as isolated as possible so that she could have a clear head. One one of her rare visits to see family she started to consider just what she might be able to do with her gifts.
Personality: Outwardly December is generally friendly toward others and tries to avoid being actively hostile toward those she doesn't get along with. Inwardly she struggles with finding her identity and her place in the world. She knows that her gifts are potentially useful and that she should use them to do good, but being around groups of people, even small ones, can quickly become unbearable as she gets inside their heads whether she wants to or not.
|
5,223
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|
From no where the girl leapt up and ran, the older couple tried to escape into what he assumed was the living room, he adjusted his rifle and fired the shot. It had all become clear on how to send the message. From the range he shot at and the sound suppressor it would be nearly impossible to detect from anywhere further than a few hundred yards. The recoil of the rifle was nothing he wasn't used too.
The bullet passed through the space between the apartment and his rifle, in a matter of moments. It pierced the window and exploded the wine bottle showering the trailing parent with the wine. It buried through the wall and planted its self into the elevator frame.
He watched through his scope as the lights went out in the apartment and it all went quiet. He hopped that his message was received. He sat up and exposed himself, folding the blanket to carry it with him. He left the empty shell in the rifle so he didn't have too find it later. "Damn fine shooting if I say so myself." he chuckled softly. He sat for a moment all the tension melting, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes, pulling the last one out he lit up. Sucking down the smoke greedily he gave a sigh of relief.
His contact would be angry, but the message was still delivered. And he could sleep soundly. He'd killed women and children before, he saw their faces every night. Men, he didn't mind he supposed or at least he'd gotten used to them. He rarely saw their faces anymore.
|
Name: Hal Buckley
Age: 28
Alias: DeadWatch
Equipment: Sniper Rifle calibered in .338 Lapua, Handgun in .45, Knife, An array of hand grenades.
Power/Special Skill: Healing Factor, can come back from the most serious wounds. Improved eye sight, and Adequate at hand to hand fighting.
Backstory: Served with the United States, special forces for eight years, before leaving the service. Joined up with private security, after several months he was put in a special weapons program located in Canada, the result left him with hawk like eyes, and the ability to recover from almost any wound. He left the private security company known as Arcadia, after being subjected to horrible experiments. He escaped Canada and returned to the United states, and continues to work as a private security, though on his own this time.
Personality: He has two personalities, the man at work and the man off work. At work he's professional, taking the utmost care for his job and carrying out his missions with lethal precision. Off work he's able to unwind and relax. Often times he can be found bar hopping or out and enjoying himself, people out of his line of work view him as cocky, but those who know what a soldier goes through understand whats its like to be so close to death all the time.
Future Gear: TBD
|
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|
The blocks went by in a blur. No doubt any one who saw her probably thought she was committing a crime judging by the speed she was moving at. She wasn't exactly dressed for an evening jog. She didn't care. It kept coming in flashes, momentary glimpses of the side of her parents' apartment building through a strange frame.
Her feet were killing her by the time she had closed the distance between her and her destination. She wasn't used to moving that fast, for one, not since she'd done track in high school, and those boots were not meant for running. Once she had spotted the parking garage looming in the distance she had known it was where she needed to go.
When she was there she took the elevator just so she had a few moments to catch her breath. At the top she could smell cigarette smoke and she knew she was in the right place. But... now what? She hadn't thought this through very well. Oh well. That was what improvising was for. She hopped onto the back of a low car, into the bed of a pickup, onto the roof, and then up to the top of the box truck. Sure enough, she saw exactly what she had expected.
The smoking man looked shocked for a moment, and she used it to kick him square in the stomach, hoping to send him tumbling off of the other side of the truck.
|
Name: December (Emma or Emmy) Ellis
Age: 28
Looks:
Costume:
Yes, it absolutely did need a fur collar, I assure you.
Equipment: None yet
Power/Special Skill: December's abilities are of the mental variety, but largely untrained and somewhat unpredictable. The one that is most honed is telepathy, which is what gives her an advantage in a fight. By knowing her enemies' thoughts, she knows what is coming her way a moment before it does. She is by no means an exceptional fighter and being able to "see" what is coming doesn't mean she can avoid it entirely. This is why she prefers to not be in the middle of the fray, or to keep some muscle around. She struggles with the ability to "turn off" her telepathy, unable to shut out the outside world. She needs training to focus what skills she has and discover any more that may yet be latent.
Backstory: As a child December suffered from what her parents and doctors assumed were Night Terrors, but were rather the early manifestation of the mental abilities that would show later in life. She would "sense" upcoming disasters and tragedies for days before hand, leading to sleeplessness, agitation, fear, and even depression. As she got older the sense seemed to fade, her parents attributing the change to successful therapy. However her ability to hear the thoughts of others followed soon after in middle school. She never told anyone about her special abilities and moved away from home as soon as she had the opportunity. She took jobs that left her as isolated as possible so that she could have a clear head. One one of her rare visits to see family she started to consider just what she might be able to do with her gifts.
Personality: Outwardly December is generally friendly toward others and tries to avoid being actively hostile toward those she doesn't get along with. Inwardly she struggles with finding her identity and her place in the world. She knows that her gifts are potentially useful and that she should use them to do good, but being around groups of people, even small ones, can quickly become unbearable as she gets inside their heads whether she wants to or not.
|
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The sparrow chirped as it flitted upwards towards the sky. As the small bird darted by the levels of the parking deck, the sound of a gunfire broke through the air. The sparrow stopped to hover in one spot, looking around frantically. Somebody was shooting; shooting was never good. The bird's beady black eyes landed on a man on top of a moving truck. He had what looked like a long range weapon. A sniper?
Kail was hard wired to put his nose into other people's business. This looked like a situation that desperately needed mediating. This became even more apparent when a woman appeared on the scene and began to assault the man. She didn't appear to have a weapon. She was going to get herself hurt!
The sparrow darted down towards the top level of the deck, landing behind a bulky delivery van. Kail shifted back into his true form for a moment, his heart racing with adrenaline as he tried to figure out a way to fix this. Call 911? The human police would take too long to get here; the situation was escalating quickly. He had to intervene.
Kail took a deep breath and shifted into a human form; a different one. This one appeared to be a very large, muscular human that he'd had a scuffle with a few months ago. Kail stood up and poked his head around the van. With another deep breath, he began to jog towards the scene.
"Hey! Hey, knock it off! What's going on here?!" His voice was deep and commanding, well fitted to the body he was in. Kail just hoped it wouldn't get him shot.
|
Name: Kail "Cal" Ingiric
Alias: Variant
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Personality: Kail is a member of a species from several galaxies away. That said, he has a few cultural differences from your typical human. His species is collectively the wet blanket for an entire planetary system. The Narikitan, as they are called, are peacekeepers. They have been known to invade entire planets for the soul purpose of ending some raging war there. With that in mind, Kail still harbors much of that pacifist nature. He doesn't particularly like violence or fighting, but after a few years on Earth, he's come to learn that it sometimes can't be avoided.
He is a very mild mannered creature, despite his appearance. Kail does his best to be polite to new people, help those who need it, and generally just be a huge pushover. Kail is very kind and generous, particularly is people treat him the same way. He can get a bit pissy when someone is being rude or acting otherwise uncalled for.
Equipment: He has a few toys left over from his crash site, but most of it is junk that doesn't work. He doesn't really own any weapons.
Power/Special Skill: His 'powers' are all things that are common among his species. He is very intelligent, having a knack for picking up languages and tinkering with devices. His two sets of arms come in handy. The upper set is twice as strong as the average human, while the lower set is just about on par.
His complex jaw and vocal cords allow him to mimic sounds with uncanny accuracy. This come in handy while trying to learn all those pesky human words.
His main power is shape shifting. The name "Narikitan" translated into English literally means "variation". His species is capable of taking on the form of any other species once they have come into physical contact with them. However, they are only able to turn into an exact clone of the creature they touched, including whatever mutations or deformities that specific creature has.
Appearance: In his default form, Kail appears to be a half mammalian, half insect creature. He is covered in short, grey and white fuzz, with several parts of his body sporting carapace-like armor. He stands at almost 7 feet tall, with two sets of arms and a large, flexible tail. His mouth is likely his most unsettling aspect. Kail has a three part jaw. The upper half separates outward, and the bottom jaw moves up and down. Typically, when he speaks human language, the upper set moves together while the lower jaw moves. When he switches to his own native tongue, or any other alien language he may speak, its a different story.
He took his human form, "Cal", from a man he happened to find asleep in a car outside of a bar. He appears as a 20 something year old Caucasian male with olive tone skin, curly reddish brown hair, and brown eyes.
Backstory:
Kail came from a planet and species that seemed to dedicate itself to keep peace in its galaxy. Most of the time they did a pretty good job at playing the mediator between waring planets, but there were always those few extremists who took things too far. But let's not talk about them.
Several decades ago, Kail's galaxy came under attack by a race no one had ever seen nor heard of before. The invaders were violent, destructive, and hellbent on conquering. Naturally, the Narikitan moved in to settle the fighting. However, their efforts were not met kindly. After years of war with these monsters, their planetary system was all but torn apart. The species that didn't bow to the invaders were enslaved, and the ones that did were drafted to fight future wars.
Kail was born into this war. When he was still a teenager, him and his parents were taken onto a slave ship and flown halfway across the universe to be sold. His father, who was the son of one of his species past leaders, decided that he wasn't going to have it. When they arrived at their destination, Kail's father turned and attacked his slavers. A riot broke out, which resulted in Kail's mother being gravely injured. His father and him managed to get back onto the ship and fly it away from the slave planet.
They lived on the run for several years. Eventually, Kail's father died from medical complications, leaving Kail to wander the universe on his own. When he was 23, he happened upon the little blue and white marble that was Earth. While pondering whether he should stop and re-supply his ship, Kail was caught in an meteor shower that resulted in his ship getting damaged and pulled down into the Earth's gravity.
The ship crash landed miles outside of the city where he now lives. Kail managed to make it out okay, and upon going to search for help, he quickly discovered that the inhabitants of this planet weren't too keen on visitors. Nor did they have any form of public space travel. It looked like he would be stuck here for a while, so he quietly adopted a new form and integrated into human society. After a few years on Earth, Kail has gotten fairly used to his new life. He decided that living here wouldn't be too awful bad. Slavers wouldn't find him for sure, the species was (relatively) peaceful, and Earth was just pretty. He took on the human name "Cal", and now works at a human coffee shop full time to pay for his human apartment.
|
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Indeed he was knocked from the moving truck. He managed to roll out of the fall and quickly recover into a crouch, he upholstered his revolver and took a few steps back. It felt like his he maybe had a cracked rib. Another voice appeared on the other side of the truck. He couldn't leave, all his gear could potentially be traced back to him. "Listen here, you don't want to do this. Both of you just leave and forget you saw me. People forget thousands of things everyday, let this be one of them."
He began to side step until he was in view of both the people, a large muscle bound man, and the girl from the apartment. He was blown away that she'd found him, or that she had come right too him. "How the hell did you find me? You were just at the apartment." He gave her a quizzical look. He had not known it was her at first and this almost took the wind from his sails. Had this been a setup? "Who are you working for?" He asked them both. He trained the revolver on each of them.
|
Name: Hal Buckley
Age: 28
Alias: DeadWatch
Equipment: Sniper Rifle calibered in .338 Lapua, Handgun in .45, Knife, An array of hand grenades.
Power/Special Skill: Healing Factor, can come back from the most serious wounds. Improved eye sight, and Adequate at hand to hand fighting.
Backstory: Served with the United States, special forces for eight years, before leaving the service. Joined up with private security, after several months he was put in a special weapons program located in Canada, the result left him with hawk like eyes, and the ability to recover from almost any wound. He left the private security company known as Arcadia, after being subjected to horrible experiments. He escaped Canada and returned to the United states, and continues to work as a private security, though on his own this time.
Personality: He has two personalities, the man at work and the man off work. At work he's professional, taking the utmost care for his job and carrying out his missions with lethal precision. Off work he's able to unwind and relax. Often times he can be found bar hopping or out and enjoying himself, people out of his line of work view him as cocky, but those who know what a soldier goes through understand whats its like to be so close to death all the time.
Future Gear: TBD
|
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|
Guardian found himself once again by the garage he had been at earlier this morning, the scene didn't look too much different but clearly his damages would not be repaired in one day. Guardian had to focus now, he almost let the criminal he was tailing get away from him. He had found this guy a couple of times breaking into city maintenance lots. What confused him about this was he was always doing something to the city snow plows, but this would only be a real worry if it were winter and summer had just begun. So unless he had something else in mind this guy was playing the long game till December.
Now Guardian could easily take him, but if he has a den or a safe house Guardian wanted the criminal to take him right to it. The trespasser entered the garage and made a straight line toward the elevator. One inside he hit a combination of floor button and disappeared behind the closing doors.
Now that was very odd, how would a guy like that be able to get such a secret hideaway. Was he a secret billionaire who like to prank the city or was this apart of a much bigger scheme? Still hiding out site from the door, Guardian tried to make heads or tails of what he was dealing with.
|
Name: December (Emma or Emmy) Ellis
Age: 28
Looks:
Costume:
Yes, it absolutely did need a fur collar, I assure you.
Equipment: None yet
Power/Special Skill: December's abilities are of the mental variety, but largely untrained and somewhat unpredictable. The one that is most honed is telepathy, which is what gives her an advantage in a fight. By knowing her enemies' thoughts, she knows what is coming her way a moment before it does. She is by no means an exceptional fighter and being able to "see" what is coming doesn't mean she can avoid it entirely. This is why she prefers to not be in the middle of the fray, or to keep some muscle around. She struggles with the ability to "turn off" her telepathy, unable to shut out the outside world. She needs training to focus what skills she has and discover any more that may yet be latent.
Backstory: As a child December suffered from what her parents and doctors assumed were Night Terrors, but were rather the early manifestation of the mental abilities that would show later in life. She would "sense" upcoming disasters and tragedies for days before hand, leading to sleeplessness, agitation, fear, and even depression. As she got older the sense seemed to fade, her parents attributing the change to successful therapy. However her ability to hear the thoughts of others followed soon after in middle school. She never told anyone about her special abilities and moved away from home as soon as she had the opportunity. She took jobs that left her as isolated as possible so that she could have a clear head. One one of her rare visits to see family she started to consider just what she might be able to do with her gifts.
Personality: Outwardly December is generally friendly toward others and tries to avoid being actively hostile toward those she doesn't get along with. Inwardly she struggles with finding her identity and her place in the world. She knows that her gifts are potentially useful and that she should use them to do good, but being around groups of people, even small ones, can quickly become unbearable as she gets inside their heads whether she wants to or not.
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Momo tugged at the sleeves of her uncomfortable wizard robe. If there was one thing she disliked about Kobayashi, it was the uniforms. Students were forced to wear what looked like distasteful unisex choir gowns. As an avid shopper and former student of fashion design –back in the good ol’ days of normal high school– Momo felt quite restricted in her wardrobe options. Still, she did what she could to touch it up. Her raven hair was pinned up halfway with two Dutch braids, and the hair that was left free tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves like an ebony waterfall.
Along with the rest of the student body, Momo was headed to the Cafétorium. The room was a cross between a dining hall (aka: cafeteria) and a meeting center (aka: auditorium), hence the clever name. Today, the population of Kobayashi was gathering to celebrate the start of the new school year and welcome the timid little people known as freshmeat –er… freshmen. The new students would be divvied up based on their different traits and placed into the House (aka: dormitory) that suits each of them the best.
That was all good and fun, but the best part was the announcement of the House of the Year. The dormitories all competed in annual competitions to win that title because the victors get special privileges all year long. Last year’s winner would be declared at tonight’s gathering. Momo couldn’t wait. Dragonhart had won for the past two years in a row, but she felt good about Rowanstone’s chances this time. They had put up a strong fight against Dragonhart, and she was fairly certain they won more challenges too. Plus, Rowanstone always had the best academic achievements, as they were the smartest bunch of students at the school.
Momo shuffled through the French doors that lead into the Cafétorium with the other students, trying to avoid getting pushed about in the crowd. She managed to escape from the throng and slip into a seat at her House’s table. The dormitories were all separated into four long tables in the gathering place, each with the House crests hanging above to identify which was which. Starting at the far left, there was Wintercrow, Dragonhart, Rowanstone, and Adderhook.
At the head of the Cafétorium, there was an elevated platform like a stage. In the middle of said stage was a solitary chair. That was where the freshmeat would be put on display for all to see as they took the test to decide which Houses they would be assigned to. Momo hoped Rowanstone would get some competitive kids this year, and not just a group of quiet little bookworms who were just there for the schooling.
She was just piling food onto her plate for dinner, when she heard Tanaka sensei call everyone’s attention. Like the rest of the student body, Momo stood and faced the teachers’ platform. It was positioned just to the left of the stage. On top were six individual podiums, behind which the teachers all stood (except for Mori sensei, who was organizing the freshmeat backstage), looming over the crowd like a panel of judges. The room fell silent as everyone waited in anticipation.
“Students,” Tanaka began. His voice was unnaturally loud, and Momo suspected he was using an enchantment for enhanced vocal projection. “Welcome back. As always, I would like to congratulate you all on a wonderful three trimesters last year–” he was interrupted by an eruption of cheering from the young wizards seated below. “Yes, yes. You all did very well. But, I also wish to stress that you need to try even harder this year. It is always our goal here at Kobayashi to make each year better than the last…”
Momo tuned out the rest of his long-winded speech about how he expected everyone to get perfect scores on their exams and put on spectacular performances in the House competitions. You know; the usual beginning of the year spiel to get everyone pumped up for the coming trimesters. She listened in again when he switched to the topic of incoming freshmen.
“Now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Tanaka said, turning to Yoshida sensei. “If you’d please.” Yoshida nodded silently and crossed from the teachers’ platform to the stage. He muttered a few phrases of a spell and held out one hand toward the chair. A pure white snake materialized, coiling around the chair’s legs and back. The snake was basically a scaly mind reader. It wormed its way into the freshmens’ innermost thoughts and decided which House each one would be placed in. Then it changed colors like a chameleon to reflect the House emblem of the new freshman, so everyone would know. Creepy, right?
“As according to tradition,” Yoshida began. “I will call the freshmen onto the stage in alphabetical order by their surnames. Mori-san will send them each to the chair in turn, where they will be judged and divided into their new Houses.” There was another short burst of whooping from the crowd while Yoshida summoned up a long scroll containing the names of the freshmeat.
The students all took their seats as the initiation process began. Momo sat on the edge of her chair in anticipation. She watched as the unlucky first kid sat down in the chair. She looked like she was about to faint when the snake rested its head on top of hers. After a moment, the snake’s scales rippled from white to royal blue and silver: the colors of Wintercrow. The table on the far left of the room broke out in cheers and sent one of their members up to retrieve the terrified girl.
Momo joined in with the rest of the Houses in a polite applause, and then returned her attention to the stage as the procession of freshmeat continued.
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Takezo Shingen
Age: 16
Grade: Second Year
House: Rowanstone
Aptitude: Potionmaking
Personality: With a carefree and lazy attitude, Takezo appears to be a leaf blowing in the wind, never bothered by anything and more than usually going with the flow. His usual attitude conceals an extremely clever mind and an even sharper cunning; calculating most things and reading through situations as if they were school academics.
Especially fond of adventure and new experiences, he's always willing to jump into a developing situation if it piques his interest. Light-hearted and always easygoing, there isn't much that can upset him or even surprise him
Other: He enjoys laying around lazily and doing nothing, or just reading a good book and relaxing
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Eri walked gracefully to the dinning hall to watch the sorting of the first years. She seemed to have this unusual habit of walking on her tip toes, almost like a cat. Her face and body language gave no indication, but she was excited.
As a proud member of Adderhook House, she was curious to see who will be the new addition to the family. Apparently Adderhook had a reputation of being shady and cold, but she didn't understand it. Well, she did, but not everyone was manipulative... she hoped at least. The more she thought about the reputation, the more walls she ran into in her mind trying to bring some justice to it. In her head, they always over-exaggerate the house qualities anyway. But she had to admit they weren't necessarily wrong either. Dismissing the debate within her thoughts, she took her seat at her table, next to her house members, just like always.
The names were called, the scared little first-years took their beloved seats to their new houses, and repeated. She was interested at first, but the fire started dying. Soon her boredom sunk in a little. She propped her head up with one hand, and began twirling her fingers on the table. 'Interesting. Always interesting without a bit of melancholy.' they say. she sighed at her thought, but continued to stare, and when a Adderhook was chosen, she casually clapped and then went back to her bored expression.
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Hikari Suzumaki
Age: 13
Grade: First Year
Aptitude: Summoner (I know that's not til second year, but still.)
Personality: Hikari is young and often very timid. She would often rather spend a quiet day in the library than be out and about with others. That said, she is a very sweet girl at heart and cares deeply for others. She is very naive and gullible, and is sometimes taken advantage of because of it.
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Zaseki Motomeshorai leaned against the wall, waiting along with the other newcomers to this school. He was fairly bored, and unlike the other students, wasn't nervous in the slightest. He just wanted to get up there and find out what his House would be. He wasn't looking forward to the actual schooling, either, because he knew he wasn't the smartest, but he also knew it would be extremely boring, but he'd have to deal with it. It would be worth it to greaten his powers.
He remembered the night he got his powers. It was a few days before this day, he had been hanging out with what he called his 'friends', when there was a bit of an argument between two of them. They started yelling, then shoving, and they got mad, then they punched, punched eachother hard. Because of how their 'friendships' worked, this happened regularly. Weird thing is, this already happened. He didn't know how, but earlier in the day, he saw this happen. He didn't pay much attention to that memory, not yet atleast, and so he tried to break up the fight, and ended up getting punched in the face. He winced, but then got up. He was angry, now, and ran forward, punching the guy back. He fell back onto the ground, and spat a little blood. It was on now, they were about to fight. Then, he remebered, just as the other guy took a swing. He blocked it and counter-attacked, and did so for every single move, leaving the guy sitting on the floor in pain.
When he got home, he checked the mailbox, and saw the letter. He read over it with intrest, and realized what had happened. He had seen what happened, and was excited by this. Now this was good news! Magic, something he'd never excpect him to have. Very suprising, infact, but good. He told his mother, she didn't care, he packed his stuff and left, heading towards the School.
Flash back to now, he was next. He chuckled and walked on up to the chair, then sat down. He read about what would happen now, and waited. The snake slithered up to him, then rested onto his head. He sneered at it, and it read into his memories. He waited, and after a moment, the snake shifted colors black and acid green, Adderhook. the Adderhook table cheered as the leader, a young man, got up and retrived him.
"Dai Arakaki, welcome to Adderhook." the man said as he walked over to the rest of the House, recieving greetings, congratulations, and welcomes. He sat in a chair and leaned back on it, waiting for the ceremony to end so that they could get on with the year. He crossed his arms as he sat, and thought to himself. "This'll be interesting." and chuckled.
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Name: Emily Hines
Age: 16
Grade: First Year
House: N/A
Aptitude: Spellcaster
Personality: When going to a new school, Emily Hines starts out to be shy and nervous being around people she doesn't know. Some time later, or when she makes her first friend, she breaks out of that shell and shows her true colors. She is normally kind to others, wanting to make tons of friends and no enemies. Unfortunately for her, she still winds up having a couple of enemies because of the fact that she happens to switch personalities.
The reason behind her going from kind to sweet then harsh to mean, is because of the fact that she is bipolar. Normally, no one can really predict when her personalities will switch except for those that are close to her. Rarely, anyone outside of her friends can notice it as well because sometimes what gives it away will be the color of her eyes darkening.
Other: Emily is bipolar, making it sometimes hard for her to keep any friend she makes. She also likes to draw anything that catches her eyes as well listening to classical music.
This is just in case
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Justin awoke to the sound of battle in the distance. He looked down at this hands, this feels real he though. He opened his menu to logout but the button was gone. stranger and stranger this was becoming. He heard something move behind him, a wolf. level 34. He paid it no mind but it was arrgo'ed on him. He stood and took out his dagger ready to strike and kill it. It attacked, and he tried to use a skill but it didn't work. He is hit and he stumbles back, "I felt that?" He looked up and the wolf was on the attack again, He tried to attack again but his auto attack was not working? He is pinned down to the ground, on instance he put his hands around the wolfs neck to hold it off, and that worked. what the hell is going on here?
He threw the wolf off and it stumbled, got up. He grabbed his dagger and trusted into the wolf chest. Critical hit. The wolf died able to be skinned, after a while he disappearance. His mind raced about what was happening, trying to access his skills this way was to hard. But he also remembered that there was a voice command option, Now he just needed to remember ever skill he wanted to use. What made it even more strange is that he was sitting at his PC and now he was inside the game? Was he dreaming or was this for real. When he got hit by the wolf that felt real. He decided to head back to Akihabara, Maybe someone in town was spamming about what was going on.
Akihabara was full of people, strange people were screaming to the NPC asking for a GM. When he tried to open a ticket that option was also not available. "This is going to be a problem," With him not in a guild anymore, and his friends who use to play the game does not play anymore. He opened his friends list. Lots of unlit names, but Shiroe was online. "Shiroe?" Then he thought back, "The Enchanter," He thought about sending him a message but decided against it. The guy probably would not even remember him. Then he thought about it for a while longer and sent the message, but it was unlike any message he had used. It was more of a direct line. "Hello? This is Shiroe," The voice from the other end came threw, "Um, Hey this is Jus... err i mean Recca do you remember me. I play assassin we have done a few raids together you took me or Akatsuki. Him more but me when he was not online, He waited for a responds.
"Ah yes, What are you up too? Can you meet up with us?" Justin wonder who was us? "Yeah sure, Just let me know where you are." When he heard where to go he knew it was not far, he would just walk there would not take that long. Upon arriving he seen a female assassin, a warrior most likely a tank and Shiroe. Once he got closer he recognized the tank, Naotsugu. But the female assassin he did not. It was strange, the name above the players head did not show but he did remember Naotsugu, like it was imprinted into his head. "Sorry miss I don't think we had the pleasure of meeting, I am Recca Heartseeker," He extended his hand to her and she slapped it away, "Idiot." He had a puzzled look on his face while Naotsugu laughed uncontrollably. "Its Akatsuki man," Recca looked at the small girl, "No, Akatsuki is man... right?"
As the four sat there talking, Recca wonder who everyone else in the world was taking this, the weather was fair for the game. Anyone who died would just resurrect at the nearest town but still, this is hard new to swallow. Knowing that right now there is no way to log out of the game, and that they could be stuck in it forever.
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Name
Justin Redwood
Race
Half-Alv
Character name
Recca HeartSeeker
Class
Assassin (80)
Sub-Class
Tracker (90)
Bio
Justin works a park time job, single no kids, so all is time is spent online. Although he does go out from time to time but he spends most his time wondering whats going on online. His family moved around a lot till he was about 16 so he only had online friends. He family never had a lot of money, but the one thing they were was thankful. Once Justin went to college he got his degree in coding in the hopes to be come a game designer but ended up working for a small company an web designer. Still he might not had his dream job but this was close to it. Now at 25 Still doing the same job but he no longer needs to work the long hours.
Persona
Justin has been playing MMOs all his life. He is a team player and gets along well with other. He follows direction and tried to learn as he goes. Outside the game he is a laid back guy. He often like to get to know the people he plays with in the hope of maybe meeting them in Real Life. He prefers to spend his time playing cause its much easier to form a bond with someone online rather then in person. He is really shy but when he come to online gaming hes like not shy at all.
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A young man stood frozen in the centre of Akihabara, one arm extended awkwardly. His train of thought, thoroughly derailed as it was, ran as thus; Where is my sake? I paid ¥700 for a double shot, so what kind of evil bastard took my drink? Somehow, something didn't quite match up... Whether it was the sudden brightness around him, the leather glove on his hand or the mysterious disappearance of the drink he had been about to pick up drink, he couldn't decide... As the thought ran through to it's logical conclusion, or in this case lack of one, the young man straightened slowly and cast a long, slow look around. Broken-down, moss-covered cars, half-collapsed buildings and a scattering of people in fantasy outfits, most looking as confused as he... To his dismay, surveying the scene only baffled him more.
He took a seat at the side of the street and had a good long think about the situation; the longer he sat, the more little details he began to notice. There were two kinds of people around him, some in various forms of armour with a floating name above their heads of all things and others that looked like medieval peasants. While the latter were quite calm, the former were all having panic attacks of their own; in the same situation as him perhaps? The floating names gave him an idea and he looked up; to his amazement, it wasn't just his name he found, but a full HUD around the periphery of his vision, including the name Ragnar. The young man stood up suddenly, pounding one fist into his other hand emphatically. 'Ah, I see.', he chuckled. 'I'm in Elder Tale, the game. That makes perfect sense. Obviously!' Either I'm completely wasted or I'm tripping some serious balls...
Since this was clearly a delusion, he decided he might as well play the part of Ragnar and enjoy his time here; Hell, for all he knew he might be passed out in an alley right now and this was basically like playing the game for free, with upgraded graphics to boot. Why waste it? And so Ragnar took off to have a look around the city, exploring his HUD as he went. His subconscious was quite through; he even had a friends list and guild tab... A few of his guildmates were online too. He paused by a market stall, apparently run by the People of the Land, Elder Tale's NPCs, considering whether to contact one of his friends. Or the version of his friends that his drug-addled brain had thought up at any rate.
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Name: Todoroki Yuusuke
Race: Wolf Fang
Character Name: Ragnar
Class: Swashbuckler (55)
Sub-Class: Animal Trainer (60)
Appearance: Yuusuke has based Ragnar's style off a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic equipment, consisting of leather armour overlaid with raw hide and fur. The overall impression is quite a realistic one and avoids the over-the-top trappings of fantasy Vikings. He wields a pair of ornate, long-hafted axes, normally hanging from his waist. His hair and floppy ears are a neutral brown, as are his bespeckled eyes.
Bio: Todoroki Yuusuke; veteran homeless drifter and (imaginary) Viking Warlord.
For as long as he can remember, Yuusuke has always lived on the streets. Perhaps he was abandoned as a foundling or perhaps his parents were just scum, but his entire life has been spent pounding the back alleys of Tokyo, eating out of bins and begging for small change. His life before the Apocalypse is nothing much to speak of; cold nights, back-breaking jobs that paid a pittance and the sole shining light he had to look forward to; getting drunk in internet cafes.
It was during one of his midnight benders that Yuusuke dipped his toe into the world of online gaming, deciding to start with the immensely popular Elder Tale; naturally, it took less than an hour of sake-infused play for him to get hooked. While the gameplay was great, it was the sense of equality that made him feel so at home. In-game, no-one could look down on Yuusuke for sleeping in a telephone box, for handing out the newspapers at train stations; truly, Elder Tale was his very own pixelated utopia, where he could roleplay the person he really wanted to be. He had been playing for a few years when the Apocalypse came; considering how rarely he could afford to get online, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was at the time.
RL has shat on him all his life, so Yuusuke will likely jump at the chance to start again in this new world.
Personality: Unlike many who live the way he does, Yuusuke has developed an upbeat and friendly disposition; this is balanced by his slanted sense of humour and deep-seated pessimism. He never expects others to lend him a positive thought and yet will carry on regardless, not a single shyte given. However, since joining the Lotus Warriors, he is starting to open up and trust his guildmates a bit.
Other: As an Animal Trainer, Ragnar made most of his money selling vanity pets pre-Apocalypse. He keeps a single pet for himself, one of the very first he successfully tamed; a rather obtuse bear dubbed Artio. Artio is a combat pet, but is only as powerful as a single medium-level Summoner summon. At Ragnar's current level Artio is a viable, if small boost to his DPS but will become redundant at higher levels.
He'll still be kept around of course, if only as a self-heating pillow.
And there's Ragnar.
He's prone to losing his rag.
/edit Also, if he's accepted; Stitches would you mind if he's in Kiyomi's guild too?
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Johnathan awoke with a start, he was outside the guild hall, just where he had been before the blackout. he looked over at the clock, but the monitor moved with him. as did the view.
"Can't be..."
Reaching into the satchel hanging at his side, he took out a remove illusion salve and anointed his forehead with it; this was how he had trained himself to wake up from the dreams, but nothing happened.
"No... please, god, no..."
He looked around, seeing the other players panicking as well.
"Should have listened... should have quit after the accident..."
He had moved to japan after his family died in a car accident, trying to escape, but he made the mistake of transferring his account to the Japanese server. He worked for the company that created the game and had used his connections to reconfigure his profile for the server when he moved. The night after he first logged in on the new server, the dreams had begun. In the dreams, he was Erebus, and he always died many times in each one, which is why he trained himself to have a fail-safe. the therapists said it was survivors guilt that caused them, that he was detaching his own face from the suffering for some reason.
then, amid thousands of other players, he sank to his knees and prayed for mercy...
.
.
.
.
For about five seconds: He could handle this, Johnathan thought to himself. Just like he handled the first few months after the accident, one step at a time. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, not having to face the reminders every day, the pictures or the ceramic mug his little sister had given him. It was why he had moved to japan, after all, to get away from the family home, away from the memories.
As he pondered this, he cried a bit, it still felt like it had been just days, not nearly two years. he stood up and wiped his face, then began to walk towards the middle of the city, lost in thought, still crying; uncontrollable, but silent.
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Name: Johnathan Singer
Race: werecat
Character Name: Erebus
Class: Swashbuckler (level 90)
Sub-Class: herbalist(level 90)
Appearance: 6'3" tall with medium blonde hair. Has Hazel eyes and a chubby but handsome face and slightly misaligned eyes, with the right eye straying away from the center occasionally. otherwise fairly generic in appearance. typically carries a pungent, herbal smell from making herbal teas and the like.
Bio:Growing up with a loving family, retreated into the world of online gaming when he survived a car crash that killed his parents and siblings when he was 17. his inability to perform emergency first aid on his younger sister who survived the initial impact and died later led to his feeling a need to save people. Psychological trauma led to him developing an alternate personality that is embodied by his character. had been logged in consistently for over a month prior to the catastrophe, relating to his deepening attachment to his character. Prior to the catastrophe, his bank was overflowing with powerful herbal medicines. He now carries an apothecary shops worth of balms, salves, and the like at all times. worked for the developing company of "elder tale" performing inspections on the american server hosts, but moved to japan later to work at the main office.
Personality:Cautious, philosophical, protective.
Other:
"Herbalist" sub-class allows the creation of medicines from ingredients. Erebus has also discovered he can make delicious tasting herbal teas and that many of his medicines can be used as condiments on the normally bland food, as long as he prepares them by hand. this discovery was made after the information on how to cook good food was made public.
Items:
"Apothecary belt" rare magic-bag type item that can be used to carry only medicine and ingredient. it is filled with a veritable arsenal of his herbal remedies, plus an entire pouch dedicated to raw ingredients that can be used for making herbal tea.
"Chain cursed wasps" rapiers that force root spells targeting party members to hit him instead. reward from limited event raid "lunar hive" also increases power of swashbucklers status attacks
"Groom of the Forsaken" wedding band from completing "skeleton king" quest. grants 1x use per week "spirit pardon" Resurrection power that must be used within 1 minute of player death. user loses experience equal to 1/2 of what the target would have lost.
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Tanner woke up from the alleyway dazed and disoriented, leaning on a corner to regain some sense of equilibrium as he tried to figure out what happened. Ten minutes ago, he was at his computer, writing up a battleplan for his next squadron match in Titanfall. The next, he was in this game. A whole other world.
Groping around his face, he didn't feel his VR helmet on, or kinetic gloves. He was actually in the game. He was actually in Elder Tales.
The low rumble of an arcane engine snapped him out of his ragged musings, as he turned to see one of his summons behind him. A ten foot ironclad golem, a light chassis type. The most common type he could summon, customize, and arm. And it was now before him, awaiting orders.
"Okay, um. Command: Follow Mode!" Tanner uttered, with the Ironclad sputtering into action and lumbering behind him. The lion-boy then marched out off the alley to find out what was going on. Judging by the reactions of others, he wasn't the only one caught in this state.
"I need to find a tavern. Taverns always have the answers." He muttered to himself, walking down the road with a iron warmachine in tow. He didn't care if he was making a scene, he wanted to find answers. And if his golem attracted people who might have an idea what happened, then fine.
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Name: Claus Tanner
Race: Werecat (with lion accessories)
Character Name: Stryker "The Ironclad Marshal"
Class: Summoner (Puppet Master)
Sub-Class: Blacksmith
Has a rare "Lion's Pride" outfit to change his cat features to lion ears and tail. Since the update, these seem to have become permanent fixtures regardless of clothing, making him stand out among Werecats.
Bio: Despite being a prolific gamer, Claus originally didn't play Elder Tales from its beginning, being more of a FPS gamer in Titanfall and serious sci-fi settings, but his friends dragged him into the game regardless because they needed another ally for a raid. While not his usual cup of tea and not very engaged in the fantasy world around him, he did enjoy casually hanging out with friends and getting into tough fights and coming out ontop, culminating in beating several high-level raid events and obtaining rare items, in particular the rare "Lion's Pride" outfit he was gifted with after the first raid with his buddies, which he treasures in particular whilst freely trading other items he gains from the dungeons.
But when the apocalypse happened, Tanner found himself alone and separated from his friends, whom he isn't even sure if they crossed over into the game with him. With his life quite possibly on the line, he throws himself into the game like never before to fight to survive, let alone find a way home.
Personality: Seemingly happy-go-lucky and cheerful, but its a front for serious concern and worrying about what has happened and how to get home. While he tries to be optimistic and take events in stride, Tanner can switch to a hardened and logically ruthless machine when the situation calls for it or he runs into a hard obstacle to his goals.
Other: One ability of Tanner's that crossed in from the real world to the game world is his knack for parkour and SMART (Smooth Movement Across Random Terrain) However so did his predominantly "Serious Gamer" mindset, Elder Tales not being his main MMO game and he didn't play it much before the 12th update, plus not being very aware of how fantasy settings work at all to begin with. Thus he often thinks in the wrong genre relative to the game setting. (IE: thinking politics are more like Game of Thrones than a traditional fantasy setting, thinking players have EVE Online morality, thinks the whole idea of designated heroes is setting up for Spec Ops: the Line scenarios, etc)
Tanner's summons are predominantly from the "Ironclad" family of clockwork metal golems. High-armor, high power, customizable summons, but also consume large amounts of MP and not very smart unless he directs or mentally controls them. Also summons from the valkyrie family as a secondary option. Since the apocalypse, they are beginning to develop minds of their own, and making it difficult to control the higher-level ones.
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For a long time, there was darkness.
Kiyomi lifted her head up from the mossy ground she was sprawled out upon. She heard it, the screams and the wails of scared people. But she couldn't see, not yet, she was...she was blind, oh god....! Kiymoi took shallow, frightened breaths.
She was in her bedroom before, lounging on her bed, laptop beside her, only half-keeping an eye on the guild chat whilst a couple of others were headed to Akihabara. Erebus, the werecat, he was somewhere in Akihabara before the blackout. Then there was Ragnar...probably running circles in the middle of Akihabara, drunk off cheap sake whilst in an internet café - but Kiyomi didn't mind him. She found him pretty funny whilst he isn't sober. From what she knew about Erebus, the poor dude suffered some pretty nasty things in real life, and Kiyomi wasn't one to pry about things like that. He was a little odd, but Kiyomi let him into her guild anyways. The others were all offline.
Admittedly, Kiyomi thought grimly, that was probably the best decision of their entire lives. Kiyomi wasn't nearly prepared for the black-out, just moments before she has her character, Chihau, sitting under the Silver-leaf Tree in the city's centre. She was eating a quick snack just before midnight, excited for the next expansion pack, having it all updated on her computer....
And then, and then...
Kiyomi screwed her eyes shut, then open again. Indistinct, blurry shapes were forming in her peripheral vision, angular and dark green in appearance. She watched as bright white letters briefly flashed - LOADING... for at least a couple of seconds. Her heart rose to around the area of her esophagus as she let loose a choked gasp, unable to comprehend what was going on. It was all too much for her, and she slipped back into the darkness.
LOADING COMPLETE. WELCOME TO ELDER TALE.
Kiyomi sat up again and looked around. All around her were people in armour, screaming, sobbing, yelling at shopkeepers to see a GM. The chaos was contagious, and she felt the overwhelming urge to curl up and sob pathetically into her arms, despite having no clue what's going on. A thick miasma of fear and despair hung across the overgrown paradise of Akihabara, and Kiyomi was caught up headlong in the rush of fright.
But something kicked in the back of her head, and she got to her feet and started running away from the yells. She clambered over bridges and ran away from the noise until she reached the border of the city, turned, and went back a bit. She found an old, abandoned concrete flat and kicked the door down, rushing into the cool, damp shade, climbing up the stairs to the top floor. She knew where she was, but she didn't want to believe it until she saw it.
Kiyomi looked out across the dark green splendor that is Akihabara in disbelief. She was actually inside Elder Tale...But she never got a chance to really let it sink in, because all of a sudden there were a whole array of geometric dark green labels scattered over her view. Kiyomi helped, flailing her arms around, and accidentally clicked on the guild roster.
Kiyomi stared at the list of names. Only two others were lit up, saying "Logged In" on their names. Gentle, she reached out and pressed her own portrait with her fingertips. It was like pressing on thin glass. A menu slid down, with options such as "Leave Guild" and "Invite to Party". Worried, she tapped the air a couple of times to dismiss the menu. Fingers trembling, she poked Erebus' portrait, looking down the menu for-...Aha.
GUILD VOICE CHAT INITIATED.
Kiyomi took a deep breath. "Guys? It's Chiharu...Are you there?" she called out into the aether, her voice carrying out to the other two. It had an odd, calm and assertive tone to it, which was ironic seeing as though Kiyomi had half a mind to leap off of the top of the flat and force herself to log out. "Are you guys in Akiba still? Don't leave the town! We've got to find each other, you two are the only ones I trust right now." she ordered, her guild leader instincts really starting to kick in.
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Name: Kiyomi Yukimura
Race: Fox Tail
Character Name: Chiharu
Class: Samurai
Sub-Class: Chef
"Real" appearance:
Character Appearance:
Bio:
Kiyomi is, as she likes to put it, a very proud gamer. She plays games because she thinks they are fun to play, never really focusing on stats and trying to pound through until the end level. She was more concerned about getting some pretty-looking armour and trying out the roleplaying guilds. She was the leader of a roleplaying guild, the Lotus Warriors, and during the celebration of the new expansion, decided to stay online until the update released, chilling out OOCly by one of her favourite zones, chatting with her guild members...and suddenly it all went dark.
Personality:
Generally quite helpful and kind, Kiyomi usually assumes leadership role due to her confidence and charm. She only attacks things if it's really necessary and her race/class combo isn't very efficient, and her gear doesn't provide as much protection as she should have. Constantly aware of this, she's quite wary and has to rely on her rubbish gaming skills to keep her alive in this new world.
Other:
QUESTIONS:
- What's a Sub Class?
- Is there a map of the "zones" that we'll be in?
- Would anyone like to link their CS to mine by being in Kiyomi's guild?
- How will the group meet up and start travelling?
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Ragnar was quite happily flicking through his friends list and checking who was online, when a sudden trilling alert caught his attention and a small window popped up in front of him. A guild voice chat invitation from Chiharu, the guildmaster of the Lotus Warriors and one of the only two other members online; considering that this was all a narcotics-induced fantasy, Ragnar wondered if her presence was some Freudian slip of the mind..? In any event he gave the accept button a hearty poke, briefly wondering how voice chat would work without a mike. To his surprise Chiharu's voice seemed to come from every direction at once, almost like a headset; it also had a distinctly odd flange to it, like it had gone through a synthesiser. Deciding that telepathy was better than nothing, Ragnar tried to reply with his mind just in case; failure. 'Alright, so I'm still not psychic... Hiya there Boss Lady. I'm here, more or less.' He listened as Chiharu continued, clearly talking to two people; Erebus was also online, so that explained that. 'Alright then. I am...' He took a moment to get his bearings and found that the area did look somewhat familiar. 'Ah, I'm near the east market district. I reckon I can find my way around if you tell me whereabouts you are.' Despite the dire situation, Ragnar was in quite good spirits; true, he didn't believe any of this to be real, but even if he did he might have reacted the same. Besides, he was still a bit tipsy...
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Name: Todoroki Yuusuke
Race: Wolf Fang
Character Name: Ragnar
Class: Swashbuckler (55)
Sub-Class: Animal Trainer (60)
Appearance: Yuusuke has based Ragnar's style off a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic equipment, consisting of leather armour overlaid with raw hide and fur. The overall impression is quite a realistic one and avoids the over-the-top trappings of fantasy Vikings. He wields a pair of ornate, long-hafted axes, normally hanging from his waist. His hair and floppy ears are a neutral brown, as are his bespeckled eyes.
Bio: Todoroki Yuusuke; veteran homeless drifter and (imaginary) Viking Warlord.
For as long as he can remember, Yuusuke has always lived on the streets. Perhaps he was abandoned as a foundling or perhaps his parents were just scum, but his entire life has been spent pounding the back alleys of Tokyo, eating out of bins and begging for small change. His life before the Apocalypse is nothing much to speak of; cold nights, back-breaking jobs that paid a pittance and the sole shining light he had to look forward to; getting drunk in internet cafes.
It was during one of his midnight benders that Yuusuke dipped his toe into the world of online gaming, deciding to start with the immensely popular Elder Tale; naturally, it took less than an hour of sake-infused play for him to get hooked. While the gameplay was great, it was the sense of equality that made him feel so at home. In-game, no-one could look down on Yuusuke for sleeping in a telephone box, for handing out the newspapers at train stations; truly, Elder Tale was his very own pixelated utopia, where he could roleplay the person he really wanted to be. He had been playing for a few years when the Apocalypse came; considering how rarely he could afford to get online, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was at the time.
RL has shat on him all his life, so Yuusuke will likely jump at the chance to start again in this new world.
Personality: Unlike many who live the way he does, Yuusuke has developed an upbeat and friendly disposition; this is balanced by his slanted sense of humour and deep-seated pessimism. He never expects others to lend him a positive thought and yet will carry on regardless, not a single shyte given. However, since joining the Lotus Warriors, he is starting to open up and trust his guildmates a bit.
Other: As an Animal Trainer, Ragnar made most of his money selling vanity pets pre-Apocalypse. He keeps a single pet for himself, one of the very first he successfully tamed; a rather obtuse bear dubbed Artio. Artio is a combat pet, but is only as powerful as a single medium-level Summoner summon. At Ragnar's current level Artio is a viable, if small boost to his DPS but will become redundant at higher levels.
He'll still be kept around of course, if only as a self-heating pillow.
And there's Ragnar.
He's prone to losing his rag.
/edit Also, if he's accepted; Stitches would you mind if he's in Kiyomi's guild too?
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as the guild chat invite appeared, Erebus was just regaining his composure. He reached out and touched accept, his persona naturally shifting into place over his panicking
"Greetings, Ragnar-san, Chiharu-Taichou"
he had still been getting used to the honorifics of the language, and spoke with a noticable american accent
"Are we the only ones online?
he checked his surroundings
"I am just outside the guild complex. would you like me to get a kettle heating while you two make your way here?"
Erebus asked, walking into the main lobby. The werecat stopped at the bank, retrieving his best gear and putting it on, purely a precaution, also taking out his surplus of dry herbs, stowing them in his dispensary bag. Herbalism had always been a hobby of his, and having maxed out the subclass he figured it would be best to be prepared.
"Heading into the guild hall now, I'll see both of you soon."
he disconnected from the chat and entered the guild's private zone, it was mid-size, just seven rooms, but plenty of space for everyone.
Turning to the hearth, he pulled out his pestle and mortar, required items for mixing herbal remedies, and a selection of leaves; chamomile, fever-few, and eyebright, gently crushing them along with some green tea leaves as he had done hundreds of time before, using strips of cotton, usually reserved for binding poultice onto wounds, and wrapped the blended leaved into sachets before placing a pot of water onto above the fire to boil.
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Name: Johnathan Singer
Race: werecat
Character Name: Erebus
Class: Swashbuckler (level 90)
Sub-Class: herbalist(level 90)
Appearance: 6'3" tall with medium blonde hair. Has Hazel eyes and a chubby but handsome face and slightly misaligned eyes, with the right eye straying away from the center occasionally. otherwise fairly generic in appearance. typically carries a pungent, herbal smell from making herbal teas and the like.
Bio:Growing up with a loving family, retreated into the world of online gaming when he survived a car crash that killed his parents and siblings when he was 17. his inability to perform emergency first aid on his younger sister who survived the initial impact and died later led to his feeling a need to save people. Psychological trauma led to him developing an alternate personality that is embodied by his character. had been logged in consistently for over a month prior to the catastrophe, relating to his deepening attachment to his character. Prior to the catastrophe, his bank was overflowing with powerful herbal medicines. He now carries an apothecary shops worth of balms, salves, and the like at all times. worked for the developing company of "elder tale" performing inspections on the american server hosts, but moved to japan later to work at the main office.
Personality:Cautious, philosophical, protective.
Other:
"Herbalist" sub-class allows the creation of medicines from ingredients. Erebus has also discovered he can make delicious tasting herbal teas and that many of his medicines can be used as condiments on the normally bland food, as long as he prepares them by hand. this discovery was made after the information on how to cook good food was made public.
Items:
"Apothecary belt" rare magic-bag type item that can be used to carry only medicine and ingredient. it is filled with a veritable arsenal of his herbal remedies, plus an entire pouch dedicated to raw ingredients that can be used for making herbal tea.
"Chain cursed wasps" rapiers that force root spells targeting party members to hit him instead. reward from limited event raid "lunar hive" also increases power of swashbucklers status attacks
"Groom of the Forsaken" wedding band from completing "skeleton king" quest. grants 1x use per week "spirit pardon" Resurrection power that must be used within 1 minute of player death. user loses experience equal to 1/2 of what the target would have lost.
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Kiyomi listened. So, Ragnar was near the east market district, and Erebus was going to the guild hall...she ran a hand through her hair and hit something. Her breath caught up in her throat as she span around, walking towards a puddle on the flat roof, looking down at her head.
Okay, Kiyomi was expecting it but it didn't make it any less out-right terrifying. She shrieked, her voice piercing through the guild chat by accident, and waggled her bright orange fluffy ears protruding from the top of her skull, the place where it was fused to her scalp hidden by a mass of thick, wavy ginger hair. She looked close enough to her real image, which was reassuring, save for the eyes - a bright amber. Nibbling her lip, she twisted around to-yep, there's the long, bushy fox tail. She gave it a couple of experimental flicks, really happy that there was a hole in her armour...oh GOD, her armour.
Kiyomi pulled open her character sheet and gasped. It used to be a bit of a laugh, being unable to take on monsters in the slightest...but she was wearing some really low-levelled gear. She didn't even have the right stats...Kiyomi let loose a quiet whimper, also picked up by voice chat. She might as well attack things in the nude. "At least I look nice," came her thoughts. Indeed - she looked really good in her outfit. It wasn't revealing, but it was intimidating...made her look powerful, which wasn't the case.
Her hand slipped to the scabbard of her katana and she pulled it out. Just like in the anime films she watched, it was like tugging a ribbon; barely any resistance at all as the blade slipped from her scabbard, the familiar SHINK of sharp steel on hardened leather. It felt like an extension of her very arm, as she held it out, the sharp edge pointing to the sky, and ran it across her fingertip. It took a while to figure out she was even bleeding, the cut was so clean and shallow. Kiyomi put her finger in her mouth, feeling some very real pain right there.
At once, Kiyomi realised that each noise she made was picked up in Voice chat. In other words, the others would've heard a scream and a whimper..."I'm alright, I'm fine!" she said hurriedly. "I just...caught sight of my own reflection, is all. Erebus-san, how polite of you to use the honorifics, I understand Japanese isn't your native language." Kiyomi smiled. Even in the worst of situations, Erebus was being polite...it kind of reminded her of his roleplaying attitude. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. Either way, Kiyomi felt somewhat comforted.
And then Kiyomi was reminded of how odd Erebus was. He was thinking of tea instead of this situation? Right, right, Kiyomi was sure he had his reasons, and going to the Guild Hall was a brilliant idea...at least over there she was sure nobody that she didn't know or trust would interfere, or do something stupid. "Guild hall it is, then! Quickly, everyone, I want to have a sit down..." she ordered, thought there was a note of pleading in her voice as she slowly crumbled under the dawning realisation.
Erebus HAS DISCONNECTED
Oh.
Well then.
Kiyomi tried not to look offended that Erebus cut her and Ragnar off. She'll deal with that later, she thought; after all, keeping open voice chat when they've split up would be the most effective. Then if someone is ambushed and, god forbid, their voice chat breaks - at least Kiyomi and the others get a cut-off yell, or a gasp, or something so that she could get worried and rush to their aid. Erebus could get decapitated by a door or something whilst offline and she'll never know.
Offline...log out! Oh god, it took her that long to figure that out?! Kiyomi pulled at the menu in front of her vision until the log out button came into view. She grinned, tapping it with her finger. Nothing happened. She smashed her fist into the log out button for a good five minutes before accepting that it doesn't work.
Kiyomi sighed, and twisted her feet a little, kicking off into a sprint. She noticed how good she was at running around like this - maybe it was the tail giving her some more aerodynamic qualities. Maybe she was so immensely terrified that she felt like she was running for her life. She dodged and waved the players, who started to draw themselves into a cloud of despair and some of them sit or lie on the floor, sobbing. She had to dive out of the way of a massive iron war machine, calling out "Watch it!" to the werecat controlling it. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Claus Tanner, but she realised she had more important things to do than stare at a summoner.
The massive, moss-strewn guild hall loomed over her. People were huddling around the guild banks, trying to get in and take whatever they can from their own guilds. Some of them did not look very friendly at all. A few of them were scattered around the endless corridors of doors, some of them trying desperately to get back in touch with old guilds, begging for forgiveness of petty insults during dungeons, or stealing from other people's banks..others just wanting to get lost in the maze of identical doorways and stay there.
Kiyomi skirted across the corridors. It would be stupid if she didn't know the way to her own guild hall. She reached a blue door, putting her hand on the handle.
NAME: Chiharu
LEVEL 34 Samurai
RANK: Guild Master
PERMISSION TO ENTER: Granted
Kiyomi pushed the door open - there was no creak of a door handle, instead the faint rumbling of screen doors. She opened the door into a traditional-looking Japanese building, with circular wooden windows showing a modified background of cherry blossom trees constantly in bloom. The windows themselves are too small to climb out of, but it'd be no use anyways, because the background is just like a thick, smooth glass wall. The only thing it really does is darken during the night-time and brighten during the day-time. The washroom stands to her right, the dining room straight ahead, the kitchen ahead of the dining room as she stands in the training room.
Kiyomi took off her shoes by default, her usual habits kicking in. The place reminded her of her grandmother's house (her grandmother didn't have a fighting arena in her home) and the wrinkled crone would've slapped her with a bamboo reed if she traipsed mud into her immaculate home. Kiyomi blinked - she'd never see her Grandmother ever again, nor her parents, her sister...
Kiyomi settled down by the hearth, knees drawn to her chest, elbows resting on her knees and her hands running through her hair as tears openly streamed down her face. She didn't look up at Erebus, because she was sure he'd understand the situation they were in and accept the fact that even the usually confident Chiharu he's roleplayed with can break down and cry in the face of true, hopeless catastrophes that even she cannot change. her silence hung in the air for a long time.
"R-...Ragnar, tell me you're sober enough to find the Guild Hall? I c-can help you if you get to the entrance..." she sniffled through voice chat, staring at the floor as she waits for his reply. The only noise coming from her are small, stifled sobs.
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Name: Kiyomi Yukimura
Race: Fox Tail
Character Name: Chiharu
Class: Samurai
Sub-Class: Chef
"Real" appearance:
Character Appearance:
Bio:
Kiyomi is, as she likes to put it, a very proud gamer. She plays games because she thinks they are fun to play, never really focusing on stats and trying to pound through until the end level. She was more concerned about getting some pretty-looking armour and trying out the roleplaying guilds. She was the leader of a roleplaying guild, the Lotus Warriors, and during the celebration of the new expansion, decided to stay online until the update released, chilling out OOCly by one of her favourite zones, chatting with her guild members...and suddenly it all went dark.
Personality:
Generally quite helpful and kind, Kiyomi usually assumes leadership role due to her confidence and charm. She only attacks things if it's really necessary and her race/class combo isn't very efficient, and her gear doesn't provide as much protection as she should have. Constantly aware of this, she's quite wary and has to rely on her rubbish gaming skills to keep her alive in this new world.
Other:
QUESTIONS:
- What's a Sub Class?
- Is there a map of the "zones" that we'll be in?
- Would anyone like to link their CS to mine by being in Kiyomi's guild?
- How will the group meet up and start travelling?
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As he walked, Ragnar could feel the alcoholic fugue slowly fading from his mind. As it did, he slowly came to doubt his own conclusions as to the nature of this world... Many of the people he passed, players he guessed, had passed the panic stage and could be found hiding themselves away in alleyways, overcome with a sense of fear that Ragnar himself had let to find. Nevertheless he was slowly taking the situation more seriously and dwelling on the implications. The voice chat was still on in the background, Erebus' and Chiharu's calm voices giving him some degree of reassurance; who knew how long that would last though... 'Evening Erebus. I'll have a mint tea if you've got some. God knows I need to clear my head...' One thing he had always appreciated about the werecat was his respectfulness; in real life he had never been treated to honourifics, so appreciated the gesture, even if he avoided reciprocating.
'I'll head over now; shouldn't be much longer than half hour from here.' Aside from the odd squeal from Chiharu, the voice chat went silent for some time until Erebus disconnected. It didn't particularly bother Ragnar but he had cut Chiharu off mid sentence, if unintentionally. For the moment he decided to keep his peace, stifling a chuckle as the girl yelled at someone; constant voice chat would be handy, but could lead to some quite random moments. After a while the street opened out into a wide arcade, apparently modelled off one of the real Akihabara's main streets. Shopping stalls lined both curbs and ahead stood a monolithic structure, the Guild Hall. Inside was the Lotus Warrior's private hall, the closest thing the three of them had to a home. Ragnar paused, taking a moment to survey the area and observe the other players... The air was still thick with depression, but here and there groups were forming and spirits lifting; perhaps given time, the population of Akiba would adjust to their new lives. It was... heartening in a odd way.
Thinking of adjusting, it occurred to Ragnar that he hadn't taken a good look at his equipment. The armour he had had equipped when last playing was the best he had and the weapons by far his favourite; their high speed auto-attack and chain bonuses suited his play style perfectly. He drew them in a single smooth movement, to his surprise; having never used any form of weapon in real life, he had expected to drop the damn things... He took an experimental swing and found himself naturally pirouetting into a second attack with his other axe; Ragnar just went with the flow for a few minutes, allowing his body to flow as it wished. Somehow he was able to string together a long stream of attacks in a surprisingly elegant combo, just like the auto-attack from the game. Must be the game system helping me fight, he mused, examining the blades thoughtfully. He doubted he could have managed it otherwise.
A small sound broke him out of his reverie, almost imperceptible over the hubbub of the market. Ragnar cast about in confusion, wondering if he had misheard it... but he was sure that there was a crying child around somewhere. It was only when Chiharu's stuttering voice came through the voice chat that he realised his mistake. 'Yeah I'm here, just outside. I'll be right up...' He still wasn't sure of the world around him and had a dozen theories he wanted to test, but a friend in need took priority over his own curiosity. Ragnar stowed his weapons and jogged into the large guild building, eventually finding the right door for his guild's hall. As he stepped in, the scent of Erebus' tea wafted past and somehow that both warmed and chilled him... The implications were worrying. Regardless he stowed that thought and headed in, his leather boots discarded untidily by the entrance, striding into the main room with an apologetic air. 'Sorry I'm, uh... a bit late. I got carried away with... stuff...' His guildmates were easy to recognise, even if he was used to them being represented by pixellated figures; Chiharu's signature impractical armour and Erebus' glaring catness were distinct enough. However while the latter was acting himself, their Guildmaster just looked like a frightened little girl... not a situation Ragnar had much experience dealing with. He removed his fur shawl and awkwardly laid it over her shoulders, giving his best attempt at a sympathetic smile. 'I'd ask if you were ok, but that would a dumb question...' Ragnar turned to Erebus, looking the other player up and down. 'You seem to be taking this well mate. Might be in the minority, judging by the mood outside...'
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Name: Todoroki Yuusuke
Race: Wolf Fang
Character Name: Ragnar
Class: Swashbuckler (55)
Sub-Class: Animal Trainer (60)
Appearance: Yuusuke has based Ragnar's style off a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic equipment, consisting of leather armour overlaid with raw hide and fur. The overall impression is quite a realistic one and avoids the over-the-top trappings of fantasy Vikings. He wields a pair of ornate, long-hafted axes, normally hanging from his waist. His hair and floppy ears are a neutral brown, as are his bespeckled eyes.
Bio: Todoroki Yuusuke; veteran homeless drifter and (imaginary) Viking Warlord.
For as long as he can remember, Yuusuke has always lived on the streets. Perhaps he was abandoned as a foundling or perhaps his parents were just scum, but his entire life has been spent pounding the back alleys of Tokyo, eating out of bins and begging for small change. His life before the Apocalypse is nothing much to speak of; cold nights, back-breaking jobs that paid a pittance and the sole shining light he had to look forward to; getting drunk in internet cafes.
It was during one of his midnight benders that Yuusuke dipped his toe into the world of online gaming, deciding to start with the immensely popular Elder Tale; naturally, it took less than an hour of sake-infused play for him to get hooked. While the gameplay was great, it was the sense of equality that made him feel so at home. In-game, no-one could look down on Yuusuke for sleeping in a telephone box, for handing out the newspapers at train stations; truly, Elder Tale was his very own pixelated utopia, where he could roleplay the person he really wanted to be. He had been playing for a few years when the Apocalypse came; considering how rarely he could afford to get online, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was at the time.
RL has shat on him all his life, so Yuusuke will likely jump at the chance to start again in this new world.
Personality: Unlike many who live the way he does, Yuusuke has developed an upbeat and friendly disposition; this is balanced by his slanted sense of humour and deep-seated pessimism. He never expects others to lend him a positive thought and yet will carry on regardless, not a single shyte given. However, since joining the Lotus Warriors, he is starting to open up and trust his guildmates a bit.
Other: As an Animal Trainer, Ragnar made most of his money selling vanity pets pre-Apocalypse. He keeps a single pet for himself, one of the very first he successfully tamed; a rather obtuse bear dubbed Artio. Artio is a combat pet, but is only as powerful as a single medium-level Summoner summon. At Ragnar's current level Artio is a viable, if small boost to his DPS but will become redundant at higher levels.
He'll still be kept around of course, if only as a self-heating pillow.
And there's Ragnar.
He's prone to losing his rag.
/edit Also, if he's accepted; Stitches would you mind if he's in Kiyomi's guild too?
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Erebus placed the scalding kettle on a small table near the hearth, next bringing three cups over as Chiharu entered the guild hall.
"Greetings Chiharu-taichou."
The cat man was fetching soft cushions for everyone when Ragnar arrived, the larger man acting flustered about arriving last minute.
"Playing with your axes, eh?
He asked, offering the guild master a cup first, as she was obviously having the hardest time with this turn of events.
"I have reasons not to be worried, the same cannot be said of everyone, I suppose"
He sat down alongside the others, opening his status screen and seeing none of his other friends online.
"Might I suggest we see about hosting a recruitment event?"
he offered, sipping his tea
"sorry it's not mint, Ragnar-san, I had just used the last of my supply for burn balms before... whatever it is happened."
the swashbuckler sighed as his nerves began to unfray.
suddenly, his stomach growled
"does either of you have any food on hand?"
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Name: Johnathan Singer
Race: werecat
Character Name: Erebus
Class: Swashbuckler (level 90)
Sub-Class: herbalist(level 90)
Appearance: 6'3" tall with medium blonde hair. Has Hazel eyes and a chubby but handsome face and slightly misaligned eyes, with the right eye straying away from the center occasionally. otherwise fairly generic in appearance. typically carries a pungent, herbal smell from making herbal teas and the like.
Bio:Growing up with a loving family, retreated into the world of online gaming when he survived a car crash that killed his parents and siblings when he was 17. his inability to perform emergency first aid on his younger sister who survived the initial impact and died later led to his feeling a need to save people. Psychological trauma led to him developing an alternate personality that is embodied by his character. had been logged in consistently for over a month prior to the catastrophe, relating to his deepening attachment to his character. Prior to the catastrophe, his bank was overflowing with powerful herbal medicines. He now carries an apothecary shops worth of balms, salves, and the like at all times. worked for the developing company of "elder tale" performing inspections on the american server hosts, but moved to japan later to work at the main office.
Personality:Cautious, philosophical, protective.
Other:
"Herbalist" sub-class allows the creation of medicines from ingredients. Erebus has also discovered he can make delicious tasting herbal teas and that many of his medicines can be used as condiments on the normally bland food, as long as he prepares them by hand. this discovery was made after the information on how to cook good food was made public.
Items:
"Apothecary belt" rare magic-bag type item that can be used to carry only medicine and ingredient. it is filled with a veritable arsenal of his herbal remedies, plus an entire pouch dedicated to raw ingredients that can be used for making herbal tea.
"Chain cursed wasps" rapiers that force root spells targeting party members to hit him instead. reward from limited event raid "lunar hive" also increases power of swashbucklers status attacks
"Groom of the Forsaken" wedding band from completing "skeleton king" quest. grants 1x use per week "spirit pardon" Resurrection power that must be used within 1 minute of player death. user loses experience equal to 1/2 of what the target would have lost.
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Kiyomi was comforted by the shawl being passed over her shoulders, announcing Ragnar's arrival. It was strange - Kiyomi always saw the man drunk off his behind, and only rarely, coming out with odd statements as he tried to roleplay. But she had just felt that he had good intentions, and let him into the guild regardless of other people and their opinions...now it came back to reward her. She wouldn't have thought the drifter to be as reasonable as this, but there was a gut feeling, and her gut feelings about people were usually correct. Her ears drooped as she sniffled for a while longer, accepting the tea as she settled down onto a cushion near the hearth.
She stared at her own, sniveling reflection in the surface of the tea. "What are you doing, sitting here and crying like a sap? Get up and start sorting things out." came a little voice from her thoughts. Her thoughts replied miserably, "And what am I to do? I can't see my family, or my friends..." after a moment, she rather nastily thought "And besides; I should be crying. Erebus was a nutter to begin with and Ragnar's just a drunkard who-"
"Oh, SHUT UP, will you?" retorted the little voice from her thoughts. "Don't go down that path. You're better than that. These two are looking for a guild leader to start organizing things, getting a grip on the situation at hand, and you're curled up sobbing for people that you'll never see again because you physically can't. Well, they don't need your help - YOU need your help, and these two need you."
"I'm not Chiharu!" snapped Kiyomi's thoughts at herself, as she shifted her weight uneasily and took a sip of tea, tears dripping into the cup. "Yeah, you're not, but you made her. Like it or not, you and Chiharu share personalities." for a long while, Miyomi was dead silent, her depressed attitude hanging over her like a cloud. Then she quickly finished her cooling tea and abruptly shifted into a straight-backed, cross-legged sitting position, eyeing Ragnar and Erebus thoughtfully. A hand went to wipe at her tears gently, and her ears perked up. She had a new determination lighting up in her eyes; she was done crying about the past because people needed her now.
"If we opened up our guild hall to everyone, people will just come in and loot all our stuff." stated Kiyomi bluntly. "I saw the men at the guild banks, and I'm worried people are going about this the wrong way, and want to take advantage of other people, and other guilds. If we're going to have to gain more members - which we do - I want to approach them first, instead of them approaching us. Hopefully my initial instincts about these things won't betray me."
She smiled sympathetically at Erebus when his stomach growled, shaking her head. "I haven't got any food, but i'm sure we can go out to the market and find something to eat there." She looked across the guild hall, and her voice took on a much quieter tone. She didn't sound as afraid as she did earlier, but she still had doubts it seems.
"Guys...I'm a lower level, and I'm horribly under-geared. If we leave the city I might be more of a burden than an asset." she mutters, setting down her teacup on the table. "The only things I can help with are finances - and even then, I haven't got enough for some proper armour...and I think the only way to go about it is to start killing monsters."
She lets that proposal hang in the air for a while, before getting to her feet. "And if we're going to kill monsters, we need more people. When you two are ready, we'll go out to the marketplace and the taverns...seeing the guild hall this empty is such a shame, plus we can get some food to store in here."
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Name: Kiyomi Yukimura
Race: Fox Tail
Character Name: Chiharu
Class: Samurai
Sub-Class: Chef
"Real" appearance:
Character Appearance:
Bio:
Kiyomi is, as she likes to put it, a very proud gamer. She plays games because she thinks they are fun to play, never really focusing on stats and trying to pound through until the end level. She was more concerned about getting some pretty-looking armour and trying out the roleplaying guilds. She was the leader of a roleplaying guild, the Lotus Warriors, and during the celebration of the new expansion, decided to stay online until the update released, chilling out OOCly by one of her favourite zones, chatting with her guild members...and suddenly it all went dark.
Personality:
Generally quite helpful and kind, Kiyomi usually assumes leadership role due to her confidence and charm. She only attacks things if it's really necessary and her race/class combo isn't very efficient, and her gear doesn't provide as much protection as she should have. Constantly aware of this, she's quite wary and has to rely on her rubbish gaming skills to keep her alive in this new world.
Other:
QUESTIONS:
- What's a Sub Class?
- Is there a map of the "zones" that we'll be in?
- Would anyone like to link their CS to mine by being in Kiyomi's guild?
- How will the group meet up and start travelling?
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Nothing could have driven home the gravity of the situation as hard as seeing their confident and outgoing Guildmaster reduced to a quivering wreck. Ragnar wasn't often online due to his financial situation, but he had grown to respect Chiharu for her outgoing personality and willingness to help others; seeing her break down like that was deeply disturbing and he cursed himself for not being able to help raise the mood. As he agonised, Erebus walked over, three steaming cups of tea in hand. 'Thanks mate. Glad to see you're holding up.', he said quietly, taking a sip from his cup. The bitter taste of the tea did wonders for his mind, calming the guilt and allowing him to focus. All that Ragnar had done since appearing in this world was mess about, not sparing a thought for the real world or those trapped here with him. But when he thought about it rationally, wasn't this better than real life? Warm bed, cheap food, people he trusted... For Ragnar, no, for Yuusuke this might be a dream come true. His gaze drifted again to Chiharu; this world as clearly not ideal for some. As he stared, Erebus' words drifted through his mind; 'I have reasons not to be worried, the same cannot be said of everyone, I suppose'. Ragnar had his own reasons too, but most people probably had happy lives in the real world, friends and family they loved. It was hard for him to relate, but he could understand that it would hit them hard. Ragnar shook his head to clear his mind and sighed deeply. I could really do with a drink right about now... Using alcohol as an escape may have been viewed as wrong by others, but over the years it had become Yuusuke's core emotional support. Even now he couldn't escape the cravings.
Out of nowhere, Erebus brought up a good point. 'Recruitment, eh?' Ragnar took a seat next to the others, considering the possibilities. The Lotus Warriors had never been a large guild, but on paper had enough members for a full party at least; if they hadn't been of different levels, they might have done more dungeons in the past. In the current situation, the best bet for most players would be safety in numbers. There would be a lot of people looking for guilds in the near future. 'That's not a bad idea. Not sure how we could do it though... Could we open up the hall and advertise for prospective members?' He would have made a jab about using Chiharu as a poster girl, but even he knew that this wasn't the time for frivolous jokes. She sat up so suddenly that Ragnar nearly dropped his cup; was she psychic or something? As Chiharu talked, he nodded slowly; come to think of it, he had seen a few looters downstairs. It was all well and good assuming that everyone shared your noble intentions, but deep down, people just weren't that nice. 'There's a big tavern just down the road; I used to RP there before I joined LW.' Come to think of it, that was also where he had been recruited into the guild; nice little bit of irony right there. Ragnar grimaced as Erebus' stomach rumbled, reminding him of his own growing hunger. He hadn't made a habit of keeping food on him during the game, although he might have to from now on... It was fairly cheap to buy from the People of the Land and he had a few hundred gold stashed away; it might even be worth bulk buying a stock of food for the guild hall.
He was about to propose this when Chiharu continued in a serious tone. Again he thought of the Lotus Warrior's main weakness, the disparity between it's members... Erebus was at the pre-expansion levelcap, Chiharu was in the mid thirties and Ragnar himself was at level fifty-five. They would theoretically use the mentor system to help her level up, but he wasn't sure if two people could mentor one. Her gear would be less of an issue if she was any other class... '... I'd be up for hunting if we start in a low level area. We still don't know how to fight after all... And gearing you up should be a priority, Miss Guild Tank.' Either of the guys could try off-tanking in the meantime, but without adequate threat-building techniques, there would be no guarantee of controlling the enemy's movements. 'But yeah, that's an idea for later.' Ragnar grunted as he pulled himself up and put on his best positive grin. 'Shall we go a'shopping then?'
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Name: Todoroki Yuusuke
Race: Wolf Fang
Character Name: Ragnar
Class: Swashbuckler (55)
Sub-Class: Animal Trainer (60)
Appearance: Yuusuke has based Ragnar's style off a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic equipment, consisting of leather armour overlaid with raw hide and fur. The overall impression is quite a realistic one and avoids the over-the-top trappings of fantasy Vikings. He wields a pair of ornate, long-hafted axes, normally hanging from his waist. His hair and floppy ears are a neutral brown, as are his bespeckled eyes.
Bio: Todoroki Yuusuke; veteran homeless drifter and (imaginary) Viking Warlord.
For as long as he can remember, Yuusuke has always lived on the streets. Perhaps he was abandoned as a foundling or perhaps his parents were just scum, but his entire life has been spent pounding the back alleys of Tokyo, eating out of bins and begging for small change. His life before the Apocalypse is nothing much to speak of; cold nights, back-breaking jobs that paid a pittance and the sole shining light he had to look forward to; getting drunk in internet cafes.
It was during one of his midnight benders that Yuusuke dipped his toe into the world of online gaming, deciding to start with the immensely popular Elder Tale; naturally, it took less than an hour of sake-infused play for him to get hooked. While the gameplay was great, it was the sense of equality that made him feel so at home. In-game, no-one could look down on Yuusuke for sleeping in a telephone box, for handing out the newspapers at train stations; truly, Elder Tale was his very own pixelated utopia, where he could roleplay the person he really wanted to be. He had been playing for a few years when the Apocalypse came; considering how rarely he could afford to get online, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was at the time.
RL has shat on him all his life, so Yuusuke will likely jump at the chance to start again in this new world.
Personality: Unlike many who live the way he does, Yuusuke has developed an upbeat and friendly disposition; this is balanced by his slanted sense of humour and deep-seated pessimism. He never expects others to lend him a positive thought and yet will carry on regardless, not a single shyte given. However, since joining the Lotus Warriors, he is starting to open up and trust his guildmates a bit.
Other: As an Animal Trainer, Ragnar made most of his money selling vanity pets pre-Apocalypse. He keeps a single pet for himself, one of the very first he successfully tamed; a rather obtuse bear dubbed Artio. Artio is a combat pet, but is only as powerful as a single medium-level Summoner summon. At Ragnar's current level Artio is a viable, if small boost to his DPS but will become redundant at higher levels.
He'll still be kept around of course, if only as a self-heating pillow.
And there's Ragnar.
He's prone to losing his rag.
/edit Also, if he's accepted; Stitches would you mind if he's in Kiyomi's guild too?
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Erebus, finished his tea in silence, while the others talked, he was busy planning
"they have a point, looting is a possibility...
the adventurer looked at the others
"might i suggest we start with low level players? they are the ones most likely to be taken advantage of, and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to another little kid."
He stood, considering the possibility of going out hunting
"I can mentor the both of you, I think we will all be dropped to Chiharu-taichou''s level if I do so."
The issue of their guild masters gear needed to be addressed as well.
"I believe I may have enough gold saved to help you buy better equipment ."
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Name: Johnathan Singer
Race: werecat
Character Name: Erebus
Class: Swashbuckler (level 90)
Sub-Class: herbalist(level 90)
Appearance: 6'3" tall with medium blonde hair. Has Hazel eyes and a chubby but handsome face and slightly misaligned eyes, with the right eye straying away from the center occasionally. otherwise fairly generic in appearance. typically carries a pungent, herbal smell from making herbal teas and the like.
Bio:Growing up with a loving family, retreated into the world of online gaming when he survived a car crash that killed his parents and siblings when he was 17. his inability to perform emergency first aid on his younger sister who survived the initial impact and died later led to his feeling a need to save people. Psychological trauma led to him developing an alternate personality that is embodied by his character. had been logged in consistently for over a month prior to the catastrophe, relating to his deepening attachment to his character. Prior to the catastrophe, his bank was overflowing with powerful herbal medicines. He now carries an apothecary shops worth of balms, salves, and the like at all times. worked for the developing company of "elder tale" performing inspections on the american server hosts, but moved to japan later to work at the main office.
Personality:Cautious, philosophical, protective.
Other:
"Herbalist" sub-class allows the creation of medicines from ingredients. Erebus has also discovered he can make delicious tasting herbal teas and that many of his medicines can be used as condiments on the normally bland food, as long as he prepares them by hand. this discovery was made after the information on how to cook good food was made public.
Items:
"Apothecary belt" rare magic-bag type item that can be used to carry only medicine and ingredient. it is filled with a veritable arsenal of his herbal remedies, plus an entire pouch dedicated to raw ingredients that can be used for making herbal tea.
"Chain cursed wasps" rapiers that force root spells targeting party members to hit him instead. reward from limited event raid "lunar hive" also increases power of swashbucklers status attacks
"Groom of the Forsaken" wedding band from completing "skeleton king" quest. grants 1x use per week "spirit pardon" Resurrection power that must be used within 1 minute of player death. user loses experience equal to 1/2 of what the target would have lost.
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Kiyomi glanced over at Ragnar. Even now, she knew that hunting would risk her life the most, but the others were also in equal amounts of danger. None of them even knew how to use their weapons, Kiyomi included - all she knew was that hers was quite sharp. But alas; nothing would be done here in the Guild Hall. Not yet, anyways.
Kiyomi straightened her rumpled clothing, put her pillow away, glanced back at the others and made for the door. She pulled her sandals on, and something quickly came to her mind. "If we're going to split up at any time," she asked, "Then can we remember to keep on Guild Voice Chat? If any of us get attacked, at least we'll know something's wrong."
Kiyomi exited from the Guild Hall and took a deep breath. She didn't check if the others were following her as she paced down the corridors, making a few turns here and there, and heading towards the larger main guild hall. She noticed that the suspicious men were gone, to her relief - but that meant they were out there somewhere, with supplies from a Guild bank. For a moment, she thought about opening her own, but that would've been of no use - she stupidly cleared it out a week before the next expansion, so all there really was in there was a bunch of crafting materials and gold.
Kiyomi blinked at the sharp sunlight. Akihabara is still as panicked as ever, it seems, but Kiyomi wasn't all that bothered yet. She knew she had to keep going, else she'll end up like the rest of them, screaming and crying for help that will never arrive unless someone did something about it. She beckoned for the others to follow her across the mossy streets to the tavern Ragnar mentioned.
Kiyomi looked up at the building, pouting. "I remember this place," she murmured. "Hopefully we can at least get a meal there. I just wonder who's going to be inside." For a moment, Kiyomi's hand slipped to the hilt of her blade, trembling slightly. But she sharply pulled her hand away and strode into the tavern without any more hesitation.
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Name: Kiyomi Yukimura
Race: Fox Tail
Character Name: Chiharu
Class: Samurai
Sub-Class: Chef
"Real" appearance:
Character Appearance:
Bio:
Kiyomi is, as she likes to put it, a very proud gamer. She plays games because she thinks they are fun to play, never really focusing on stats and trying to pound through until the end level. She was more concerned about getting some pretty-looking armour and trying out the roleplaying guilds. She was the leader of a roleplaying guild, the Lotus Warriors, and during the celebration of the new expansion, decided to stay online until the update released, chilling out OOCly by one of her favourite zones, chatting with her guild members...and suddenly it all went dark.
Personality:
Generally quite helpful and kind, Kiyomi usually assumes leadership role due to her confidence and charm. She only attacks things if it's really necessary and her race/class combo isn't very efficient, and her gear doesn't provide as much protection as she should have. Constantly aware of this, she's quite wary and has to rely on her rubbish gaming skills to keep her alive in this new world.
Other:
QUESTIONS:
- What's a Sub Class?
- Is there a map of the "zones" that we'll be in?
- Would anyone like to link their CS to mine by being in Kiyomi's guild?
- How will the group meet up and start travelling?
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Taverns did not have all the answers, Tanner grumbled, as he was sitting at the bar sipping at a drink without touching a plate of food he ordered from the waitress, after she got over her initial shock of having an active ironclad inside with the show of gold. He hadn't figured out how to make the giant metal golem go away yet, and the summon was attracting a lot of attention from both the Landers and the low-level players that were inside the tavern and evidently thought he was a guy worth asking advice. Did he seriously look like a NPC quest-giver?!
Well that was one downside of eating in a shady corner with a golem over your shoulder and a unique outfit, he supposed as he took another bite of the bread. Tasteless, odorless, like the mealbars he often bought for long raids. He could stomach the flavor, but he couldn't say the same for some of the other players in here. At this point, he was just glad for something in his stomach than to think about the whys of the matter.
More baffling to him was the Landers. They were acting a bit more like....people. And after her initial shock from the Ironclad, the waitress seemed to be walking over to refil his flagon a bit more often than norm to look at his ears and waving Lion's tail. Curious.
Hearing the door open, Tanner watched as a few new faces showed up. Higher-level players. Good, maybe they would have some answers, or at least distract the newbies away from him so he could eat in peace.
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Name: Claus Tanner
Race: Werecat (with lion accessories)
Character Name: Stryker "The Ironclad Marshal"
Class: Summoner (Puppet Master)
Sub-Class: Blacksmith
Has a rare "Lion's Pride" outfit to change his cat features to lion ears and tail. Since the update, these seem to have become permanent fixtures regardless of clothing, making him stand out among Werecats.
Bio: Despite being a prolific gamer, Claus originally didn't play Elder Tales from its beginning, being more of a FPS gamer in Titanfall and serious sci-fi settings, but his friends dragged him into the game regardless because they needed another ally for a raid. While not his usual cup of tea and not very engaged in the fantasy world around him, he did enjoy casually hanging out with friends and getting into tough fights and coming out ontop, culminating in beating several high-level raid events and obtaining rare items, in particular the rare "Lion's Pride" outfit he was gifted with after the first raid with his buddies, which he treasures in particular whilst freely trading other items he gains from the dungeons.
But when the apocalypse happened, Tanner found himself alone and separated from his friends, whom he isn't even sure if they crossed over into the game with him. With his life quite possibly on the line, he throws himself into the game like never before to fight to survive, let alone find a way home.
Personality: Seemingly happy-go-lucky and cheerful, but its a front for serious concern and worrying about what has happened and how to get home. While he tries to be optimistic and take events in stride, Tanner can switch to a hardened and logically ruthless machine when the situation calls for it or he runs into a hard obstacle to his goals.
Other: One ability of Tanner's that crossed in from the real world to the game world is his knack for parkour and SMART (Smooth Movement Across Random Terrain) However so did his predominantly "Serious Gamer" mindset, Elder Tales not being his main MMO game and he didn't play it much before the 12th update, plus not being very aware of how fantasy settings work at all to begin with. Thus he often thinks in the wrong genre relative to the game setting. (IE: thinking politics are more like Game of Thrones than a traditional fantasy setting, thinking players have EVE Online morality, thinks the whole idea of designated heroes is setting up for Spec Ops: the Line scenarios, etc)
Tanner's summons are predominantly from the "Ironclad" family of clockwork metal golems. High-armor, high power, customizable summons, but also consume large amounts of MP and not very smart unless he directs or mentally controls them. Also summons from the valkyrie family as a secondary option. Since the apocalypse, they are beginning to develop minds of their own, and making it difficult to control the higher-level ones.
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Recca had left the meeting with Shiroe and decided to return to town. He walked around a bit before taking a seat under a large tree in the center. Most people went there cause it was a good hang out spot. He looked around, some were crying, some looked sad and most were angry. He wonder how did this happen what what will happen from now on? "I wonder what should I do?" He had only got as far as he did with Shiroe she his old crew, and mostly he just did pick up parties. He wonder the possibility of joining a guild but the last one he was in completely self-destructed and he didn't want to go threw that again. So he sat there people watching.
"Hey what are you gonna do? Are you gonna join us or what?"
Recca looked up and seen two people talking in this distance, Seems like they were talking about guild. Very convenient cause he was looking to join one. "I don't know there are a lot of guild out there. I know i should join one, safety in number in all. Maybe there is a guild in need for an assassin of max level. Who knows he might even find a home there, new friend new everything. Lucky for him his talk with Shiroe had told him of voice commands for spells, and he had explained it detail for him. With the new found information Recca felt like he could be of use to anyone. "OK," He pushed himself up and headed over to the guild homes. Recca was known to had ran with the top players on the server. And was known to be as good of an assassin as Akatsuki but he knew he was number 2 to her cause when they duel he lost most of the time. But people always though of them as equals.
As he walked toward the guild building he could not but notice the huge golem in town. It was not strange that people had their pets on follow but he figured he would go over and give some helpful advice. The guy (Landers) was sitting down looking ready to eat something. "Yo, nice golem you have there." Recca said as he walked up to and and took a seat with out even asking. The game is now running on voice command for all spells as I'm sure you know. so all you need to do is dismiss him and i am sure he will go away, unless you like the attention. By the way My name is Recca Heartseeker, and you are?"
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Name
Justin Redwood
Race
Half-Alv
Character name
Recca HeartSeeker
Class
Assassin (80)
Sub-Class
Tracker (90)
Bio
Justin works a park time job, single no kids, so all is time is spent online. Although he does go out from time to time but he spends most his time wondering whats going on online. His family moved around a lot till he was about 16 so he only had online friends. He family never had a lot of money, but the one thing they were was thankful. Once Justin went to college he got his degree in coding in the hopes to be come a game designer but ended up working for a small company an web designer. Still he might not had his dream job but this was close to it. Now at 25 Still doing the same job but he no longer needs to work the long hours.
Persona
Justin has been playing MMOs all his life. He is a team player and gets along well with other. He follows direction and tried to learn as he goes. Outside the game he is a laid back guy. He often like to get to know the people he plays with in the hope of maybe meeting them in Real Life. He prefers to spend his time playing cause its much easier to form a bond with someone online rather then in person. He is really shy but when he come to online gaming hes like not shy at all.
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Certainly, Chiharu-Taichou
Erebus declared, gathering the teacups from his guildmates before promptly rejoining the guild chat. the werecat stowed his supplies in his magic-bag and followed the guild leader. Tailing closely behind his friend, he settled on a respect full five foot distance, but keeping her in his line of sight.
When Chiharu paused outside the tavern, Erebus continued anyways, the girl needed her time.
"Greetings!"
Erebus shouted cheerfully as he entered the small establishment, quickly scanning the crowd and settling his eyes on a large golem, clearly a summon. the swashbuckler swiftly approached the bar, payed for a flagon of ale. and made his way to the summoner.
Stryker
summoner
level 90
"Afternoon, Summoner-san"
he bellowed, taking a seat at an adjacent table while he waited for his guild mates
"I asume you are cluelss on this as well?"
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Name: Johnathan Singer
Race: werecat
Character Name: Erebus
Class: Swashbuckler (level 90)
Sub-Class: herbalist(level 90)
Appearance: 6'3" tall with medium blonde hair. Has Hazel eyes and a chubby but handsome face and slightly misaligned eyes, with the right eye straying away from the center occasionally. otherwise fairly generic in appearance. typically carries a pungent, herbal smell from making herbal teas and the like.
Bio:Growing up with a loving family, retreated into the world of online gaming when he survived a car crash that killed his parents and siblings when he was 17. his inability to perform emergency first aid on his younger sister who survived the initial impact and died later led to his feeling a need to save people. Psychological trauma led to him developing an alternate personality that is embodied by his character. had been logged in consistently for over a month prior to the catastrophe, relating to his deepening attachment to his character. Prior to the catastrophe, his bank was overflowing with powerful herbal medicines. He now carries an apothecary shops worth of balms, salves, and the like at all times. worked for the developing company of "elder tale" performing inspections on the american server hosts, but moved to japan later to work at the main office.
Personality:Cautious, philosophical, protective.
Other:
"Herbalist" sub-class allows the creation of medicines from ingredients. Erebus has also discovered he can make delicious tasting herbal teas and that many of his medicines can be used as condiments on the normally bland food, as long as he prepares them by hand. this discovery was made after the information on how to cook good food was made public.
Items:
"Apothecary belt" rare magic-bag type item that can be used to carry only medicine and ingredient. it is filled with a veritable arsenal of his herbal remedies, plus an entire pouch dedicated to raw ingredients that can be used for making herbal tea.
"Chain cursed wasps" rapiers that force root spells targeting party members to hit him instead. reward from limited event raid "lunar hive" also increases power of swashbucklers status attacks
"Groom of the Forsaken" wedding band from completing "skeleton king" quest. grants 1x use per week "spirit pardon" Resurrection power that must be used within 1 minute of player death. user loses experience equal to 1/2 of what the target would have lost.
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As he walked toward the guild building he could not but notice the huge golem in town. It was not strange that people had their pets on follow but he figured he would go over and give some helpful advice. The guy (Landers) was sitting down looking ready to eat something. "Yo, nice golem you have there." Recca said as he walked up to and and took a seat with out even asking. The game is now running on voice command for all spells as I'm sure you know. so all you need to do is dismiss him and i am sure he will go away, unless you like the attention. By the way My name is Recca Heartseeker, and you are?"
"Call me Styker. Ironclad-marshal type summoner. And I know, I use voice-casting all the time." Grumbled the lion before turning to his golem. "Dismissal! Recall! Retreat! Dismiss!"
The Golem simply tilted its head at the orders, making Tanner shrug and turn back to his bland meal. "See? Can't get the guy to go away even if I want him to. I'll try again when I'm in the field hunting, but I have my doubts."
"Afternoon, Summoner-san"he bellowed, taking a seat at an adjacent table while he waited for his guild mates"I asume you are cluelss on this as well?"
"Yeah. Don't know what I did to warrant being dragged in here. Especially since none of my friends did either for some reason." Tanner commented. "By the way, have you tried the food here?"
Sawing off a some slices from his hunk of bread and meat, he pushed them over to his new table mates. "Give it a try. Something damn odd about the food here and I was wondering if it was just me or if its a larger problem. Go ahead, its edible, for what its worth."
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Name: Claus Tanner
Race: Werecat (with lion accessories)
Character Name: Stryker "The Ironclad Marshal"
Class: Summoner (Puppet Master)
Sub-Class: Blacksmith
Has a rare "Lion's Pride" outfit to change his cat features to lion ears and tail. Since the update, these seem to have become permanent fixtures regardless of clothing, making him stand out among Werecats.
Bio: Despite being a prolific gamer, Claus originally didn't play Elder Tales from its beginning, being more of a FPS gamer in Titanfall and serious sci-fi settings, but his friends dragged him into the game regardless because they needed another ally for a raid. While not his usual cup of tea and not very engaged in the fantasy world around him, he did enjoy casually hanging out with friends and getting into tough fights and coming out ontop, culminating in beating several high-level raid events and obtaining rare items, in particular the rare "Lion's Pride" outfit he was gifted with after the first raid with his buddies, which he treasures in particular whilst freely trading other items he gains from the dungeons.
But when the apocalypse happened, Tanner found himself alone and separated from his friends, whom he isn't even sure if they crossed over into the game with him. With his life quite possibly on the line, he throws himself into the game like never before to fight to survive, let alone find a way home.
Personality: Seemingly happy-go-lucky and cheerful, but its a front for serious concern and worrying about what has happened and how to get home. While he tries to be optimistic and take events in stride, Tanner can switch to a hardened and logically ruthless machine when the situation calls for it or he runs into a hard obstacle to his goals.
Other: One ability of Tanner's that crossed in from the real world to the game world is his knack for parkour and SMART (Smooth Movement Across Random Terrain) However so did his predominantly "Serious Gamer" mindset, Elder Tales not being his main MMO game and he didn't play it much before the 12th update, plus not being very aware of how fantasy settings work at all to begin with. Thus he often thinks in the wrong genre relative to the game setting. (IE: thinking politics are more like Game of Thrones than a traditional fantasy setting, thinking players have EVE Online morality, thinks the whole idea of designated heroes is setting up for Spec Ops: the Line scenarios, etc)
Tanner's summons are predominantly from the "Ironclad" family of clockwork metal golems. High-armor, high power, customizable summons, but also consume large amounts of MP and not very smart unless he directs or mentally controls them. Also summons from the valkyrie family as a secondary option. Since the apocalypse, they are beginning to develop minds of their own, and making it difficult to control the higher-level ones.
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When their leader decided to move out, the two swashbucklers fell in behind her. The three of them walked in silence for a while and as they did, the image of a businesswoman flanked by bodyguards in black suits and shades flashed into his mind; he tried valiantly not to laugh, but a giggle broke through regardless. Considering how the Lotus Warriors were all about approachability and altruism, they might want to reconsider their style. The three of them paused outside the local tavern, sizing the place up. Ragnar caught a hint of worry in Chiharu's posture, perhaps over what manner of clientèle they might find inside; for his part he wasn't worried. This soon after they were dumped in this world, there would be too much confusion for the troublemakers to get themselves together; any complications they might come across would be small and disorganised, at least for now.
It took him a moment to realise that Erebus had continued ahead of them; his simple, if loud introduction probably did a great job draining the attention to him. He waited for a few seconds more, long enough for Chiharu to gather herself and lead the way inside. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness inside and Ragnar blinked rapidly as he surveyed the players dotted around the room. Most seemed fairly low level, but confident in their knowledge; maybe experienced players running alts at the time the expansion came out. Here and there there were huddles of frightened players, kids by the looks of them, most being tended by one or two older players. By the looks of it, the Lotus Warriors wouldn't have to worry about caring for too many people; a small relief. He kept quiet as Erebus started talking, eyeing up the summoner and assassin the werecat had sat near. Both seemed capable, even if their levels were all over the place. Well, it wasn't as though he could say anything... In the end, Ragnar bought himself a pint and took a seat near Erebus, wondering what Chiharu's recruiting technique might entail.
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Name: Todoroki Yuusuke
Race: Wolf Fang
Character Name: Ragnar
Class: Swashbuckler (55)
Sub-Class: Animal Trainer (60)
Appearance: Yuusuke has based Ragnar's style off a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic equipment, consisting of leather armour overlaid with raw hide and fur. The overall impression is quite a realistic one and avoids the over-the-top trappings of fantasy Vikings. He wields a pair of ornate, long-hafted axes, normally hanging from his waist. His hair and floppy ears are a neutral brown, as are his bespeckled eyes.
Bio: Todoroki Yuusuke; veteran homeless drifter and (imaginary) Viking Warlord.
For as long as he can remember, Yuusuke has always lived on the streets. Perhaps he was abandoned as a foundling or perhaps his parents were just scum, but his entire life has been spent pounding the back alleys of Tokyo, eating out of bins and begging for small change. His life before the Apocalypse is nothing much to speak of; cold nights, back-breaking jobs that paid a pittance and the sole shining light he had to look forward to; getting drunk in internet cafes.
It was during one of his midnight benders that Yuusuke dipped his toe into the world of online gaming, deciding to start with the immensely popular Elder Tale; naturally, it took less than an hour of sake-infused play for him to get hooked. While the gameplay was great, it was the sense of equality that made him feel so at home. In-game, no-one could look down on Yuusuke for sleeping in a telephone box, for handing out the newspapers at train stations; truly, Elder Tale was his very own pixelated utopia, where he could roleplay the person he really wanted to be. He had been playing for a few years when the Apocalypse came; considering how rarely he could afford to get online, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was at the time.
RL has shat on him all his life, so Yuusuke will likely jump at the chance to start again in this new world.
Personality: Unlike many who live the way he does, Yuusuke has developed an upbeat and friendly disposition; this is balanced by his slanted sense of humour and deep-seated pessimism. He never expects others to lend him a positive thought and yet will carry on regardless, not a single shyte given. However, since joining the Lotus Warriors, he is starting to open up and trust his guildmates a bit.
Other: As an Animal Trainer, Ragnar made most of his money selling vanity pets pre-Apocalypse. He keeps a single pet for himself, one of the very first he successfully tamed; a rather obtuse bear dubbed Artio. Artio is a combat pet, but is only as powerful as a single medium-level Summoner summon. At Ragnar's current level Artio is a viable, if small boost to his DPS but will become redundant at higher levels.
He'll still be kept around of course, if only as a self-heating pillow.
And there's Ragnar.
He's prone to losing his rag.
/edit Also, if he's accepted; Stitches would you mind if he's in Kiyomi's guild too?
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Chiharu looked down at the slice of bread she was offered, and took a bite experimentally. She cringed at the taste, it was like chewing on a soft rice-cracker. No flavour at all, just an odd texture in her mouth. She made the mental note to go out there and buy ingredients only, since there was simply no way she's going to eat anything a Person of the Land has prepared. Perhaps a bit aloof of her to think as such, but she didn't even -like- rice crackers.
Something clicked in her head and she smirked a little, ears flicking twice. "Say, you're the guy who I almost bumped into. I guess that golem isn't going anywhere fast, is it?" she said, watching Claus' failed tries to dismiss the massive thing. "But if it's following you, then just order it to move somewhere else? It would take the attention off of you - not as if that's much of a help now, anyways, since everyone's just flocked over to see you. Hi, I'm Chiharu...well, I'm not Chiharu, but it's what it says on the nametag."
Kiyomi looked over Recca too, and her fingers clenched over the bit of bread-crust that she was toying with. Despite not having any skill in a game, she knew which ones did, and this guy had the gear of a very powerful player indeed. And, of course, the two of them didn't have any guild tag on their names - well, that would change very quickly.
"Like my friend just said, we're all trying to figure out what it is we should do now we're all trapped here, and the first thing that came to mind was to find some friends before people make enemies. It's hardly my style to declare that a certain person is my nemesis...I'd rather I held up the high standards of my guild, and not have any of us stoop so low as to not give out help to people who need it."
It had to be a topic to approach warily. Even to Kiyomi, it felt too soon to start babbling on about how everyone should join her guild...but if anything, she's a bloody good wordweaver. She could probably talk her way past a hostage situation if she felt like it; after all, it's one of the demanding qualities of a guild leader to be able to make everyone happy.
She decided that, at the very least, she wanted to make these two more likely to help people in need, but having them in the guild seemed like a good bonus. "Don't you both agree, though?" she asked worriedly. "There are children stuck here too and admittedly, the moment people get their bearings...one can assume that they'll find a way to take advantage of the new players and, god forbid, the younger ones."
She sat up straight, glancing over at Erebus and Ragnar. "That's what we, the Lotus Warriors, are going to try and prevent. After all, this isn't a game; not anymore, and if someone doesn't start trying to help then this world will turn into an 'every man for themselves' scenario."
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Name: Kiyomi Yukimura
Race: Fox Tail
Character Name: Chiharu
Class: Samurai
Sub-Class: Chef
"Real" appearance:
Character Appearance:
Bio:
Kiyomi is, as she likes to put it, a very proud gamer. She plays games because she thinks they are fun to play, never really focusing on stats and trying to pound through until the end level. She was more concerned about getting some pretty-looking armour and trying out the roleplaying guilds. She was the leader of a roleplaying guild, the Lotus Warriors, and during the celebration of the new expansion, decided to stay online until the update released, chilling out OOCly by one of her favourite zones, chatting with her guild members...and suddenly it all went dark.
Personality:
Generally quite helpful and kind, Kiyomi usually assumes leadership role due to her confidence and charm. She only attacks things if it's really necessary and her race/class combo isn't very efficient, and her gear doesn't provide as much protection as she should have. Constantly aware of this, she's quite wary and has to rely on her rubbish gaming skills to keep her alive in this new world.
Other:
QUESTIONS:
- What's a Sub Class?
- Is there a map of the "zones" that we'll be in?
- Would anyone like to link their CS to mine by being in Kiyomi's guild?
- How will the group meet up and start travelling?
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Recca perked up as she introduced herself, when she looked at him he spoke, "Recca," He turned and pointed at Styker and said, "This is my best friend Summonerus Maximus," Recca smiled at the name he had just came up with on the spot. He always found that humor was the best way to make friends. Recca listen to her as she talked and when he was asked if he agreed, "I do, I was just speaking with some friends before I came here, just some people i use to party up with from now and again. But I did say to myself on my way here that I should join a guild. Since we are stuck here for who knows how long, it would be a good idea to have safety of numbers. So miss Chiharu I do agree with you fully."
Just as he finished talking a random player was running threw the town, "Trouble! Trouble outside the gates!" Recca looked over as he busted threw the door. "Trouble, There is a group of High level player camping outside the gates killing low-be players and taking their stuff!" Recca looked on, he remembered that if you are PK'ed you don't lose anything. "What are players losing if they fall?"
"Some reported of losing 10% of their gold and they also lost some exp! Some have reported dropping crafting and random material and items!" Recca looked around and people were starting to talk, "Well this is bad, if people start being scared to go out and hunt they will stay the same level and won't progress in the game. And if this is not just a game anymore like miss Chiharu said, then the very well being of this city could be in danger."
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Name
Justin Redwood
Race
Half-Alv
Character name
Recca HeartSeeker
Class
Assassin (80)
Sub-Class
Tracker (90)
Bio
Justin works a park time job, single no kids, so all is time is spent online. Although he does go out from time to time but he spends most his time wondering whats going on online. His family moved around a lot till he was about 16 so he only had online friends. He family never had a lot of money, but the one thing they were was thankful. Once Justin went to college he got his degree in coding in the hopes to be come a game designer but ended up working for a small company an web designer. Still he might not had his dream job but this was close to it. Now at 25 Still doing the same job but he no longer needs to work the long hours.
Persona
Justin has been playing MMOs all his life. He is a team player and gets along well with other. He follows direction and tried to learn as he goes. Outside the game he is a laid back guy. He often like to get to know the people he plays with in the hope of maybe meeting them in Real Life. He prefers to spend his time playing cause its much easier to form a bond with someone online rather then in person. He is really shy but when he come to online gaming hes like not shy at all.
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Styker just sighed at the sight of the player rushing in. "Bloody freaking heck. I'm never getting a seat in a shady corner again. I'm eating outside next time." He grumbled, before pulling out a deck of cards, his preferred from of summoning his Ironclads. Flipping through a couple cards, he decided on a ready hand of five and began charging them with MP. He didn't know exactly what he was doing, but his instincts seemed to be guiding him along with his magic, so he rolled with it.
"Well, lets go be big damn heroes then." Commented Tanner as he stood up. "I got to do some long-term hunting on the outside to do myself, so I'd have to go through those guys anyway. I still not sure whether I'll stay with your guild, but for the moment I'll tag along and see if we can't do some good together. A summoner can't operate alone, even if I got this big metal bodyguard." He gave the ironclad a rap on the chest, before also fishing for a small purse of coins to give to the waitress for the meal and any disruption from the Ironclad.
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Name: Claus Tanner
Race: Werecat (with lion accessories)
Character Name: Stryker "The Ironclad Marshal"
Class: Summoner (Puppet Master)
Sub-Class: Blacksmith
Has a rare "Lion's Pride" outfit to change his cat features to lion ears and tail. Since the update, these seem to have become permanent fixtures regardless of clothing, making him stand out among Werecats.
Bio: Despite being a prolific gamer, Claus originally didn't play Elder Tales from its beginning, being more of a FPS gamer in Titanfall and serious sci-fi settings, but his friends dragged him into the game regardless because they needed another ally for a raid. While not his usual cup of tea and not very engaged in the fantasy world around him, he did enjoy casually hanging out with friends and getting into tough fights and coming out ontop, culminating in beating several high-level raid events and obtaining rare items, in particular the rare "Lion's Pride" outfit he was gifted with after the first raid with his buddies, which he treasures in particular whilst freely trading other items he gains from the dungeons.
But when the apocalypse happened, Tanner found himself alone and separated from his friends, whom he isn't even sure if they crossed over into the game with him. With his life quite possibly on the line, he throws himself into the game like never before to fight to survive, let alone find a way home.
Personality: Seemingly happy-go-lucky and cheerful, but its a front for serious concern and worrying about what has happened and how to get home. While he tries to be optimistic and take events in stride, Tanner can switch to a hardened and logically ruthless machine when the situation calls for it or he runs into a hard obstacle to his goals.
Other: One ability of Tanner's that crossed in from the real world to the game world is his knack for parkour and SMART (Smooth Movement Across Random Terrain) However so did his predominantly "Serious Gamer" mindset, Elder Tales not being his main MMO game and he didn't play it much before the 12th update, plus not being very aware of how fantasy settings work at all to begin with. Thus he often thinks in the wrong genre relative to the game setting. (IE: thinking politics are more like Game of Thrones than a traditional fantasy setting, thinking players have EVE Online morality, thinks the whole idea of designated heroes is setting up for Spec Ops: the Line scenarios, etc)
Tanner's summons are predominantly from the "Ironclad" family of clockwork metal golems. High-armor, high power, customizable summons, but also consume large amounts of MP and not very smart unless he directs or mentally controls them. Also summons from the valkyrie family as a secondary option. Since the apocalypse, they are beginning to develop minds of their own, and making it difficult to control the higher-level ones.
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Erebus downed the rest of his drink and leapt to his feet
"PK'ers, you say?"
The swashbuckler purred, instinctively feeling for his rapiers. He didn't make it well known, but most traits of the character Erebus were modelled after his own hobbies in real life, he had spent plenty of time practicing freeform swordfighting before moving to japan(having once frequented LARP events in character with his friends from the american server) so he should have a slight edge in combat this early after they had arrived.
"Before we head out to deal with these Baka-Teme's, I'm going to distribute some potions I have on hand"
With that, he pulled out a selection of poultices, balms, and ointments.
"For Recca-san, I have some blood-bane poison. Apply it to the tip of your weapon, it paralyzes and stunts healing for up to an hour."
He said, passing a bamboo tin to the assassin
"Let me see.. ragnar-san can have these immunity supplements, they should buffer against status effects for 3 minutes each. Non-stacking"
With this, he passed a pouch of small tablets
"Dissolve them under your tongue."
Offering a narrow wooden tube to stryker he continued
"silver blood incense, continuosly heals summons for 30 minutes, you should have ten of them."
Finally, he turned to Chiharu
"Chiharu-taichou, you will be our support and field monitor, since you are only mid level, k want you to use these to help manage our HP and MP"
With that, he handed her a sliding sided wooden box from his magic bag, this labelled 'support kit' he opened it to reveal numerous compartments containing various medicines and remedies each clearly labelled with name, purpose, and duration, plus a hand full of sigils, also labelled
"Be care full, these are expensive, you need high level components from an alchemist, an herbalist, a sigil maker, an apothecary, and a woodcarver to make them Plus a scribe to make it transferable."
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Name: Johnathan Singer
Race: werecat
Character Name: Erebus
Class: Swashbuckler (level 90)
Sub-Class: herbalist(level 90)
Appearance: 6'3" tall with medium blonde hair. Has Hazel eyes and a chubby but handsome face and slightly misaligned eyes, with the right eye straying away from the center occasionally. otherwise fairly generic in appearance. typically carries a pungent, herbal smell from making herbal teas and the like.
Bio:Growing up with a loving family, retreated into the world of online gaming when he survived a car crash that killed his parents and siblings when he was 17. his inability to perform emergency first aid on his younger sister who survived the initial impact and died later led to his feeling a need to save people. Psychological trauma led to him developing an alternate personality that is embodied by his character. had been logged in consistently for over a month prior to the catastrophe, relating to his deepening attachment to his character. Prior to the catastrophe, his bank was overflowing with powerful herbal medicines. He now carries an apothecary shops worth of balms, salves, and the like at all times. worked for the developing company of "elder tale" performing inspections on the american server hosts, but moved to japan later to work at the main office.
Personality:Cautious, philosophical, protective.
Other:
"Herbalist" sub-class allows the creation of medicines from ingredients. Erebus has also discovered he can make delicious tasting herbal teas and that many of his medicines can be used as condiments on the normally bland food, as long as he prepares them by hand. this discovery was made after the information on how to cook good food was made public.
Items:
"Apothecary belt" rare magic-bag type item that can be used to carry only medicine and ingredient. it is filled with a veritable arsenal of his herbal remedies, plus an entire pouch dedicated to raw ingredients that can be used for making herbal tea.
"Chain cursed wasps" rapiers that force root spells targeting party members to hit him instead. reward from limited event raid "lunar hive" also increases power of swashbucklers status attacks
"Groom of the Forsaken" wedding band from completing "skeleton king" quest. grants 1x use per week "spirit pardon" Resurrection power that must be used within 1 minute of player death. user loses experience equal to 1/2 of what the target would have lost.
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As Chiharu opened up with the recruitment campaign, Ragnar took stock of the two that Erebus had coopted, by way of barging into their conversation no less. You had to admire the cat's balls. While he wasn't an expert on high level kit, Ragnar recognised quality when he saw it; both players had good equipment and most likely, correspondingly high levels. It didn't bode well for the Lotus Warrior's sense of balance that the average strength of it's perspective members was so high, but on the other hand bigger muscles meant better security. It occurred to Ragnar that his thinking was a bit utilitarian, but he considered himself a practical man at the end of the day. Under the circumstances, he was sure that they would have understood his pragmatism.
Recca, the assassin, took to the speech with remarkable, one might say reckless, speed. Ragnar would have thought that a veteran player would have more questions as to the group's combat formation and tactics, especially given that their only tank was at level 34. Still, perhaps he was the genuine article, with goals in line with those of the guild; while Ragnar was naturally suspicious of everyone, he had to allow for there being a handful of decent people about, rare though they were. The summoner's reaction was more in line with what he had expected; mild scepticism and a healthy dose of caution; he felt as though he could understand Styker and trusted him for it somewhat.
And of course with typical timing, their little chat was interrupted by news of a PK camp outside the city. Not unexpected, considering the level of bastardry commonly found among the players of Elder Tale, but definitely a problem in need of solving. But as the others sprung into action and Erebus began flinging out drugs willy-nilly, Ragnar couldn't help but point out the main flaw in taking the outlaws on. '... I don't mean to put a dampener on your enthusiasm guys, but we have two, possibly three levelcaps, all DPS, and two low to mid levels. We have no PvP tank or healer. If there's any more than three PK'ers out there DPSing, we're going to get massacred.' He stood awkwardly, casting around the bar for any other levelcapped players. 'Don't get me wrong, I want to help too. But if we're going to have any real chance of doing this, we'll need a few more bodies.'
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Name: Todoroki Yuusuke
Race: Wolf Fang
Character Name: Ragnar
Class: Swashbuckler (55)
Sub-Class: Animal Trainer (60)
Appearance: Yuusuke has based Ragnar's style off a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic equipment, consisting of leather armour overlaid with raw hide and fur. The overall impression is quite a realistic one and avoids the over-the-top trappings of fantasy Vikings. He wields a pair of ornate, long-hafted axes, normally hanging from his waist. His hair and floppy ears are a neutral brown, as are his bespeckled eyes.
Bio: Todoroki Yuusuke; veteran homeless drifter and (imaginary) Viking Warlord.
For as long as he can remember, Yuusuke has always lived on the streets. Perhaps he was abandoned as a foundling or perhaps his parents were just scum, but his entire life has been spent pounding the back alleys of Tokyo, eating out of bins and begging for small change. His life before the Apocalypse is nothing much to speak of; cold nights, back-breaking jobs that paid a pittance and the sole shining light he had to look forward to; getting drunk in internet cafes.
It was during one of his midnight benders that Yuusuke dipped his toe into the world of online gaming, deciding to start with the immensely popular Elder Tale; naturally, it took less than an hour of sake-infused play for him to get hooked. While the gameplay was great, it was the sense of equality that made him feel so at home. In-game, no-one could look down on Yuusuke for sleeping in a telephone box, for handing out the newspapers at train stations; truly, Elder Tale was his very own pixelated utopia, where he could roleplay the person he really wanted to be. He had been playing for a few years when the Apocalypse came; considering how rarely he could afford to get online, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was at the time.
RL has shat on him all his life, so Yuusuke will likely jump at the chance to start again in this new world.
Personality: Unlike many who live the way he does, Yuusuke has developed an upbeat and friendly disposition; this is balanced by his slanted sense of humour and deep-seated pessimism. He never expects others to lend him a positive thought and yet will carry on regardless, not a single shyte given. However, since joining the Lotus Warriors, he is starting to open up and trust his guildmates a bit.
Other: As an Animal Trainer, Ragnar made most of his money selling vanity pets pre-Apocalypse. He keeps a single pet for himself, one of the very first he successfully tamed; a rather obtuse bear dubbed Artio. Artio is a combat pet, but is only as powerful as a single medium-level Summoner summon. At Ragnar's current level Artio is a viable, if small boost to his DPS but will become redundant at higher levels.
He'll still be kept around of course, if only as a self-heating pillow.
And there's Ragnar.
He's prone to losing his rag.
/edit Also, if he's accepted; Stitches would you mind if he's in Kiyomi's guild too?
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I can tank and buff. Retorted Styker, holding up a batch of cards with pictures of golem on them. "Armored Chassis, Heavy Ironclad Knight, field repair and guard stance buffs. My golems can tank the hits. And if this respawning thing is true, then it means we can just keep hitting and hitting the PVP'ers until they grow bored or leave to find easier pickings. Callous, but evidently death has little meaning to us here."
He was a little shocked by what he was saying, but he felt it had to be said. It was like Eve Online and the capsuleers, and the real implications of deathless immortal beings on a world. If the line between the game and reality was blurred here, such concepts had to be accepted. Maybe he'd write a paper on it here if he had nothing else to do.
"The big thing is, we need to act before they get complacent and set in their place." Styker finished before pocketing the remainder of the meal in his inventory and shifting around through the rest of his assorted decks for a ideal PVP loadout of ironclads and valkyries. All the while, glancing about at the Landers in the tavern. He wasn't certain what to make of the bar waitress's staring at him. Where his lion- ears making him stand out that much amongst the werecats? Or something else if these former NPC's were coming to life.
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Name: Claus Tanner
Race: Werecat (with lion accessories)
Character Name: Stryker "The Ironclad Marshal"
Class: Summoner (Puppet Master)
Sub-Class: Blacksmith
Has a rare "Lion's Pride" outfit to change his cat features to lion ears and tail. Since the update, these seem to have become permanent fixtures regardless of clothing, making him stand out among Werecats.
Bio: Despite being a prolific gamer, Claus originally didn't play Elder Tales from its beginning, being more of a FPS gamer in Titanfall and serious sci-fi settings, but his friends dragged him into the game regardless because they needed another ally for a raid. While not his usual cup of tea and not very engaged in the fantasy world around him, he did enjoy casually hanging out with friends and getting into tough fights and coming out ontop, culminating in beating several high-level raid events and obtaining rare items, in particular the rare "Lion's Pride" outfit he was gifted with after the first raid with his buddies, which he treasures in particular whilst freely trading other items he gains from the dungeons.
But when the apocalypse happened, Tanner found himself alone and separated from his friends, whom he isn't even sure if they crossed over into the game with him. With his life quite possibly on the line, he throws himself into the game like never before to fight to survive, let alone find a way home.
Personality: Seemingly happy-go-lucky and cheerful, but its a front for serious concern and worrying about what has happened and how to get home. While he tries to be optimistic and take events in stride, Tanner can switch to a hardened and logically ruthless machine when the situation calls for it or he runs into a hard obstacle to his goals.
Other: One ability of Tanner's that crossed in from the real world to the game world is his knack for parkour and SMART (Smooth Movement Across Random Terrain) However so did his predominantly "Serious Gamer" mindset, Elder Tales not being his main MMO game and he didn't play it much before the 12th update, plus not being very aware of how fantasy settings work at all to begin with. Thus he often thinks in the wrong genre relative to the game setting. (IE: thinking politics are more like Game of Thrones than a traditional fantasy setting, thinking players have EVE Online morality, thinks the whole idea of designated heroes is setting up for Spec Ops: the Line scenarios, etc)
Tanner's summons are predominantly from the "Ironclad" family of clockwork metal golems. High-armor, high power, customizable summons, but also consume large amounts of MP and not very smart unless he directs or mentally controls them. Also summons from the valkyrie family as a secondary option. Since the apocalypse, they are beginning to develop minds of their own, and making it difficult to control the higher-level ones.
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But death does have a meaning here. Recca said. "It's true we can respawn over and over again, some of us Vet are use to it but for the new players this can become a burden. They will develop a fear of leaving the zone to go out and play, hunt and gather resources to survive in this game. We still get hungry here. And if they are unable to leave they will have no way to survive in this world." He said looking at Styker, "I am not saying all PVP is but when you do it to newbie and stop them from playing and having fun in the game this it is just wrong. Like you said if they get set in their ways this can become a huge problem not just for us but for the entire town. Just thing out over flown this place would be if no one ever left."
Recca stood up and walked outside and to his surprise he seen Shiroe with Naotsugu and Akatsuki heading towards the front gates. Was he going to take on the PvP'ers alone?
"Its a trap," Recca looked to see who said it, "I just respawned, the one in front are just a diversion. The real ones are hiding in the woods waiting for anyone to come out to fight the smaller group, once you engage they all swarm on you. Their game is to lure us higher level players out and take our loot. Recca smiled, "Then the real threat is in the woods," Recca like it, it would allow him to use his stealth to hit them hard from behind. "It seem like we won't be needing a tank. Nao is good enough we just need to hit them hard in the woods."
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Name
Justin Redwood
Race
Half-Alv
Character name
Recca HeartSeeker
Class
Assassin (80)
Sub-Class
Tracker (90)
Bio
Justin works a park time job, single no kids, so all is time is spent online. Although he does go out from time to time but he spends most his time wondering whats going on online. His family moved around a lot till he was about 16 so he only had online friends. He family never had a lot of money, but the one thing they were was thankful. Once Justin went to college he got his degree in coding in the hopes to be come a game designer but ended up working for a small company an web designer. Still he might not had his dream job but this was close to it. Now at 25 Still doing the same job but he no longer needs to work the long hours.
Persona
Justin has been playing MMOs all his life. He is a team player and gets along well with other. He follows direction and tried to learn as he goes. Outside the game he is a laid back guy. He often like to get to know the people he plays with in the hope of maybe meeting them in Real Life. He prefers to spend his time playing cause its much easier to form a bond with someone online rather then in person. He is really shy but when he come to online gaming hes like not shy at all.
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While he could concede the point that Styker's pets would be good tanks, Ragnar was sure that players would just walk around them; Summoners were DPS by nature and their pets didn't have great threat producing abilities. Besides, he wasn't about to trust random hearsay about their ability to respawn and he didn't want to test it out either. Recca brought up a good point there and Ragnar found himself nodding along; he couldn't shake the feeling that he came across as the coward in the group, but he could accept that so long as it ensured a healthy dose of caution go into the group's plan. 'Well you guys are the levelcaps here; if you think we can do it then fine. Just bear in mind that their party will probably be better balanced than ours.'
He followed Recca outside, glancing over his shoulder to check that his guildmates were doing the same; Chiharu had kept silent, probably wondering how much use she would be, even with Erebus' medkit. Ragnar himself felt the same way... his DPS was less than a third of a levelcapped player's and his HP even lower; one good hit and he would be in the Cathedral. When he turned his attention back to the Assassin, he realised that Recca had found a few friends, also levelcapped. Ragnar wasn't one for in-game celebrities, so he didn't know any of the three before him but they looked like they could handle themselves. Besides, safety in numbers. 'So ambush burst DPSing in the woods, eh? I can deal with that.'
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Name: Todoroki Yuusuke
Race: Wolf Fang
Character Name: Ragnar
Class: Swashbuckler (55)
Sub-Class: Animal Trainer (60)
Appearance: Yuusuke has based Ragnar's style off a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic equipment, consisting of leather armour overlaid with raw hide and fur. The overall impression is quite a realistic one and avoids the over-the-top trappings of fantasy Vikings. He wields a pair of ornate, long-hafted axes, normally hanging from his waist. His hair and floppy ears are a neutral brown, as are his bespeckled eyes.
Bio: Todoroki Yuusuke; veteran homeless drifter and (imaginary) Viking Warlord.
For as long as he can remember, Yuusuke has always lived on the streets. Perhaps he was abandoned as a foundling or perhaps his parents were just scum, but his entire life has been spent pounding the back alleys of Tokyo, eating out of bins and begging for small change. His life before the Apocalypse is nothing much to speak of; cold nights, back-breaking jobs that paid a pittance and the sole shining light he had to look forward to; getting drunk in internet cafes.
It was during one of his midnight benders that Yuusuke dipped his toe into the world of online gaming, deciding to start with the immensely popular Elder Tale; naturally, it took less than an hour of sake-infused play for him to get hooked. While the gameplay was great, it was the sense of equality that made him feel so at home. In-game, no-one could look down on Yuusuke for sleeping in a telephone box, for handing out the newspapers at train stations; truly, Elder Tale was his very own pixelated utopia, where he could roleplay the person he really wanted to be. He had been playing for a few years when the Apocalypse came; considering how rarely he could afford to get online, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was at the time.
RL has shat on him all his life, so Yuusuke will likely jump at the chance to start again in this new world.
Personality: Unlike many who live the way he does, Yuusuke has developed an upbeat and friendly disposition; this is balanced by his slanted sense of humour and deep-seated pessimism. He never expects others to lend him a positive thought and yet will carry on regardless, not a single shyte given. However, since joining the Lotus Warriors, he is starting to open up and trust his guildmates a bit.
Other: As an Animal Trainer, Ragnar made most of his money selling vanity pets pre-Apocalypse. He keeps a single pet for himself, one of the very first he successfully tamed; a rather obtuse bear dubbed Artio. Artio is a combat pet, but is only as powerful as a single medium-level Summoner summon. At Ragnar's current level Artio is a viable, if small boost to his DPS but will become redundant at higher levels.
He'll still be kept around of course, if only as a self-heating pillow.
And there's Ragnar.
He's prone to losing his rag.
/edit Also, if he's accepted; Stitches would you mind if he's in Kiyomi's guild too?
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Woods. I got Ironclads to handle that too I think. Said Styker, shuffling through his decks to find some rough-terrain golems he could bring to bear. "But we better hit them sooner rather than later. We can't let this trend keep up for long, or more people will imitate them. Plus, we seem to be making a bit of a scene now."
Pointing out some of the Landers congregating around the bar whispering amongst themselves, Styker then got up, passed a purse of coin to the waitress to pay for the meal and disruption from his ironclad, and barked an order for the ironclad to walk outside. "So where to first? I'm thinking I ought to play being a distraction at the frontgate while the rest of you hit them in the forest. My pets are expendable, and can cover any low-levels needing to get back in well-enough."
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Name: Claus Tanner
Race: Werecat (with lion accessories)
Character Name: Stryker "The Ironclad Marshal"
Class: Summoner (Puppet Master)
Sub-Class: Blacksmith
Has a rare "Lion's Pride" outfit to change his cat features to lion ears and tail. Since the update, these seem to have become permanent fixtures regardless of clothing, making him stand out among Werecats.
Bio: Despite being a prolific gamer, Claus originally didn't play Elder Tales from its beginning, being more of a FPS gamer in Titanfall and serious sci-fi settings, but his friends dragged him into the game regardless because they needed another ally for a raid. While not his usual cup of tea and not very engaged in the fantasy world around him, he did enjoy casually hanging out with friends and getting into tough fights and coming out ontop, culminating in beating several high-level raid events and obtaining rare items, in particular the rare "Lion's Pride" outfit he was gifted with after the first raid with his buddies, which he treasures in particular whilst freely trading other items he gains from the dungeons.
But when the apocalypse happened, Tanner found himself alone and separated from his friends, whom he isn't even sure if they crossed over into the game with him. With his life quite possibly on the line, he throws himself into the game like never before to fight to survive, let alone find a way home.
Personality: Seemingly happy-go-lucky and cheerful, but its a front for serious concern and worrying about what has happened and how to get home. While he tries to be optimistic and take events in stride, Tanner can switch to a hardened and logically ruthless machine when the situation calls for it or he runs into a hard obstacle to his goals.
Other: One ability of Tanner's that crossed in from the real world to the game world is his knack for parkour and SMART (Smooth Movement Across Random Terrain) However so did his predominantly "Serious Gamer" mindset, Elder Tales not being his main MMO game and he didn't play it much before the 12th update, plus not being very aware of how fantasy settings work at all to begin with. Thus he often thinks in the wrong genre relative to the game setting. (IE: thinking politics are more like Game of Thrones than a traditional fantasy setting, thinking players have EVE Online morality, thinks the whole idea of designated heroes is setting up for Spec Ops: the Line scenarios, etc)
Tanner's summons are predominantly from the "Ironclad" family of clockwork metal golems. High-armor, high power, customizable summons, but also consume large amounts of MP and not very smart unless he directs or mentally controls them. Also summons from the valkyrie family as a secondary option. Since the apocalypse, they are beginning to develop minds of their own, and making it difficult to control the higher-level ones.
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As each of the newly dubbed tamers pointed their Digivice at their computer and bid, "Digital Gate, Open!" A wormhole of sorts materialized inside and like a miniature black hole swallowed them all into their computer. As they traveled, they would notice at first that they seemed to be moving at high speeds with a bunch of random rune-like symbols surrounding them into a giant dogpile with three seperate individuals.
The area was rather civilized looking if nothing else, if one ignores the weird purplish lake behind where they were. Yumeko, somehow, was at the bottom of the group, perhaps this is what she got for staying up so late at night? "Where the heck am I!?" She quickly exclaimed as she moved her head around. Unable to move her body much from all the weight on her, she pushed up with all of her strength soon pushing all of the others off of her. "And who the heck are you all?" To the Japanese girl's surprise, they all looked like foreigners. Her english scores were garbage and she was worried she could even talk to them. "Wait, can you all even understand me?" She scratched the back of her head for a second before a laughing and slight deep sounding voice called out behind her.
"No need to worry about that. In the Digital World, all language gets transferred to data, translated to a person's spoken language from that and sent back in the matter of a millisecond." Yume turned around quickly, not expecting someone else to be there. What she saw though, was a walking blue dinosaur with some weird armor bearing flame designs. "Greetings. You all are the new Tamers I’ll assume? That’s great then. I’m Flamedramon, one of the Guardians of the Tamer’s Bureau. It’s a pleasure to meet you." He said.
Yume just stood there with a blank stare. This was definitely something that shouldn't exist. And did he mention the Digital World? The only thing that came to her mind was, "WHO-- Or maybe, what? WHAT ARE YOU!?" She asked him as his initial reply was a giant laugh.
"You guys really are fresh like she mentioned! Acting so surprised over Digimon." Flamedramon laughed a bit before losing the laughter and talking to them a bit more respectfully "Sorry, it's just a bit humorous to see someone act like that. Anyhow, shall we go find your partners? Lillymon should be looking after them and she'll explain most things to you. They're in the building there." The blue creature pointed towards a building that had a beautiful mixture of both western and eastern design that shared a design with two other, smaller buildings in the same general area. "You can talk amongst yourselves to figure everything out before you head up here. It would be good to get along after all."
The Digimon started towards the building on a dirt path. Yumeko looked at the others and spoke up, "Umm, Nice to meetcha'll. My name's Yumeko Yukihara." At this point, she was just trying to stay calm in this weird situation.
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Name: Yumeko Yukihara
Gender: Female
Age: 16
Apperance:
Digivice Color Yellow
Personality: Yumeko is a friendly girl albeit a bit aggressive when push comes to shove. She’s not afraid of taking challenges on and sometimes has a hard time knowing when to back off. Most consider her an easy girl to get along with unless you start out on her bad side as she keeps her impressions of people for a long time.
Bio: Yumeko grew up in Tokyo, near Akihabara. She’s never been a stranger to anime and manga since she could easily walk there. She’s made plenty of friends ranging from Otaku to the Overly Popular and bitch School-Girls. She’s also lost plenty of friends from telling off people that insult her other friends. It’s a long tedious cycle that doesn’t matter too much in the long run though.
That said, most of her time at home was spent playing games or surfing the web on her personal computer. She always thought it would be cool to have her own little monster.
Digimon:
In-Training: Kokomon
Rookie: Tinkermon
Champion: Darcmon
Ultimate: Angewomon
Mega: Ophanimon
Extended Mega: Ophanimon Corona Mode
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Rachel Holt
So far, that day had been fairly uneventful as it ever was. Out in the middle of nowhere Wyoming, most days passed slowly and quietly. Out in the middle of the American west, it definitely made for a quiet lazy day most of the time. For the most part, Rachel's house was just as quiet. Her mom was out of the house somewhere, and her dad was out on some overseas business trip. The only sound in the house, was an occasional yawn and the clanging of a few objects together from Rachels room. She herself was on the top bunk of her bed which was mostly used to store her junk.
...and well, take an occasional impromptu nap. She was currently sifting through some old computer parts, trying to see if there was anything there she needed. Not that she actually needed a new computer, she had just built one herself a few months ago, and it was working better than any one she had custom made or could be brought at a store. Okay, maybe the former was a bit of an exaggeration, but it ran pretty good.
"Hmm..." She was missing something, but where was it. She was pretty sure she had one around here...somewhere. But where? She scanned the junkyard known as the top bunk of her bed, sifting through a few metal bits but unfortunately came up empty. Well, not like she actually tried very hard. She was currently laying on her stomach in the middle of the parts and all she did to look was swivel her head back from one side to another.
A nap sounded good right about now. Not like she had anything better to do at the moment.
She turned her head to the side, resting it on the spare electronics - and then conveniently noticed what she was looking for on her actual bed below. Getting it would require moving, and she really was comfortable right here, and she really didn't want to move. So, solution? Move in the least energy consuming method as possible. Which was obviously hang upside down from the top bunk by hooking her legs over the protective railing, grabbing it and then sitting back up.
Really though, hanging upside down was oddly nice. Her loose fitting blue t-shirt fell around her neck, and would give anyone who happened to waltz into her room right then a pretty nice view considering she also wasn't wearing any pants aside from some pretty frilly looking underwear that clashed pretty badly with her casual attire.
"Hmm...I wonder if bats are actually super intelligent beings and use echolocation because they're too smart for words..." Odd...thoughts aside, blood rushing to your head for extended periods wasn't a good thing even if for some reason it felt oddly refreshing. Thoughts of suddenly being able to turn into a vampire aside, she swiveled her head over to her computer which was on, currently looping through some mellow sounding jazz track. Not odd in the least. What was odd, was the fact there seemed to be a popup on it. She was pretty sure she had designed a pretty nifty thing to zap any nasty popups like that.
Some sort of computer update or something, maybe?
Somehow, she managed to acrobatically remove herself from her upside down position and land rather gracefully on her feet. She walked over to the computer, taking a seat and looking at the popup. Well that was definitely not a normal computer popup, and it definitely smelled of fishiness, and not the tasty kind you make fish sticks out of. That said, for some popup to get past her defenses...it must have been pretty sophisticated.
So obviously the smart thing to do with foreign, unknown software, was to click 'accept'.
Reading the next bits was mildly intriguing and confusing. Digimon tamer? What was that even? Well, whatever it was it put an executable on her desktop, and she was definitely curious at this point. She was confident that if any dastardly viruses got their way in, she could zap them with super bat mind powers. However, after clicking it things just proved to be waaay more than she bargained for.
She was starting to believe those people who said she could just get high off of air, because she was pretty sure she wasn't crazy, unless letting blood rush to your head like that made you start seeing things. Well, whatever it was, she was invested in this now and this marvel of programming and technology had definitely had her intrigued! She could make so much money with tech like this, if she could figure out how to work it.
So, taking this new dark blue colored device in hand, she pointed it at the screen.
"Digital Gate, open." Really, she could have probably put more enthusiasm, but it seemed to have worked regardless. What followed next, cleared any doubts in her mind. Yep, she definitely somehow got high because computers didn't just suddenly turn into wormholes and suck people in.
At least, if they did they should let people put on their pants first.
The next thing she knew, she was moving through some sort of tube thing with runes carved into the side of it at high speed. It looked oddly electronic. Was she inside of a computer or something? That seemed fairly implausible. Not that she'd complain if she was, no. That was pretty sweet actually. She was still pretty sure she had smoked something somewhere and was high as the moon, but it all felt oddly real - not that she'd know what being high felt like, of course. Smoking was bad, man. She didn't get long to ponder it though and soon found herself dumped onto a dog pile of others.
"Where the heck am I!? And who the heck are you all? Wait, can you all even understand me?" For a few seconds not even moving much as the pile she was conveniently on top of was moved by the lowest occupant. Rachel just laid there, looking up at the sky. Huh, it was oddly beautiful, and would be even more so if someone would stop shouting like they had just had their favorite laptop destroyed. Wait. Other people? Well, this was interesting. She didn't think drug trips involved other people, unless they were like...hallucinations or something, but she was doubting less and less that's what this actually was.
She craned her neck towards the one speaking, noticing some sort of clawed fish thing approaching.
"No need to worry about that. In the Digital World, all language gets transferred to data, translated to a person's spoken language from that and sent back in the matter of a millisecond." Digital world? Huh, her first assumption was right if what this...armored fish looking thing was saying, was true.
"Greetings. You all are the new Tamers I’ll assume? That’s great then. I’m Flamedramon, one of the Guardians of the Tamer’s Bureau. It’s a pleasure to meet you." Flamedramon? Tamers? Well, that's what that popup said. Tamers Bureau, though? No idea what that was, just like she had no idea what a flamedramon was. Shouldn't something named that be a bit more...red or something? She supposed those red metal plates made up for it, though....hmm...eh, whatevs.
As Yume and Flamedramon continued to exchange words, Rachel finally decided to get off of the pile. Since she was on top, it was fairly easy enough to do. She stood, climbing off of the others and stretching. She was glad her rather ill-fitting shirt would cover her lower bits a bit, but anyone with a brain would see that she was in fact, not wearing any pants or shoes and was probably ill equipped for whatever this was. Not that she seemed to particularly care, though. She seemed to miss the last bit of that conversation though, and it seemed they were now doing introductions.
"Umm, Nice to meetcha'll. My name's Yumeko Yukihara."
Rachel regarded Yume with a half-lidded stare, seeming to be half asleep and taking a few seconds before replying. The name seemed oddly familiar....
"Yumeko? You're not a maid for a god or something, are you?" She said, fixing Yume with a small, somewhat clever seeming smile.
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Name:
Rachel Holt
Gender:
Female
Age:
17
Apperance:
Standing at about five foot seven, Rachel has long brown hair with chocolate colored eyes and a fairly pale complexion from days mostly spent indoors. Most often, she wears loose fitting clothes in the range of old faded t-shirts to some fairly surprisingly fashionable stuff - just whatever she feels like wearing at the time. Most of the time she wears loose fitting jeans or shorts if she has to go outside. Inside her own home, well...she doesn't like wearing pants and will often walk around in long stockings and boxers. Most of the time, she wears headphones - or at least has them somewhere near. Most of the time she wears a somewhat languid expression and a small smile.
Digivice Color
Dark Blue
Personality:
Friendly? While not overly so, she's definitely one that'll be friends with just about anyone as long as they aren't irredeemably evil. Rachel takes a pretty lackadaisical approach to life, and a lot of the time comes off as cool, level headed, and calm because of it since she tends to not react too much. She tends to not really worry about most things, and she doesn't like physical exertion or work and often lets things happen as they will.
Of course, she's not above causing some small mischief for fun, and 100% does not mind being dragged along on some mischievous shenanigans.
That said, she has a fairly good head on her shoulders and spends a lot of her free time tinkering with electronics.
Bio:
Country of Origin? Good old USA. State? The middle of nowhere Wyoming. Yep, about as boring of a place as you can get. Her life has been pretty...normal up until now. Nothing remarkable at all, well, aside coming from a fairly well off family. Not rich by any means, but her dad was a fairly successful businessman. Wasn't rich by any means, but they were never hurting for money. So she's had a fairly average, if not very socially active life. Wyoming isn't exactly a happening state, after all and she grew up in a small town. Most of her days were spent either inside tinkering with a computer, or taking a nap outside.
Has a fondness for Horses, and is pretty good at riding them. Growing up next to a ranch with a lot of them, it was easy enough to learn. Doesn't like most other animals though, especially cows. She hates cows. Snakes are cool, though.
Digimon:
In-Training:
Botamon
Rookie:
Impmon
Champion:
Witchmon
Ultimate:
LadyDevimon
Mega:
BeelStarmon
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Harriet Burton
Mama Burton had always warned her children against opening emails from addresses they didn't recognise. Something about them containing viruses or unsafe links or other internet nasties, and that such emails should be deleted as soon as humanly possible. So when Harriet was doing her daily inbox check and happened across an email from a "Digicore@Digicenter.gov", an address she had never heard of let alone had any contact with, she remembered her mother's advice and promptly sent it to the trash, thinking that would be the last she would hear of it. She returned to looking through her emails.
Barely a second later, the very same email reappeared in her inbox.
Harriet frowned as she found herself staring at the exact same strange email. She was sure she had deleted it, but it was always possible she had merely thought about deleting it, but had somehow forgotten to do so at the last minute. That wasn't so unusual, she could be a little absent-minded at times. Once again, and more deliberately this time, she ticked the box next to the email and selected "Delete." The email disappeared, and she gave the smallest sigh of relief. However, just as she was about to scroll down the page, the email reappeared.
Okay, something was very clearly up. Harriet tried to delete it again. And again. And again. And again and again and again. Each time it disappeared from her inbox, a second would pass before it would reappear, right at the top of her list of emails. Same sender. This went of for a few minutes before Harriet, more than a little frustrated at this point, decided that it was best to go ask someone a little more tech savvy for some advice.
Opening the door to her bedroom, Harriet began calling down the hallway. "Mum!" she called, her voice echoing slightly down the corridor. When she didn't get a response, she called out again, her voice getting a little louder with each shout. "Mum! Mum! MUM! MUUUUM!"
Down the corridor, she heard the sound of someone's bedroom opening. "She's not in!" A response finally sounded, but instead of a woman's voice, it was a boy's, and he sounded pretty pissed to have been disturbed. Tyler, Harriet's younger brother.
Harriet was surprised he'd even heard her. He almost always had his headphones and had the sound blasted to ridiculously high levels. "Where is she?" Harriet called back.
"She went out shopping!" Tyler called back. "About quarter an hour ago! Didn't she tell you!?"
Harriet thought back. She didn't recall her mother mentioning that to her. "I mustn't have heard her!" she called back. She heard the sound of a door creaking and suspected her brother was going to go back to doing... whatever it was he did all day. However, if what Tyler said was true, her mother wouldn't be back for some time. "Tyler!" she called out.
The door creaked open again. "What!?"
"I'm having some trouble with my computer!" Harriet responded. "Could you come help me?"
There was a pause, and for a moment, Harriet wondered if he'd even heard her. She was about to repeat herself when she heard a loud sigh. "Fine!" Tyler responded. "Just gimme a minute!"
Five minutes later, the two siblings were in Harriet's room, Tyler sitting at his sister's desk with Harriet standing next to him, peering over his left shoulder. As Harriet had before, Tyler attempted to delete the email. When it predictably popped back up in the inbox, Tyler tried deleting it again and then went to look in the trash folder. What surprised both siblings was that not only was the email there, but so were several copies of it. Apparently, it wasn't the same email popping up in Harriet's inbox. Whoever the sender was somehow knew when the email was deleted and was able to send a brand new message a second later.
"Fascinating," Tyler murmured.
"Fascinating!?" Harriet squeaked. "My computer could be in danger!"
"One way to find out," Tyler said. He glanced over his shoulder at his sister. "You got an anti-virus, right?"
"Yes. Avast, same as you," Harriet said. She frowned. "Why?" Instead of answering, Tyler clicked back into Harriet's inbox and then hovered the cursor over the email. "What are you doing?" Harriet said. When she realised, she starting shouting, "Wait, Tyler, don't open that! You don't know what-"
"Too late," Tyler said as he opened the email. On-screen, the message inside was visible for both siblings to read.
"Greetings Tamer,
This is being sent to you as you have been selected as an esteemed Digimon Tamer. Press Accept to start your journey. Press Decline and forget this email has never happened."
"Well, there you go then," Tyler said, pointing at the screen. "You want to get rid of it, just press Decline."
"You trust some random email?" Harriet asked, her voice unusually high. "And what's a... Digimon Tamer?"
"Well, if you want to know..." A sly smile appeared on Tyler's face and he moved the mouse over to the 'Accept' button.
"Oh no you don't!" Harriet lunged and attempted to wrestle the mouse out of Tyler's hand. In doing so however, her hands ended up slamming on the left mouse button and with a resounding click! she selected the 'Accept' button. "Crap!" When her brother burst into laughter, she gave him a hard shove. "You jerk! You planned that!" she shouted.
"Don't look at me," Tyler said, still smirking. "You were the one who pressed the button. Now let's see..." He turned his attention back to the screen. After clicking "Accept", an extra bit of text had been added to the email.
"Congratulations Tamer!
You are now a certified Digimon Tamer. There should be a new program on your desktop titled “Digital Assistant Device”. Start the program up and you should receive your very own Digivice soon! How exciting! See you soon.
-AKM"
"What!?" Harriet squeaked.
Tyler laughed. "Ha! Your computer is screwed!" he said. After Harriet gave him another shove, he spoke again, "Okay! Okay! Calm down! If you anti-virus isn't going off, it's probably fine!"
"It just added some random program to my desktop without my consent!" Harriet shot back. "How is that fine!?"
Tyler shrugged and stood up from the chair. "Well, it's already on your computer, so you might as well check it out," he said. "Can I go now?"
Harriet slumped down on the chair with such force, it creaked under her weight. "Yeah, fine, go!" she snapped back. "You were no help!" When she heard the door shut behind him, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm herself down. Feeling the loose bits of hair sticking out from her ponytail, she pulled the tie out before attempting to retie it. Once her hair was back in a ponytail, she took a deep breath, feeling a little less panicked, before closing the window on her computer and scanning her desktop. Just as the email had said, there was now a new program labelled "Digital Assistant Device". She considered attempting to delete or uninstall it, but after what had happened with the email, she somehow doubted that would work.
"Well, what do I have to lose?" she muttered to herself. What was that term some people used? YOLO? Well, whatever. Biting her lower lip, Harriet double-clicked the icon. After hearing the sound of an old-fashioned dial-up modem, her screen was suddenly filled with binary. Tempted to call Tyler back, Harriet got up and attempted to run for her door, only for a bright flash to emit from her computer screen. A moment passed as Harriet's eyesight adjusted just in time to see something she never expected. A large lump had appeared in the center of her computer screen, as if something was trying to push itself out of the monitor. Harriet's mouth gaped open as if she was trying to shout, but no sound came out. Eventually, whatever was trying to escape her computer succeed and something, a small electronic device resembling a phone, fell out and landed on her keyboard with a thunk.
Harriet could only stare. What was going on? Was she going insane? Had she fallen asleep at some point between now and receiving the email? Harriet pinched her arm hard. The pain caused her to give a sharp hiss of breath. Okay. Clearly, she was awake.
Carefully, she scooped up the strange phone in her hands. It was green in colour, and very new-looking. Had she received it under normal circumstances, she would be jumping up and down with joy, but given what had just happened, she couldn't help but hold it at arm's length. She turned it over on all sides, inspecting it from every angle. Once she was looking at the front again, she noticed only three buttons under the screen, an oval with two arrow-shaped buttons on either side. With her thumb, Harriet pressed the oval button and the screen lit up. It was completely blank, and kept flashing on and off with little beeps.
At the top of her peripheral, she noticed something open up on her computer. Harriet looked up to see her screen was back to normal - thank goodness - and some strange word document had opened up. Compared to everything else she had just experienced, this didn't really surprise her.
On the document was written a single line of text: “Enjoy your digivice. When you’re ready, point the front of your device toward your monitor and say “Digital Gate, Open!”
Harriet blinked before glancing back at the device in her hands. She really must be going crazy, because at this point, she was actually considering doing what is said. She swallowed down a lump that started to form in her throat and, her hands shaking slightly, pointing the 'Digivice' at the screen. Quietly, she stammered, "Digital Gate, o-o-open!"
Like before, a bright flash emitted from the monitor. This time, Harriet managed to shield her eyes with one arm as she felt her body being pulled forward against her will. She felt a feeling that imagined was akin to water being sucked through a straw. After a moment, though she felt nothing at all.
When the light finally cleared, the room was empty. Harriet Burton was gone.
When Harriet eventually regained consciousness, she found herself in a large pile of people. Or at least, she assumed they were people. It was difficult to see as her glasses seemed to have fallen off during materialization, so she only really make out people-shaped blurs. She tried to get up but was unable to move thank to the crushing weight on top of her. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, whoever was at the bottom of the pile was not particularly happy about this situation as they pushed upwards, causing several people to scatter and roll away to the side, Harriet being on of them. She rolled over towards the ground, landing face first and ending up swallowing a mouthful of dirt.
"Blek!" Pushing herself up onto all fours, Harriet spat out the dirt before rubbing at her mouth with the back of one hand. She was aware of people talking around her, but didn't have any time to worry about that. She needed to find her glasses. She started crawling across the ground, hands reaching out over the dirt in search of her spectacles. "H-has anyone seen my glasses?" she called out to anyone nearby who might be listening.
|
Name:
Harriet Burton
Gender:
Female
Age:
16
Appearance:
Digivice Color:
Green.
Personality:
Harriet is something of a neurotic. Her response to new situations is usually a mixture of fascination, excitement and anxiety, and given that she's lived a pretty sheltered reaction up until this point, that's her response to most things. When her anxiety kicks in, it usually manifests in a hyperactive persona, with Harriet often speaking very quickly and with very through pauses in between, constantly alternating between moods and very rarely picking up social cues. As you can imagine, she doesn't handle stress well. You can tell when she's calm because that will actually be when she speaks the least, simply enjoying the company of those she's with or getting lost in her own thoughts. When she's not freaking out, she can actually be quite the capable thinker, and enjoys solving puzzles and figuring out the solutions to logical problems. This is when she's her most confident, though if she finds herself struggling to find the answer, this could lead to greater stress.
Bio:
Harriet lives in London, England, and has lived there all of her life. She's lived a pretty comfortable life with both her parents, who are incredibly supportive, and her younger brother, who spends most of his time locked away in his bedroom on the computer and doesn't really bother her anyway. She's got a group of friends who she hangs out with at school, but she rarely hangs out with them outside of school, preferring to stay home reading or spending time with her family. However, a part of her wanted something more from her life, wanted to pursue something more interesting, but was too afraid to do so. That's when she recieved a mysterious email...
Digimon:
In-Training: Kapurimon
Rookie: ToyAgumon
Champion: FlameRizamon
Ultimate: Megadramon
Mega: Machinedramon
|
5,262
| 140
| 3
| 2,091
| 3,329
|
Arthur Percival
The apartment was still and quiet, per usual.
Today had been a fun day, at least for him. Arthur was doing what he usually did as his job and continued finishing the multiple commissions that he had taken up from multiple clients. Stretching after hitting the submit button and uploading his artwork to DeviantArt, Arthur stared up at the ceiling fan, watching as it spun around and around. Hopefully they enjoyed the self portrait for the most part as he completed it to the best of his abilities...
Launching himself up, he curiously decided to read some comments, complimenting the SilentGuardian's creations. Heh, Silent... pretty fitting as he scrolled down the comment section, smiling confidently in satisfaction as he replied to one or two comments before moving on. After Arthur pored over two or three more submissions, he spun around in his chair, eventually ceasing the movement as he held a hand to his head.
After recovering from that inordinate activity, Arthur glared at the window. Scooting over to the noisy streets, Arthur looked over the colors and cars doting the road as people in business suits passed on by. It was only for a brief moment before he spun and launched himself out of the chair.
"I seriously need to stop doing that," he grumbled to himself after the first spin, taking a second to fortify himself, i.e. standing without wobbling like a newborn horse before walking to his door and exiting his room; he felt pretty damn hungry right about now... tired too since he stayed up all night for the most part.
Looking around the living room, Arthur managed to stifle a yawn as he stared at the big screen TV, along with the comfy couches around the place. He honestly didn't want to grill anything today due to sheer laziness, but began raiding the refrigerator for simple cheese, bread, meat, and lettuce. A sandwich would suffice and he would hibernate like a bear afterwords!
"Hopefully I'm not asleep for months, or twenty years for that matter," he chuckled to himself as he finished building up his sandwich. Walking back to the couch, he jumped up, landing with a satisfying 'pmff' as he sunk into the soft item. Munching away at his sandwich, Arthur opted just to reflect on this past year as he lie there, completely immobile. Of course, he eventually devoured it before lying there and taking a nap.
...
Of course, he couldn't exactly get his body to ease itself so he rolled off the couch before shoving himself off the carpet. Maybe playing some FE:Fates or sketching would tire him out? He still had to finish Conquest and he did have a picture from last February he wanted to complete. Taking back to his room, Arthur dug through the multitude of sketchbooks on his shelf, but not before grabbing his 3DS... oh yeah, he also should check his email for any new requests.
After clicking through some tabs, he quickly logged into his email and began sifting through it. Looks like a couple of new private requests, along with an email from a "friend" who wanted to hang out... seriously, why didn't he just text him on his phone or contact him via skype? She was always a weird one... but not as weird as the mysterious email that was at the bottom of all this.
Arthur could only read through it as it proclaimed that he was chosen as an esteemed Digimon Trainer. The sender was quite interesting, considering the components. Above all, this looked to be some sort of scam that people used to hack your account and take your money. Reminded him of the times when he was "contacted" by the Treasury of State... well, after his mom was.
But it was strange; this should of found itself lying at the bottom of his spam, ready to be permanently purged from his computer. Maybe it was some kind of game this person was advertising for? Still, curiosity got the better of him and against all his common sense, he nervously tapped the accept button, bracing himself for the ongoing shitstorm... good thing he backed up most of his drawings onto a flash drive.
Opening one of his eyes, Arthur was surprised to see no flow of spam advertising that he won a million dollars or pop ups saying that there was a cute girl he could meet up with that was 3.4 miles away. The email continued, strangely enough, and asserted that a new feature was installed on his desktop. Ok, yeah, that was definitely a bad sign already. Clicking out of the browser swiftly, he found a new invader living on his desktop.
Trying to uninstall proved to be futile and above all, he gave up trying to remove it... maybe he could factory reset it and redo all the functions. Groaning, he covered his eyes as he shook his head, double clicking the program... and lo and behold his computer started glowing! It wasn't like those times when you started up a game - it was literally like the second coming of Jesus... digital Jesus maybe? Shielding his eyes for the moment, he barely managed to notice... what the heck?
Was his computer producing something? Seriously? Arthur was dumbfounded and stunned by the lights as the mysterious device fell out of his computer, rapping the desk for a moment. Arthur could only stare, unmoving with his mouth agape. He... he did not know how to process this all. Technology wasn't this advanced for heavens sake!
Picking up the phone-like device, Arthur studied it for a moment, pondering if he fell into a deep sleep like he thought as this whole process was too surreal. Arthur was always able to control hie dreams, so he attempted to make his cute friend pop out of no where so they could go on an adventure involving blades and magic. He would of course be the mage.
After a couple of minutes, nothing happened; he even tried thinking as hard as he could whilst squeezing his eyes very tightly. Seriously? Was this actually reality? What the heck was he supposed to do now?
Wait.
Hastily clicking back to his email, he began rereading what the whole thing said, including the information over how he was to activate the device. This whole process sounded childlike, but eh, he already went this far. Rolling his eyes, he kicked away his chair before sighing. "Ugh... I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, vexed and confused.
Alright... you can make this fun Arthur... just pretend you're your online persona... yes... You are the SilentGuardian! A warrior mighty with his sword, the pen, and his shield, the sketchbook! You slay mighty blocks that pervade your mind and act as a hero with monetary rewards after satisfying certain people!
With enthusiasm, Arthur snatched the device before acting in an over the top manner that one of his favorite units in Conquest would approve of. Pointing the device at his screen, he shouted out in confident, reverberating voice.
"Digital Gate, open!"
... heh that was fu-
... wait uh... what...
Ok, whattheheckwhattheheckwhattheheckwhattheheckwhattheheckwhattheheckwhattheheckwhattheheckwhattheheck?! Arthur would expect a login screen for a silly little game to pop up after that neat action, but this?! A frickin' gateway of sorts?! There were so many colored numbers changing and altering at different rates, but above all, he was being sucked in! Panicking, Arthur lost the mask and attempted to search for a way to prevent himself from being sucked into his own computer!
Alas, he couldn't delay the inevitable and was taken into the white light.
The apartment was still and quiet, per usual.
Darkness stayed in his vision, though his whole chest felt compressed and heavy for the most part. Did his lungs collapse? Did he pass out? Was there something in that mustard he used for his sandwich? Arthur honestly couldn't discern it as the only thing he could know at this point was spinning around so much as he was forcibly taken into the portal... which may of caused him to get a headache and pass out. Regardless, it only took less than a minute for him to recover...
Rubbing his eyes, they soon flutter open, though they took their sweet time trying to adjust to the new environment... which in turn was very confounding. He expected to see the ceiling of his room, not green grass tickling his face! Groaning, Arthur rubbed the side of his temple as a girl began spouting out questions with a different accent. Of course, he was still recovering from this all as he rolled onto his back... but much to his dismay there was a blue bipedal dinosaur coated in flame painted armor.
...
... oh god did it just speak? It just spoke didn't it. What did he get into what did he get into what did he get into?! His pupils dilated as he scrambled upwards and attempted to distance himself from the creature for a moment... until he realized how it wasn't attacking... it did sound pretty friendly he guessed.
Still a little on edge; after all, everything go on here was all so... sudden. He didn't know how to digest every thing in the vicinity... He picked up Digital World, Flamedramon, Tamers, and Tamer Bureau... so that was his name from what he could assume, the Tamer info was in the email, and the latter he had no clue on. But still, Digital World? Did this mean he could access other peoples emails and breach their computers?
That sounded like a huge violation of privacy... speaking of privacy... why was that girl not wearing any pants? Wait was she? Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush. Arthur blushed at the thought as he turned his head downwards, trying to avoid letting anyone see how beet red he was.
His ears perked up at the sound of a name that sounded... pretty Japanese for the most part. Yumeko eh? Did she dream a lot or something? Regardless, the pretty girl lacking pants questioned the girl on a certain subject pertaining to a fandom. "I'm pretty sure none of us are named Shinki," Arthur mumbled to himself, fidgeting with his fingers. Wait, was this the time to introduce himself? He didn't want to screw this up, but what would he do? Was it his turn? Was it hers?
Suddenly a wild excuse appeared in the guise of a shorter, cuter girl who exclaimed over missing her glasses. They were near the edges of her knees as he quickly plucked them before extending the hand with the glasses towards her. "Uhm, I b-believe these are yours V-Velma."There was some anxiety in his voice as he forced a small smile out.
|
Name:
Arthur Percival
Gender:
Male
Age:
17
Appearance:
Standing at a height of 180.34 cm/5'11 ft, this tall kid doesn't exactly appear to be the most confident person on the block. Sporting neatly brushed blonde hair and dull hazel eyes, Arthur has a light tan complexion, though it's a little difficult to see the lines around his shoulders and legs. He has an array of blue clothes, ranging in hues; more often than not he will have a white jacket, a striped purple bandanna, a blue scarf, and a dark blue shirt. He usually loses the white jacket and scarf at home. Very seldom does he wear shorts and can often be seen wearing jeans. Another thing that is wrapped around his neck are his headphones; they have cerulean lining.
Digivice Color:
Cyan with a white outline
Personality:
Often kept to himself, Arthur isn't much of a social butterfly, let alone a person who can truly hold a conversation. He is often high-strung when around large groups of people and can end up clamming up if someone attempts to talk to him during this time. Outside of that, if someone does attempt to talk to him, expect it to be one sided with him staring at either his or your feet. Arthur is easily flustered when messed with, especially with the opposite gender. He seems to relax easy when not in the vicinity of immense amounts of people. Times when he really isn't effected by this is when he shoves his headphones on; he doesn't listen to anything, but it's sort of like a night light for him.
In the case that he isn't completely anxious when in small groups of people, or left alone completely. Arthur enjoys this "stillness" of the world, oft donning a smile if the conditions are right. It often gives him some inspiration to conceive new artwork or work on some commissions. On the internet, due to anonymity, he is very much reserved and calm. He feels relieved to hide behind this persona and looks forward to it every day, whilst leaving behind social pressures and expectations set up for him. He is horrible in class discussions, but when testing, it's like he is in his own little world.
Bio:
Arthur's roots date back to England, his country of birth. He lived in a rural area for most of his childhood, being raised by his dad due to not being able to find the right time to spend with his mother. Eventually, they moved away to the US, settling in a large apartment in New York. However, both of his parents ended up divorcing in the long run and ended up being legally tied to his mother. While things were financially stable since she was a lawyer, Arthur wasn't exactly the best at talking with people due to being with no one other than an empty house or teenage babysitter.
He did end up excelling in school but that was due to him pushing himself. When others eventually found out his mom was a graduate of Oxford, well, much higher expectations were set for him from not only his teacher but peers. Arthur would be often treated to embellishments by classmates or the strictness of his teacher. Everyone wanted him to be a lawyer, heck, even his mom wanted him to follow in her footsteps.
Arthur honestly did not know what to do... he just... wanted to draw, heck, maybe be a famous artist some day... probably just a pipe dream for now.
Digimon:
In-Training:
DemiVeemon
Rookie:
Veemon
Champion:
ExVeemon
Ultimate:
Paildramon
Mega:
Imperialdramon
|
5,263
| 140
| 4
| 1,895
| 2,726
|
A maid Yumeko? Shinki? What the hell were these kids talking about? Hell, she hadn't even learned any of their names yet! One was struggling to find her glasses, sure. But the other two. . . One seemed fidgety and shy and the other one . . . Well, she seemed wholly out of it. So out of it, in fact, she was just wearing a shirt! Just a shirt it seemed! That was. . . Dangerous. If it were Yumeko, she'd have been so embarrased. To help, at the least, she took off her jacket and gave it to the girl. "You might want to cover up, girl. You're hardly wearing anything." Yumeko could barely see anything, but blushed nonetheless. She figured the girl could use the jacket to make sure her vital parts were a bit more well covered. "Well, I'm heading up to where that "Flamedramon" fellow went. If you guys are like me, you clicked accept on that email too right? If so, what else do we have to lose?"
Yumeko was rather excited though. If her partner were a guy like that, well, that would be really cool! She walked her way with the others behind and as the entered, they would noticed Flamedramon standing near an enclosed desklike area similar to a hotel's. Behind the desk was a flowerly-fairy like girl that gave a bright smile and waved at the group excitedly. "Hello! Hello! I'm Lillymon and welcome to the Tamer's Bureau! You all are our new set of tamers? Our selector will be so happy to see you all! But before that, we should introduce you to your partners!" The exciteable flower-girl said as she turned to Flamedramon and nodded a few times.
He smirked a bit, and looked into a door behind the desk and made a motion with one of his claws. With it, a group of four little blobs came hopping out excitedly. One looked like a big piece of candy with a face and it was the color of chocolate, another was black as night with what looked like little ears. Another was like a fox without the arms and legs and with a weird metal helmet on. The last one was a blue thing that looked like it could be a little version of Flamedramon that was lacking the armor. "These guys will be your partners." He said. "Starting from my side here." He continued pointing to the chocolate colored one, moving over the black one, then the fox and finally the mini-him. "Kokomon, Botamon, Kapurimon and finally DemiVeemon. Go say hi to your partners."
The little digimon hopped to their respective partners. Kokomon to Yumeko, Botamon to Rachel, Kapurimon to Harriet and DemiVeemon to Arthur. They gave short greetings. "Hello! My name's Kokomon! I hope we can be friends forever." Kokomon said the Yumeko.
The Japanese girl just looked at the thing and kneeled down to it. This was insane. Why did they get these pipsqueaks instead of someone like that Flamedramon? Well, it didn't matter too much as the girl picked Kokomon up and hugged it. "It's so cute!!!!!!" She exclaimed as she squeezed. It may not be a badass like that flame guy, but it was damn adorable
"Could you lighten up lady? Yer' squeezing me a little." Kokomon said as Yumeko lightened up and held it away a little bit.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Yumeoko exclaimed again.
After everyone began introductions with their digimon, Flamedramon spoke up again. "Well, I'm glad to see we're mostly getting along. Lillymon here is going to give you some instructions, and I don't think you want to ignore them. It's some pretty cool stuff if you've never seen it before." He metaphorically handed the mic over to Lillymon who almost literally spoke into a fake one.
"Alright! Let this pretty girl here tell you about digivolution!" The flower girl said again as she cleared her throat. "There are six technical stages to a Digimon. In-Training 1 and 2. These guys are in the latter there. Rookie, Champion, Ultimate, and Mega! For now though, I'm going to have you guys turn these guys into their Rookie forms!" Lillymon said clapping her hands together. "Now take out your digivices and point it at your Digimon partner! Focus and boom!"
Yumeko pulled out her weird phone thing that was called a Digivice and looked to Kokomon who smiled at her. "I guess I'll try." She pointed it towards Kokomon and closed her eyes, focusing on the device and her digimon, she pour her energy into it and something happened.
"Kokomon, Digivolve to. . ."
What the heck? Yumeko opened her eyes to see Kokomon twirling around and hovering into the air. A weird photo-film type thing came out of her digivice and spun around Kokomon, forming a sort of cacoon around it and then practically shattering! "Tinkermon!" The Digimon said. Except, it wasn't the Kokomon that was there originally. Like, at all. It was a small Fairy girl that was adorable.
Still though, Yumeko could only think one thing. "How adorable!!!" Yumeko ran up and held her in a hug again. The small fairy tapped on her shoulder, trying to get her release her grip some to a minor success. She wasn't being choked now at least. "You guys should try too! I want to see what you all get!"
Lillymon and Flamedramon nodded in agreement with Lillymon continuing her speech. "Yes, it's a good measure of your Digi-Soul or how well you can assist a digimon. Our selector supposedly picks based on how she ranks individual's Digi-Soul measure."
|
Name: Yumeko Yukihara
Gender: Female
Age: 16
Apperance:
Digivice Color Yellow
Personality: Yumeko is a friendly girl albeit a bit aggressive when push comes to shove. She’s not afraid of taking challenges on and sometimes has a hard time knowing when to back off. Most consider her an easy girl to get along with unless you start out on her bad side as she keeps her impressions of people for a long time.
Bio: Yumeko grew up in Tokyo, near Akihabara. She’s never been a stranger to anime and manga since she could easily walk there. She’s made plenty of friends ranging from Otaku to the Overly Popular and bitch School-Girls. She’s also lost plenty of friends from telling off people that insult her other friends. It’s a long tedious cycle that doesn’t matter too much in the long run though.
That said, most of her time at home was spent playing games or surfing the web on her personal computer. She always thought it would be cool to have her own little monster.
Digimon:
In-Training: Kokomon
Rookie: Tinkermon
Champion: Darcmon
Ultimate: Angewomon
Mega: Ophanimon
Extended Mega: Ophanimon Corona Mode
|
5,264
| 140
| 5
| 2,033
| 9,329
|
Rachel Holt
"I could wear less if you want." Rachel replied to Yumeko with a small smile. She did take the jacket though, but didn't seem entirely intent on wearing it. Instead, she stared at the thing as if trying to figure out what to do with it, as if it was some sort of alien instrument of questionable origins and purposes before replying.
"Nah, it's warm out here." She handed the jacket back to Yumeko. Follow that Flaming Dragon guy though? Hrm...seemed like the only option they had here, really. She did press the 'accept' and the document was likely legally binding by some sort of inter-computer-dimensional gods she very would much like to not piss off. So without much more talking, Rachel followed Yumeko inside. The inside of the building looked like something one might find in a hotel or other place that rented rooms for various purposes, and where she met another one of those creatures. Some sort of female plant thing named Lilymon.
Well she guessed even creatures had gender preferences.
Rachel didn't get long to think about the various meanings of the word before four little blob looking things walked...hopping? how were they even moving? She didn't think little legless round blobs could move like that...huh. She didn't have much to say though, as Botamon, the little black one with little round ears on top of it came bouncing over to her, though it ended up messing up a bounce and then faceplanting into the ground in front of Rachel.
The human took a seat on the ground, crossing her legs as she gazed at the black round blob who managed to right itself after a bit of a struggle. While Yumeko cheerfully greeted her digimon, the two of them simply gazed at each other in silence.
Then Botamon Yawned.
Rachel yawned.
Botamon seemed to tilt on its side, as if trying to cock its head in a quizzical manner, a small purr like sound coming from it. Rachel tilted her head silently in the opposite direction. Whatever silent ritual this was seemed to have some form of communication before Botamon spoke.
"Oi, guess for a human ya ain't so bad." It spoke in an...oddly familiar accent Rachel was used to growing up around.
"For a burnt marshmallow you're not so bad either." Rachel replied with her usual small smile, earning a small glare from Botamon.
"Hey! Who ya callin' burnt marshmallow ya cactus nose?" Botamon didn't get much time to further question why they were being called a burnt marshmallow, as Rachel picked it up and...bit its ear. "W-wha?! D-don't eat me you weirdo!" Botamon continued to struggle mostly in vain as Rachel continued to chew silently on its ear. The poor thing looked absolutely terrified before Lilymon started speaking again, causing Rachel to look up and Botamon finally able to free itself from the clutches of its captor.
Digivolve, eh?
"Would you turn into an unburnt marshmallow? Or just a giant burnt marshmallow?" Rachel seemed very intent to think about Botamon as a marshmallow for some reason.
"For the love of tarnation...I'm not a marshmallow! You saphead!" Rachel didn't seem entirely convinced, however, and instead tilted her head quizzically again as if asking 'really?' She wasn't really paying much attention to what the others were saying at this point.
"Ya bet yer britches...er, if you had any, I'm not! Just use that there digivice and I'll show ya I'm not a Marshmallow!" Well, why not? Rachel did just that, and pointed her digivice at the marshmallow. If she was concentrating, it didn't seem like her expression changed much, but there was a definite reaction similar to how Yumeko's was.
"Botamon, Digivolve to...Impmon!"
The process happened quickly, much faster for Rachel to really comment much on. All she did know though, it was that something had replaced the marshmallow with a giant grape flavored...whatever it was.
"See ya dunderhead? Not a marshmallow."
"...Eggplant?" At this Impmon recoiled back in slight shock, and possible slight fear.
"I am not food! Don't even you-!"
Too late, Rachel had already grabbed the digimon and had was holding them in her arms, chewing on its ear. Impmon more or less seemed resigned to its fate, though seemed rather unimpressed with this development.
|
Name:
Rachel Holt
Gender:
Female
Age:
17
Apperance:
Standing at about five foot seven, Rachel has long brown hair with chocolate colored eyes and a fairly pale complexion from days mostly spent indoors. Most often, she wears loose fitting clothes in the range of old faded t-shirts to some fairly surprisingly fashionable stuff - just whatever she feels like wearing at the time. Most of the time she wears loose fitting jeans or shorts if she has to go outside. Inside her own home, well...she doesn't like wearing pants and will often walk around in long stockings and boxers. Most of the time, she wears headphones - or at least has them somewhere near. Most of the time she wears a somewhat languid expression and a small smile.
Digivice Color
Dark Blue
Personality:
Friendly? While not overly so, she's definitely one that'll be friends with just about anyone as long as they aren't irredeemably evil. Rachel takes a pretty lackadaisical approach to life, and a lot of the time comes off as cool, level headed, and calm because of it since she tends to not react too much. She tends to not really worry about most things, and she doesn't like physical exertion or work and often lets things happen as they will.
Of course, she's not above causing some small mischief for fun, and 100% does not mind being dragged along on some mischievous shenanigans.
That said, she has a fairly good head on her shoulders and spends a lot of her free time tinkering with electronics.
Bio:
Country of Origin? Good old USA. State? The middle of nowhere Wyoming. Yep, about as boring of a place as you can get. Her life has been pretty...normal up until now. Nothing remarkable at all, well, aside coming from a fairly well off family. Not rich by any means, but her dad was a fairly successful businessman. Wasn't rich by any means, but they were never hurting for money. So she's had a fairly average, if not very socially active life. Wyoming isn't exactly a happening state, after all and she grew up in a small town. Most of her days were spent either inside tinkering with a computer, or taking a nap outside.
Has a fondness for Horses, and is pretty good at riding them. Growing up next to a ranch with a lot of them, it was easy enough to learn. Doesn't like most other animals though, especially cows. She hates cows. Snakes are cool, though.
Digimon:
In-Training:
Botamon
Rookie:
Impmon
Champion:
Witchmon
Ultimate:
LadyDevimon
Mega:
BeelStarmon
|
5,265
| 140
| 6
| 2,091
| 3,329
|
Arthur Percival
Arthur could barely realize his mistake until it was almost too late. By being courteous he possibly had caused a domino effect which would lead to her probably giving him thanks before continuing into a conversation!
This was not only his first time initiating a conversation with a person of the opposite sex, but what would he say? Panic swiveled in his mind as he began grinding his teeth, his formerly friendly visage turning into fear.
Hrmm... this would be so much easier if they weren't face to face... of course with the two other girls chatting out, they seemed to hit it off pretty well... wait. Was it honestly that simple? Still, the moment he turned his head away was the moment he recalled the shorter glasses girl. He needed an escape AGAIN, but exactly where? Where where... where. The girl with the cap... she made an entirely excellent point!
Before the girl could completely readjust, Arthur was already standing tall once more, giving her a quaint wave. "Er... talk later, curious, bye!" Such a perfect, fragmented sentence as he scurried off behind the girl with panties.
Smooth Arthur... smooth.
Entering the building that Flamedramon mentioned, the place had a receptionist desk and everything, making this place look akin to one of the offices he saw when visiting his mother's. Of course, there were a couple of differences, one being a flower girl sitting at the center of it all. She seemed... chipper. Arthur honestly just glanced at her for two seconds before staring at the pantsless girls... well...
...
The floor seemed to be welcoming his pinkish face before not before red eyes blue dragon decided to usher out some... oh my god.
They. Looked. So. Cute! Honestly he was pretty enamored by how they all looked! Especially the blue one; Arthur decided that it was the most adorable of them all and gave it a light smile. Though one thing caught his attention.
"Er, partner?" Arthur looked up with some wonder in his eyes as he heard each of the names assigned to them. Blinking for a couple of seconds, Arthur watched as the small being that resembled 'Flamedramon' marched up confidently to him. From the aura he was getting, this tiny creature was the opposite of him.
"So you're-" As he meekly spoke, Arthur was immediately cut off by the implausible action of his partner.
"Why yes, I am the great, magnificent, enigmatic, and stupendous DemiVeemon!" Putting a hand on his hip and raising his hand towards the skyline, DemiVeemon struck an incredibly hammy pose which earned it a reclining shy guy and raised eyebrows.
Arthur was also sure he probably just picked random words out of his vocabulary that made him sound like an utter badass. Arthur could only stifle a giggle as he put part of his hand to his mouth, earning a glare from the creature.
"Hey heeeeeeey, who are you laughing at?! It pouted as it stamped it's foot, creasing it's brow... of course, DemiVeemon couldn't exactly express its surprise as it was scooped up like a baby and held in the air. While he was flailing for a bit, he seemed to enjoy it up there.
"Grr, what are y-"
"You are adorable," he whispered, smiling brightly at the digimon. While he liked the praise, it wasn't exactly the type the DemiVeemon wanted. "Grr, hey hey, I am not an 'Adorable,' I am DemiVeemon," it squeaked, only adding more to its charm.
Scrambling out of the boys gentle grip, it hopped on to its head, striking the same pose it had a few seconds ago. During their banter, they sort of... tuned out everyone else for a bit until they saw the shining bright light... which resulted in cap girls chocolate blanket becoming a... fairy.
What.
Arthur briskly turned his head to the girl with a nice butt and watched as she pulled out her device and pointed it at their blob and watched as it became an imp, but not before taking in certain words. Curious, Arthur pulled out his device and aimed it at DemiVeemon who was now laying on top of his head.
"Hah! DemiVeemon, Digivolve to Veemon!" The words of the digimon reverberated, displaying the same bravado and enthusiasm that Arthur had been exhibited prior to entering the Digital World. Suddenly the same white light enveloped the blue blob. And before either party knew it, there were muffled screams coming from beneath Veemons belly.
Veemon quickly dismounted his partners head in horror as it checked to see if Arthur was still functioning.
"... why did I do that," he whimpered, sitting up as he rubbed the side of his face, wincing a little.
"Sorry, but try not to do that when making me 20% cooler! Wouldn't want my partner in crime to get all bruised up before me!" Veemon smirked confidently as it crossed his arms, looking at the now sitting Arthur.
And Percival smiled back.
... heh, to be honest, he did look kinda cool.
|
Name:
Arthur Percival
Gender:
Male
Age:
17
Appearance:
Standing at a height of 180.34 cm/5'11 ft, this tall kid doesn't exactly appear to be the most confident person on the block. Sporting neatly brushed blonde hair and dull hazel eyes, Arthur has a light tan complexion, though it's a little difficult to see the lines around his shoulders and legs. He has an array of blue clothes, ranging in hues; more often than not he will have a white jacket, a striped purple bandanna, a blue scarf, and a dark blue shirt. He usually loses the white jacket and scarf at home. Very seldom does he wear shorts and can often be seen wearing jeans. Another thing that is wrapped around his neck are his headphones; they have cerulean lining.
Digivice Color:
Cyan with a white outline
Personality:
Often kept to himself, Arthur isn't much of a social butterfly, let alone a person who can truly hold a conversation. He is often high-strung when around large groups of people and can end up clamming up if someone attempts to talk to him during this time. Outside of that, if someone does attempt to talk to him, expect it to be one sided with him staring at either his or your feet. Arthur is easily flustered when messed with, especially with the opposite gender. He seems to relax easy when not in the vicinity of immense amounts of people. Times when he really isn't effected by this is when he shoves his headphones on; he doesn't listen to anything, but it's sort of like a night light for him.
In the case that he isn't completely anxious when in small groups of people, or left alone completely. Arthur enjoys this "stillness" of the world, oft donning a smile if the conditions are right. It often gives him some inspiration to conceive new artwork or work on some commissions. On the internet, due to anonymity, he is very much reserved and calm. He feels relieved to hide behind this persona and looks forward to it every day, whilst leaving behind social pressures and expectations set up for him. He is horrible in class discussions, but when testing, it's like he is in his own little world.
Bio:
Arthur's roots date back to England, his country of birth. He lived in a rural area for most of his childhood, being raised by his dad due to not being able to find the right time to spend with his mother. Eventually, they moved away to the US, settling in a large apartment in New York. However, both of his parents ended up divorcing in the long run and ended up being legally tied to his mother. While things were financially stable since she was a lawyer, Arthur wasn't exactly the best at talking with people due to being with no one other than an empty house or teenage babysitter.
He did end up excelling in school but that was due to him pushing himself. When others eventually found out his mom was a graduate of Oxford, well, much higher expectations were set for him from not only his teacher but peers. Arthur would be often treated to embellishments by classmates or the strictness of his teacher. Everyone wanted him to be a lawyer, heck, even his mom wanted him to follow in her footsteps.
Arthur honestly did not know what to do... he just... wanted to draw, heck, maybe be a famous artist some day... probably just a pipe dream for now.
Digimon:
In-Training:
DemiVeemon
Rookie:
Veemon
Champion:
ExVeemon
Ultimate:
Paildramon
Mega:
Imperialdramon
|
5,266
| 140
| 7
| 2,731
| 1,549
|
Harriet Burton
"Uhm, I b-believe these are yours V-Velma." As Harriet continued scrabbling around on the ground in search of he glasses, she became aware of someone standing over her. She glanced up to see a boy - about her age, maybe a little older? - extending his arm out to her. Clutched in his hand were his glasses.
Blushing slightly at being found crawling around on the floor like a child, Harriet quickly mumbled a "Thanks" as she took the glasses from his hand and placed them back on her nose. The world suddenly came back into focus, and the once blurry shapes were restored to their rightful forms.
Much better.
Harriet quickly pushed herself back to her feet, dusting off her skirt and cardigan before glancing back at the boy who had helped her. Now that she was able to see him properly, she realised that he wasn't all that bad looking, which made her feel even more embarrassed about being found crawling on the floor by him. She opened her mouth in an attempt to say something, though what she had no idea, but before she could formulate any words, the boy suddenly looked panicked. He gave Harriet a wave before quickly saying "Er... talk later, curious, bye!" and running off in the direction the rest of the group.
Well... that was weird. Did she do something wrong? Was her face covered in dirt or something? Self-consciously, she wiped at her face with one hand. When she looked at her hand and saw no dirt on it, she wondered if she smelled bad. Or maybe her hair was a mess. Or maybe her cardigan had lost a button. After standing there for a moment considering all the possible reasons the boy had ran away from her, she realised the group were a little ahead of her. Snapping out of her thoughts, she quickly ran after them as they entered the strange building nearby.
Surprisingly, Harriet didn't seem at all weirded out by the odd creatures that the group came across as they walked, like the blue lizard guy they were following or the flower chick. Sure, it was weird, but considering she had just been swallowed by her computer monitor and ended up in a strange place with a group of random kids, she didn't feel like she should be surprised anymore. Then again, the panic could simply be building up inside of her, waiting to have a delayed, larger reaction. That was possible too, but at the moment she felt eerily calm, like she was in a dream where weird stuff just happened and you just kind of took it in your stride.
The flower chick, Lillymon as she called herself, introduced the group to some creatures that looked like a bunch of stuffed animals. Each of the creatures hopped towards one of the kids, with Lillymon saying that each of these little critters were their partners. The boy who had helped Harriet received a small blue guy, which was the only one of these little critters to have actual limbs and not just be a bouncing and head. Two of the other kids, who were both girls, got a chocolate brown creature and a fuzzy black creature. The first girl was attempting to squeeze the life out of her partner, while the second attempted to... eat hers. Harriet frowned, but decided not to comment. Maybe the girl was just really hungry?
Harriet then turned her attention to the final creature, who she assumed was her partner. Of the critters they had just met, it was the fluffiest, even possessing a puffy tail that reminded somewhat of a raccoon. It also wore a rather strange metal helmet upon its head, which made Harriet a little nervous about approaching it. Apparently, it must have felt the same because, after seeing how the other two girls had reacted to meeting its partner, it sort of just sat there, glancing between the other girls and Harriet. Sensing the creature's fear, Harriet gathered up her courage and approached it, crouching down so they were more eye-level with each other.
Harriet gave an nervous smile. "Hey," she said gently. "My name's Harriet."
The purple critter looked up at her with wide eyes before glancing down at the floor. "K-kapurimon," he muttered quietly. He shifted his weight awkwardly from side to side. Hoping to break the tension, Harriet place a hand on the creature's helmet. He looked up at her again, a small blush appearing on his cheeks, before looking down at the ground again.
Lillymon then spoke again, this time talking about something called... digivolving? Harriet wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but when the other three kids tried it, it seemed to transform their partners into larger, stronger forms. The boy's little blue friend became a slightly larger blue creature, though this time looking a little more reptilian than before. The brown creature became a small pixie, and the black cushion became an impish creature. Harriet looked back at Kapurimon, who was staring at the other Digimon with awe.
"Guess I'll try this out," Harriet muttered, standing up straight. She searched her pockets for that phone device she had gotten before coming here. She found it in her left pocket, and was a little surprised she hadn't lost it in the commotion outside. She then pointed it at Kapurimon, who was now looking up at her cautiously, and tried to focus. There was a moment where nothing happened, and for a second, Harriet wondered if she was doing something wrong. Then, a weird light came out of her 'phone' and started coiling around Kapurimon. The little creature looked panicked for a second before he was enveloped completely by the light. She then heard his voice echoing from the bright cacoon.
"K-kapurimon digivolved to..." The light rippled slightly, as if something was shifting from within. "ToyAgumon!" The light gave another ripple before dimming and dispelling. When it was clear, Kapurimon was gone and instead, in his place was a different creature.
The new creature blinked a few times, as if his eyes were taking some time to adjust. "W-what happened? W-what do I look like?" He looked up at Harriet worriedly.
"Errr..." Harriet took a moment, not sure what to say, before eventually finding her voice. "You look... like you're made of Lego."
ToyAgumon frowned, and made as if he was trying to tilt his head... which looked a little weird given the stiff state of his body. "What's... Lego?"
Harriet tried to think of the best way to describe. "They're, err, kind of these building blocks that you can join together to make stuff..." She then paused, realising something. "Actually, that makes me wonder..." Without hesitating, she grabbed at ToyAgumon's hand, which was just a single grey Lego piece, and, before the creature could react, pulled it off.
ToyAgumon didn't react right away, just staring at his hand now in the girl's palm. When he did though, he gave a loud shout. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"Huh," Harriet said, completely unphased by her partner's screaming. "I was right. It is detachable."
"YOU PULLED OFF MY HAND!" ToyAgumon shouted, waving his handless arm around. "YOU PULLED IT OFF! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"
Suddenly realising her partner's distress, Harriet blinked and then quickly gasped. "Oh God, I am so sorry!" Quickly, she grabbed his arm. "Hold still!"
"No!" ToyAgumon started flailing about. "You'll make it worse!" He tried to run away, but Harriet tackled him, all the while he was just thrashing about and screaming like a child throwing a tantrum.
After cradling him in her arms like a baby, Harriet eventually managed to re-attached his hand. "There!" she gave a triumphant shout. She let her partner go and ToyAgumon quickly scrambled out of her arms. "That wasn't so bad."
ToyAgumon glared up at her before looking down at his arm. He then frowned, putting his two hands together before pulling his left hand off again. "Huh..." he said. He put his hand back on again, and then shook his arm around.
Slowly, Harriet approached him, crouching down next to him. "See?"
"That's weird," ToyAgumon said, pulling off his hand again. "But kind of cool."
|
Name:
Harriet Burton
Gender:
Female
Age:
16
Appearance:
Digivice Color:
Green.
Personality:
Harriet is something of a neurotic. Her response to new situations is usually a mixture of fascination, excitement and anxiety, and given that she's lived a pretty sheltered reaction up until this point, that's her response to most things. When her anxiety kicks in, it usually manifests in a hyperactive persona, with Harriet often speaking very quickly and with very through pauses in between, constantly alternating between moods and very rarely picking up social cues. As you can imagine, she doesn't handle stress well. You can tell when she's calm because that will actually be when she speaks the least, simply enjoying the company of those she's with or getting lost in her own thoughts. When she's not freaking out, she can actually be quite the capable thinker, and enjoys solving puzzles and figuring out the solutions to logical problems. This is when she's her most confident, though if she finds herself struggling to find the answer, this could lead to greater stress.
Bio:
Harriet lives in London, England, and has lived there all of her life. She's lived a pretty comfortable life with both her parents, who are incredibly supportive, and her younger brother, who spends most of his time locked away in his bedroom on the computer and doesn't really bother her anyway. She's got a group of friends who she hangs out with at school, but she rarely hangs out with them outside of school, preferring to stay home reading or spending time with her family. However, a part of her wanted something more from her life, wanted to pursue something more interesting, but was too afraid to do so. That's when she recieved a mysterious email...
Digimon:
In-Training: Kapurimon
Rookie: ToyAgumon
Champion: FlameRizamon
Ultimate: Megadramon
Mega: Machinedramon
|
5,267
| 140
| 8
| 1,895
| 2,726
|
Yumeko watched in awe as the others digivolved their digimon too. Tinkermon, meanwhile, found a comfortable place on Yume's shoulder. A toy dinosaur, an imp looking thing and an even bigger blue thing that looked like Flamedramon. "Every looks so cool." Yume was amazed that everything looked so cool. That said, she had the cutest of them all. "So, there are more forms for them? Yumeko ask Lillymon.
"Yep! But those will come later when both you and your digimon partners are stronger." Lillymon replied excitedly still. She hnd happily enjoyed all the exchange between the humans and the digimon as she watched from behind the counter and especially laughed when Harriet pulled off Toyagumon's hand. "Let me go find the selector really quick, I'm sure she'll be all too happy to see you all." Lillymon said before leaving through the door behind the counter.
Flamedramon watched as she left and turned back to the tamers. "You four are actually pretty strong, considering you all just made them turn to their rookie forms immediately." He commented. "I see you all going far in the Bureau. . ." He stopped for a little bit and looked back through the door, not seeing anyone, he continued again. "While we're waiting, let me tell you this. You were all selected to join the Bureau to help solve problems on this side, as our world directly interferes with yours and vice-versa. I think you all will do well enough though." The Blue Lizard-man gave a smile and a nod.
About that time, Lillymon came back through the door with her usual smile and took her spot behind the counter. "She's coming." Was all she said before some sounds echoed down a hallway right next to where the counter was. Soon enough something came into view. To most, the word to describe it would be "Creepy." It was fashioned in mostly red, though there were some purple stripes on the bottom half of the creature and six legs. Six spidery legs. "Here she is."
The creature spoke up in a feminine voice, though her voice sounded like it went through a voice changer to give it an echoing sound in her throat. "Oh my, they're here already? Much quicker than I anticipated! Well, I'm glad to have you all here with us!" She said as she went to hug Yume. "I'm Arukenimon, it's nice to meet you all finally."
Yume wasn't sure how to react. . . She didn't seem hostile at all. A little more on the monsterous side than other digimon so far. At least, she just assumed the woman-like spider creature was a digimon. She released Yume and went on to the others, hugging them in turn. When she was finished, she would return to a spot near the hallway that spawned her. Flamedramon spoke up again, "I believe that's all for that. We'll get your first mission together for you all, but if you have questions for us now would be the time to ask. Otherwise, go ahead and hea outside and get to know each other. I don't think you've all done that yet really."
|
Name: Yumeko Yukihara
Gender: Female
Age: 16
Apperance:
Digivice Color Yellow
Personality: Yumeko is a friendly girl albeit a bit aggressive when push comes to shove. She’s not afraid of taking challenges on and sometimes has a hard time knowing when to back off. Most consider her an easy girl to get along with unless you start out on her bad side as she keeps her impressions of people for a long time.
Bio: Yumeko grew up in Tokyo, near Akihabara. She’s never been a stranger to anime and manga since she could easily walk there. She’s made plenty of friends ranging from Otaku to the Overly Popular and bitch School-Girls. She’s also lost plenty of friends from telling off people that insult her other friends. It’s a long tedious cycle that doesn’t matter too much in the long run though.
That said, most of her time at home was spent playing games or surfing the web on her personal computer. She always thought it would be cool to have her own little monster.
Digimon:
In-Training: Kokomon
Rookie: Tinkermon
Champion: Darcmon
Ultimate: Angewomon
Mega: Ophanimon
Extended Mega: Ophanimon Corona Mode
|
5,268
| 140
| 9
| 2,033
| 9,329
|
Rachel Holt
Rachel, for the most part didn't seem to take too much interest in Harriet's Toy Agumon or Arthur's DemiVeemon. After all, little Impmon was the cutest thing in existence to her, and not just because he was being fun to mess with. She was too busy thinking about the 'more forms' Lillymon had mentioned. Still holding tightly to Impmon who had for the most part decided being held wasn't so bad, she looked down at the small digimon.
"...so you'll turn into something else delicious?" She asked, tilting her head. Impmon looked up at Rachel with obvious annoyance.
"For the love blazes-look here ya addle-head. How many times do I gotta say I ain't food?"
"...Cherry."
"What?"
"Cherries. I want one now. Come on, turn into one." Rachel said, looking mildly upset there weren't any in the immediate vicinity she could grab. Impmon seemed just glad she had taken an interest in not chewing on his ear, protesting lightly that was not how digivolution worked. She didn't let him go though, but she had taken an interest in at least taking a look around the place just as Lillymon went to go fetch the 'selector' and Flamedramon started saying something about them solving problems for them.
...well that was a problem. Rachel raised her hand to get his attention.
"What if we're really lazy?" Not that she was all that lazy, but she wasn't exactly inclined to work on something regardless. Not unless it was computers or something. Before she could get an answer though, before Lillymon came back and introduced them to their selector. Despite her probably creepiness, she wasn't exactly one to freak out over a spider. The spider lady - Arukenimon - seemed friendly enough. So much so she went around and gave them all hugs. Rachel accepted it without much struggle, though Impmon took the opportunity to finally struggle free from Rachel dropping down on the floor and dusting themselves off. When done, and Arukenimon had let Rachel go, he looked up at her with a small glare. With a quiet grunt, he walked out of the building, intent on putting some distance away from Rachel it seemed.
|
Name:
Rachel Holt
Gender:
Female
Age:
17
Apperance:
Standing at about five foot seven, Rachel has long brown hair with chocolate colored eyes and a fairly pale complexion from days mostly spent indoors. Most often, she wears loose fitting clothes in the range of old faded t-shirts to some fairly surprisingly fashionable stuff - just whatever she feels like wearing at the time. Most of the time she wears loose fitting jeans or shorts if she has to go outside. Inside her own home, well...she doesn't like wearing pants and will often walk around in long stockings and boxers. Most of the time, she wears headphones - or at least has them somewhere near. Most of the time she wears a somewhat languid expression and a small smile.
Digivice Color
Dark Blue
Personality:
Friendly? While not overly so, she's definitely one that'll be friends with just about anyone as long as they aren't irredeemably evil. Rachel takes a pretty lackadaisical approach to life, and a lot of the time comes off as cool, level headed, and calm because of it since she tends to not react too much. She tends to not really worry about most things, and she doesn't like physical exertion or work and often lets things happen as they will.
Of course, she's not above causing some small mischief for fun, and 100% does not mind being dragged along on some mischievous shenanigans.
That said, she has a fairly good head on her shoulders and spends a lot of her free time tinkering with electronics.
Bio:
Country of Origin? Good old USA. State? The middle of nowhere Wyoming. Yep, about as boring of a place as you can get. Her life has been pretty...normal up until now. Nothing remarkable at all, well, aside coming from a fairly well off family. Not rich by any means, but her dad was a fairly successful businessman. Wasn't rich by any means, but they were never hurting for money. So she's had a fairly average, if not very socially active life. Wyoming isn't exactly a happening state, after all and she grew up in a small town. Most of her days were spent either inside tinkering with a computer, or taking a nap outside.
Has a fondness for Horses, and is pretty good at riding them. Growing up next to a ranch with a lot of them, it was easy enough to learn. Doesn't like most other animals though, especially cows. She hates cows. Snakes are cool, though.
Digimon:
In-Training:
Botamon
Rookie:
Impmon
Champion:
Witchmon
Ultimate:
LadyDevimon
Mega:
BeelStarmon
|
5,269
| 140
| 10
| 2,091
| 3,329
|
Arthur Percival
As the duo bonded without words, that sudden scream visibly caused both of them to recoil. Arthur fearfully positioned himself away from the shrieking, shuddering in the process. Veemon... was a little more disturbed by the whole event as he looked on with wide eyes and a hand covering his mouth. As the blue dragon remained stunned and stone-like, Arthur slowly began to turn around... only to find the cute chick with spectacles holding a large Lego chunk... with a Lego digimon screaming in complete agony.
Arthur managed to calm down relatively quickly, though it probably had to do with how hilarious this situation looked to the artist. Looking down at his partner, he found the blue creature to be worried from what he discerned. Sure, he appeared calm down but it was plain to the eye that Veemon was uncomfortable due to the way it was grasping it's wrist.
"Erm, Veemon," Arthur silently piped up, managing to garner the digimons mainly through kneeling and tapping his shoulder. The blue dragon stopped holding his wrist and immediately pivoted to face the blonde boy, putting on a bravado with a smug smile.
"Hmm? Let me guess - bothered by that little event? Dontcha worry, I'm not bothered by that, so no need to worry!"
As Veemon jabbed a thumb at its chest, Arthur felt the hammy nature combined with other aspects made it a little too obvious that he was freaked out. Arthur slowly placed his hand onto the Veemons head and gave him a gentle pat... hopefully that would reassure him.
... well, he appeared to be truly returning back to his prior personality, via, the crossed arms and frown. Arthur giggled a little bit, but not before completely stopping and turning his attention to Flamedramon who announced that they were rather strong tamers.
... strong? Arthur didn't know about the others, but he just stared at his feet the whole time until the explanation begin over why they were there. That's when he perked up and began listening, somewhat feeling forced to...
... so wait, they were basically chosen to focus on problems in the digital world that would directly impact the real world if not taken care of... Arthur put a hand up to his temple, rubbing and brushing his hair out of the way. "Are these guys seriously not 'programmed' to lie," he pondered to himself... then again this situation was too far fetched to see coming...
Regardless, after the question(s), a large, oversized red widow spider traversed into the room. While she was peculiar, Arthur wasn't perturbed by this... it was the actual PHYSICAL CONTACT. Even he wasn't this intimate with his own mother, so Arthur just stood there, frozen to the touch.
After that, he let out an exasperated sigh, lessening his tense self as he grabbed both his arms, blushing a little... Arukenimon, eh? She seemed quite affable! Finishing up the introduction to the selector, Flamedramon spoke of something quite dreaded.
Face to face interaction... one guy, three girls... please no...
... well he was curious about... well... all of this information dumped on him; forms, their reason for being chosen, etc.
But that would require face to f-
Shut up.
"Uhm, F-Flamedramon I've got a couple," Arthur stumbled as he raised his own voice to talk as he trudged forward towards the lizard. "W-what do you mean about forms?" Before he could lead into the second statement, Veemon interjected.
"Wait, whaaaaaat?! You didn't catch that explanation?" How could someone if they were too focused on the removal of a limb, followed by screaming and silence? "Well, the more I battle, the more amazing I become!"
Well, that seemed simple enough he guessed... "Thanks Veemon," he replied with a chuckled as his partner raised it's arms into the air, fist bumping the nothingness.
"Er, uh, anyways, th-the two other questions are... how will p-problems here effect our life in the real world... e-xample-wise... and how do we exactly return home? I assume doing the whole d-digital gate thing I did prior to entering should suffice, right?"
|
Name:
Arthur Percival
Gender:
Male
Age:
17
Appearance:
Standing at a height of 180.34 cm/5'11 ft, this tall kid doesn't exactly appear to be the most confident person on the block. Sporting neatly brushed blonde hair and dull hazel eyes, Arthur has a light tan complexion, though it's a little difficult to see the lines around his shoulders and legs. He has an array of blue clothes, ranging in hues; more often than not he will have a white jacket, a striped purple bandanna, a blue scarf, and a dark blue shirt. He usually loses the white jacket and scarf at home. Very seldom does he wear shorts and can often be seen wearing jeans. Another thing that is wrapped around his neck are his headphones; they have cerulean lining.
Digivice Color:
Cyan with a white outline
Personality:
Often kept to himself, Arthur isn't much of a social butterfly, let alone a person who can truly hold a conversation. He is often high-strung when around large groups of people and can end up clamming up if someone attempts to talk to him during this time. Outside of that, if someone does attempt to talk to him, expect it to be one sided with him staring at either his or your feet. Arthur is easily flustered when messed with, especially with the opposite gender. He seems to relax easy when not in the vicinity of immense amounts of people. Times when he really isn't effected by this is when he shoves his headphones on; he doesn't listen to anything, but it's sort of like a night light for him.
In the case that he isn't completely anxious when in small groups of people, or left alone completely. Arthur enjoys this "stillness" of the world, oft donning a smile if the conditions are right. It often gives him some inspiration to conceive new artwork or work on some commissions. On the internet, due to anonymity, he is very much reserved and calm. He feels relieved to hide behind this persona and looks forward to it every day, whilst leaving behind social pressures and expectations set up for him. He is horrible in class discussions, but when testing, it's like he is in his own little world.
Bio:
Arthur's roots date back to England, his country of birth. He lived in a rural area for most of his childhood, being raised by his dad due to not being able to find the right time to spend with his mother. Eventually, they moved away to the US, settling in a large apartment in New York. However, both of his parents ended up divorcing in the long run and ended up being legally tied to his mother. While things were financially stable since she was a lawyer, Arthur wasn't exactly the best at talking with people due to being with no one other than an empty house or teenage babysitter.
He did end up excelling in school but that was due to him pushing himself. When others eventually found out his mom was a graduate of Oxford, well, much higher expectations were set for him from not only his teacher but peers. Arthur would be often treated to embellishments by classmates or the strictness of his teacher. Everyone wanted him to be a lawyer, heck, even his mom wanted him to follow in her footsteps.
Arthur honestly did not know what to do... he just... wanted to draw, heck, maybe be a famous artist some day... probably just a pipe dream for now.
Digimon:
In-Training:
DemiVeemon
Rookie:
Veemon
Champion:
ExVeemon
Ultimate:
Paildramon
Mega:
Imperialdramon
|
5,270
| 140
| 11
| 1,895
| 2,726
|
Flamedramon took their questions and quickly formulated responses for them. Two questions there were, but they had the same ending so that made it easier on him. "It's pretty simple, really." He said, looking at Rachel at first. "You leave if you don't want to do this. . . Though you clicked 'accept' on the message so we thought it was safe to assume that you were fine with it. Not to mention you opened the Digital Gate here yourself." He then looked over a Arthur, "And that leads directly into your question. You leave the same way you came in. Through the Digital Gate out there to the real world, thought your Digimon partners can't leave here. We're all just data, so outside 'the Server' we don't have bodies. You can hold their data in your Digivices though. . . If you want to take them to the Human World."
He looked at Yume, seemingly asking if she had a question, to which she shook her head, saying no. Then he looked over to Harriet who didn't seem to any either. "Alright then. I'm hoping you all stay with us to help, but if you decide to leave and not come back. . . Well, your digimon will stay behind and you'll forget this ever happened so it'll be as if nothing ever happened. That said, you should be go and talk with one another. There's a small fountain area with some benches if you want to go there."
Lillymon spoke up in her chipper-tone, "Someone will come get you when we have something for you to do. I think you all will have fun with this. You won't regret it." She gave them a wave goodbye. Arukenimon did so as well and the group of eight were effectively rushed out so they could talk. Yume couldn't help but wonder about all of the others with her. There was the one guy in the group and he looked somewhat shy. The girl with just a shirt. . . Well, she seemed tired. It would explain why she only had that on. . . The last girl was a little nerdy looking, though in a cute way if it needed to be described.
Tinkermon spoke up, "Well, I know where the fountain is. It's just over here, we have to go onto that paved path there." The small fairy pointed toward a paved path on the otherside of the building they were currently at. Yume nodded and went quietly and the group, if they decided to all go, would have have followed a small path to the other side of the Tamer's Union. It soon led into a small fountain plaza with a fountain one could likely wade in if they really wanted and had two tiers of spouts. There were a number of benches that surrounded the fountain itself. Yume stood there looking at the fountain before turning to the others.
"Well, this is a weird situation, but I'm going to make the best of it and enjoy this world on Summer Break. I don't think I have anything better to do." She had a look of confidence on her face as she looked into the eyes of the others. "I might as well introduce myself again. My name is Yumeko Yukihara! I'm Japanese and my partner is Tinkermon. It's a pleasure to meet you all. Hope we can all get along."
|
Name: Yumeko Yukihara
Gender: Female
Age: 16
Apperance:
Digivice Color Yellow
Personality: Yumeko is a friendly girl albeit a bit aggressive when push comes to shove. She’s not afraid of taking challenges on and sometimes has a hard time knowing when to back off. Most consider her an easy girl to get along with unless you start out on her bad side as she keeps her impressions of people for a long time.
Bio: Yumeko grew up in Tokyo, near Akihabara. She’s never been a stranger to anime and manga since she could easily walk there. She’s made plenty of friends ranging from Otaku to the Overly Popular and bitch School-Girls. She’s also lost plenty of friends from telling off people that insult her other friends. It’s a long tedious cycle that doesn’t matter too much in the long run though.
That said, most of her time at home was spent playing games or surfing the web on her personal computer. She always thought it would be cool to have her own little monster.
Digimon:
In-Training: Kokomon
Rookie: Tinkermon
Champion: Darcmon
Ultimate: Angewomon
Mega: Ophanimon
Extended Mega: Ophanimon Corona Mode
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Rachel Holt
Well that sounded like a lot less work...but also a lot less fun. Hrm. Well, what the hell. It happened, might as well go with it. Besides, she didn't wanna give up Impmon. Idea rejected. She was staying. No sense in not staying, after all. She was already here and she didn't want to anger the Computer gods. She didn't want ten years of her computers spontaneously combusting. That would be a fate worse then death.
So for now, Rachel followed Yume and Tinkermon. Might as well say hi to her future comrades. Impmon had already decided to head to the fountain, and was leaning against it, arms folded and wearing a small smirk, likely in an effort to look 'cool'. The success of which, Rachel had to debate, but she didn't say anything for now. Her focus was entirely on Yume and Tinkermon for now. Yume of which, introduced herself again along with Tinkermon. Summer break? Oh yeah, it was summer, wasn't it? That would explain the sudden lack of school activities.
"Rachel," She replied with a half-lidded, tired seeming gaze as she looked over to Tinkermon. It looked like she was contemplating some sort of mystery as she gazed at the fairy creature, but quickly turned back to Yume, seemingly satisfied with her conclusion on whatever mystery she was contemplating. "I was just sitting at the computer at home...alone...so I guess I have nothing better to do either. About this time, Impmon walked up giving everyone a confident smirk.
"The names Impmon! Guess you could say I'm the brains here. This saphead's dumber than a bag 'o rocks."
"...you're the one who doesn't know what a marshmallow is."
"I know what a damn marshmallow is! It's not me!"
"Right, you're an eggplant."
Impmon facepalmed, seeming more than a little annoyed.
|
Name:
Rachel Holt
Gender:
Female
Age:
17
Apperance:
Standing at about five foot seven, Rachel has long brown hair with chocolate colored eyes and a fairly pale complexion from days mostly spent indoors. Most often, she wears loose fitting clothes in the range of old faded t-shirts to some fairly surprisingly fashionable stuff - just whatever she feels like wearing at the time. Most of the time she wears loose fitting jeans or shorts if she has to go outside. Inside her own home, well...she doesn't like wearing pants and will often walk around in long stockings and boxers. Most of the time, she wears headphones - or at least has them somewhere near. Most of the time she wears a somewhat languid expression and a small smile.
Digivice Color
Dark Blue
Personality:
Friendly? While not overly so, she's definitely one that'll be friends with just about anyone as long as they aren't irredeemably evil. Rachel takes a pretty lackadaisical approach to life, and a lot of the time comes off as cool, level headed, and calm because of it since she tends to not react too much. She tends to not really worry about most things, and she doesn't like physical exertion or work and often lets things happen as they will.
Of course, she's not above causing some small mischief for fun, and 100% does not mind being dragged along on some mischievous shenanigans.
That said, she has a fairly good head on her shoulders and spends a lot of her free time tinkering with electronics.
Bio:
Country of Origin? Good old USA. State? The middle of nowhere Wyoming. Yep, about as boring of a place as you can get. Her life has been pretty...normal up until now. Nothing remarkable at all, well, aside coming from a fairly well off family. Not rich by any means, but her dad was a fairly successful businessman. Wasn't rich by any means, but they were never hurting for money. So she's had a fairly average, if not very socially active life. Wyoming isn't exactly a happening state, after all and she grew up in a small town. Most of her days were spent either inside tinkering with a computer, or taking a nap outside.
Has a fondness for Horses, and is pretty good at riding them. Growing up next to a ranch with a lot of them, it was easy enough to learn. Doesn't like most other animals though, especially cows. She hates cows. Snakes are cool, though.
Digimon:
In-Training:
Botamon
Rookie:
Impmon
Champion:
Witchmon
Ultimate:
LadyDevimon
Mega:
BeelStarmon
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Arthur Percival
As the duo received their answer, Arthur couldn't help but ponder on if they were downplaying the problems at hand. Looking up into the digital ceiling, he could only think about how powerful this information could be in the wrong hands. He could only mentally digest this, his mind devolving into turmoil. There were four of them and not one truly knew about each other or their own agenda. As he blankly stared upwards, he made his final decision.
Arthur was going to stay; he had to... as nervous as he was, he couldn't help but feel a bit responsible for this all as he continued to stand there, unmoving.
"Hey, hey! Hello, world to partner!" suddenly, his trance was shattered as he blinked for a moment before timidly turning his head down to look at the blue dragon who stopped waving upon making eye contact.
"Oh, uhm... sorry, spaced out a bit," he mumbled, tapping his two index fingers together. After that, Veemon pointed to the Lilymon who was speaking about getting the band of four prepared for a mission. Afterwards, the much more mature looking digital monsters dispersed from the area, leaving Arthur with him and the other girls partners... other... ladies...
... why?
Not really feeling like talking and making a fool out of himself, he just stood there, hoping they would leave and forget about him... but it turns out that wouldn't be the case as he felt his wrist being tugged on and his feet being forced to move so he wouldn't fall all over himself.
"Hey come on! I'm interested in meeting everyone else as much as you are," Veemon explained as he half-dragged Arthur for a brief moment before Arthur dug his heels into the digital earth, barely managing to get his headstrong ally to come to a halt. After a few more vain attempts to yank him along, Veemon finally got the message to stop forcing and stared up at him with a quizzical look.
"Come on dude, what gives?" Nervously frowning and looking away, Arthur didn't exactly know how to explain his dilemma as he stared at the two chicks as they traversed closer to the fountain. After looking somewhere, Veemon snapped his fingers getting his attention once more. "Why are you staring down there, I'm right here."
"Uh... uhm..." Arthur couldn't help but blush lightly due to the multitude of things he saw and reasons for why he lacked the courage to have any proper social interaction. "I... I," he stumbled for a moment, "I don't know how to t-talk-"
"Oh, I getcha! You're a shy guy eh?" The Veemon put a hand to his chin as he began walking around, inspecting the boy with his large red eyes. Arthur couldn't help but be confused by this scenario... was he just trying to size him up?
"Welp, enough dawdling, let's go!" Veemon gave him a quick shove to the legs to get him to proceed, only to almost crumple onto the blue dragon. Arthur was pretty sure he wasn't taking no for an answer given that when he tried to object, the solution was "You won't get over being bashful if you don't chat! Come on!"
... upon arrival, he couldn't help but feel awkward, putting a hand onto the anterior of his arm, squeezing it. Of course, the blue dragon was front and center and was being equally attentive as Arthur, surprisingly. Despite the blonde youth looking out of the way, he was paying attention to introductions.
Yume and Tinkermon, eh? Japanese? He thought she looked a little Asian... she didn't look half bad and he found the cap to fit her style. The next was Rachel and Impmon, one of which appeared to be drowsy, leaning between the recesses of reality and dreams. Of course, the playful banter managed to garner his attention.
After that it was... his... turn... uhm... what was he supposed to say? He turned his head up, staring into nothingness with the blue dragon staring up at him expectingly, before shrugging with a sigh. Stretching, the creature did a front flip, barely managing the landing on to the edge of the fountain. Swiftly, pivoting around, Veemon struck a pose, his fist shooting high into the sky.
"Heh, well I'm the all powerful, magnificent Veemon! A pleasure, to meet you all," he put a hand on his chest as the other hand began to unfurl as he gave a bow with the toothiest grin Arthur had ever seen. Hoping off the fountain, Veemon dashed behind Arthur with a glint of mischief and shoved his legs.
Arthur, almost ended up falling onto his back again, if not for Veemon who immediately countered with shoving him up, causing him to stumble forward, getting closer to the girls... and making a fool out of himself.
Excellent.
"Uhm, uh," he mumbled for a moment, struggling to collect himself as he... stared at the floor, yeah... Clearing his throat, he raised his head a little higher to the two. "M-my n-name is... uh... Ah-ah..." He bit his tongue, unable to spit it out before getting a harsh slap to the back. "Arthur!"
He did it? There was some giggling behind him, which gave him a hint to the perp... still, that wasn't so bad? He still liked texting back and forth, despite the fact that he and his one friend were two feet apart. "B-born in En-ehuhm... artist," it all went back to an anxious, shriveled whisper, though something else was bothering him.
Turning his head up, he actually looked over at Rachel, lightly blushing a little. "Uh... R-rach, y-you w-were in fr-front of a c-computer... and l-lacking p-pants... wh-what w-were you p-pla... hngg..." This was all the embarrassment he could usher in and all the courage he could muster as he was reduced to a blushing mess, staring down on Rachel as he twiddled his thumbs...
Why did he do this?
|
Name:
Arthur Percival
Gender:
Male
Age:
17
Appearance:
Standing at a height of 180.34 cm/5'11 ft, this tall kid doesn't exactly appear to be the most confident person on the block. Sporting neatly brushed blonde hair and dull hazel eyes, Arthur has a light tan complexion, though it's a little difficult to see the lines around his shoulders and legs. He has an array of blue clothes, ranging in hues; more often than not he will have a white jacket, a striped purple bandanna, a blue scarf, and a dark blue shirt. He usually loses the white jacket and scarf at home. Very seldom does he wear shorts and can often be seen wearing jeans. Another thing that is wrapped around his neck are his headphones; they have cerulean lining.
Digivice Color:
Cyan with a white outline
Personality:
Often kept to himself, Arthur isn't much of a social butterfly, let alone a person who can truly hold a conversation. He is often high-strung when around large groups of people and can end up clamming up if someone attempts to talk to him during this time. Outside of that, if someone does attempt to talk to him, expect it to be one sided with him staring at either his or your feet. Arthur is easily flustered when messed with, especially with the opposite gender. He seems to relax easy when not in the vicinity of immense amounts of people. Times when he really isn't effected by this is when he shoves his headphones on; he doesn't listen to anything, but it's sort of like a night light for him.
In the case that he isn't completely anxious when in small groups of people, or left alone completely. Arthur enjoys this "stillness" of the world, oft donning a smile if the conditions are right. It often gives him some inspiration to conceive new artwork or work on some commissions. On the internet, due to anonymity, he is very much reserved and calm. He feels relieved to hide behind this persona and looks forward to it every day, whilst leaving behind social pressures and expectations set up for him. He is horrible in class discussions, but when testing, it's like he is in his own little world.
Bio:
Arthur's roots date back to England, his country of birth. He lived in a rural area for most of his childhood, being raised by his dad due to not being able to find the right time to spend with his mother. Eventually, they moved away to the US, settling in a large apartment in New York. However, both of his parents ended up divorcing in the long run and ended up being legally tied to his mother. While things were financially stable since she was a lawyer, Arthur wasn't exactly the best at talking with people due to being with no one other than an empty house or teenage babysitter.
He did end up excelling in school but that was due to him pushing himself. When others eventually found out his mom was a graduate of Oxford, well, much higher expectations were set for him from not only his teacher but peers. Arthur would be often treated to embellishments by classmates or the strictness of his teacher. Everyone wanted him to be a lawyer, heck, even his mom wanted him to follow in her footsteps.
Arthur honestly did not know what to do... he just... wanted to draw, heck, maybe be a famous artist some day... probably just a pipe dream for now.
Digimon:
In-Training:
DemiVeemon
Rookie:
Veemon
Champion:
ExVeemon
Ultimate:
Paildramon
Mega:
Imperialdramon
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5,273
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| 0
| 1,111
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ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ | ᴀ ᴅ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ᴜ ʀ ᴇ | ᴀ ɪ ʀ s ʜ ɪ ᴘ s
ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ᴘ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ɪ - Iɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ Bʀᴇᴀᴄʜ
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If the sky is his home, Zephyrus Duchamps wants to know every inch of it.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
ＮＡＭＥ
——————————Zephyrus Duchamps
↳ "Zephyr" or "Zeph"
ＡＧＥ
————————Twenty-Nine
ＧＥＮＤＥＲ
———————————————Male
ＰＬＡＣＥ ＯＦ ＯＲＩＧＩＮ
———————————————————————————————————Taureau – An island colony on the fringes of The Archipelago with a primarily agricultural community. It has fertile, flat lands and is wide enough for several hamlets. Because of it's prime positioning and ripe resources, it is frequently the target of pirates and pillagers. Zephyr has not seen it in many years, as even after competing in The Emerald Tournament, he did not feel the need to return to his former home.
ＡＰＰＥＡＲＡＮＣＥ
—————————————————————————Standing at about 5'5", Zephyr is a striking figure with sharp, boyish features that have people pin his age as younger than he actually is. Despite his smaller than average height, his build betrays an impressive level of fitness –– lean, broad-shouldered, and the perfect person to do some heavy-lifting. He seems to carry himself with an air of good cheer, and it is a rare occasion when his toothy grin is not present.
Zephyr's most prominent feature, much to his dismay, is his patchwork skin. Though his natural skin tone seems to be a shade of medium brown, he is covered in mottled pale patches –– a condition that the world-wise Madame Le Fèvre calls 'vitiligo'. It is for this that he was chosen as a competitor rather than taken into manual labour as a slave: the most eye-catching boys had a tendency to become crowd favourites.
He holds his curly black hair back from his forehead with a hairband, and keeps it from his neck by shaving the underside of a top-knot. This style is not uncommon among warriors in the lands of The Ichiren Dynasty. For whatever reason, Zephyr does not like to wear restrictive clothing. He'll go shirtless when in warmer air currents, and wears open shirts and blouses otherwise. He keeps his impressive array of tattoos and scars visible on most occasions. The inked designs do not fit the typical profile of those from The Archipelago, and many of them have inscriptions written in the Yuagen language.
ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ
———————————————————————————Every morning, Zephyr wakes up and is filled with thankfulness for the simple fact that he is alive. He enjoys the little things in life –– birdsong, the rocking of a ship, laughter –– and the big things, like friendship and camaraderie. The most important feeling that he constantly chases, however, is the thrill of a new discovery, whether it's on a personal level or something more earth-shattering. While once this itch for adventure and exploration was scratched by helping out his wealthy benefactor on whatever journey she wanted to go on, now it requires being able to call the shots and make decisions himself. What he wants to see is the bottom of the world.
It seems as so Zephyr has a one-track mind, and he'll go to whatever lengths to reach his dream. He's made of enduring stuff, and is unafraid of going through hardship (physical or otherwise) in the pursuit of it. Often he forgets, in his eternal optimism, that there's a grey cloud attached to every silver lining.
Zephyr is not a violent person. Often he goes to great lengths to try and secure a peaceful conclusion to an argument, even when it is clear to almost everyone else that such a thing doesn't exist. It doesn't sit right with him when he doesn't try to maintain the moral high ground, even if it is futile. His pacifism seems to come from his calm and meditative nature that innately seeks to solve problems, a side-effect of his spirituality. Some people are impulsive, taking action and never dwelling on it. Zephyr is different: he takes action swiftly, but then replays it over and over again in his mind, wondering the ways in which he could have approached it differently, or how he can be better in the future.
At times, his lack of an education and his 'slowness' can get the better of him. When he finds himself face-to-face with a problem that he cannot solve himself for obvious reasons, Zephyr often becomes flustered and frustrated –– a terrible side-effect of an independent nature that has him resist asking for help. He does not turn it away when it is offered, however; it's just the stumbling block that is showing vulnerability that stops him. A captain must stand on his own two feet, or so he thinks, and feels inferior whenever he needs a helping hand.
ＳＫＩＬＬＳＥＴ
————————————————————● Sailing – Zephyr is an excellent sailor with ten years of practice to back it up. Due to his experience aboard Madame Le Fèvre's civilian ship and his eventual captaincy of his own, he is more than competent when it comes to making decisions on the fly to both avoid pirates –– using cloud for cover and dirty tricks to pick up extra speed –– or entering into a naval battle with them. The ease with which he moves around a ship via the ropes and ledges (shortcuts!) often seems both daring and acrobatic.
● Combat – Zephyr is a former contender of the Seishō circuit of tournaments––and not by choice. During his time as a slave, he learned a variety of combat skills (in particular hand-to-hand and swordsmanship) as well as the ability to dominate in a melee. To say something of his skill, he won the often-fatal Emerald Tournament in order to earn his freedom. He is a fierce opponent, albeit a pacifistic one by nature. Old habits die hard: he's also a show-off, because his value was entirely based on how well he could entertain a crowd.
● Captaincy – Zephyr has a natural flair for leadership. When it comes to quick, hard decisions, he does not struggle with indecisiveness. Being able to keep a calm and level head in sticky situations –– and being able to calm others –– is a part of the job.
ＷＥＡＫＮＥＳＳ
————————————————————Zephyr's life has never been conductive to literacy. First he was a farm boy on Taureau (and learned only his letters, and some of his numbers) and later he served as a slave-into-combatant with no time for learning. As a result, he's functionally illiterate, requiring either extra time to read something as simple as a sentence, or someone to read it out for him. In addition to this, he has never received an education in science, history, geography and a lot of other things that most people in The Archipelago are blessed with. He's in great need of having things explained to him slowly and painfully, a process some people have described as "like pulling teeth".
ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ
—————————————————
It is strange to think that Zephyr's life could have been much different than it turned out. A farmer on Taureau, not 'settling down' so much as being born already settled. It seems a long time ago that he lived there, before his sleepy little town was raided by pirates, and the navy was not around to defend them.
Zephyr was eight when he was taken into captivity and sold on the market. Briefly, he worked in the manor of a rich baron out in the lawless lands, but a few years later, the man was murdered, and his holdings –– including Zephyr –– auctioned off. The key to Zephyr's chains swapped hands, this time ending up in the possession of an arena master. Zephyr spent most of his teenage years fighting for entertainment in various venues. He won some and he lost some, though never lost to the point of permanent disfigurement or death.
He was well aware that the only way to get out of the cycle of violence was to win The Emerald Tournament, when slaves and willing participants alike could fight for their freedom or a sizable pool of prize money. Given that losing a fight in it would almost certainly be fatal, Zephyr only entered it when he turned nineteen, by which point he was already a crowd-pleaser in Seishō. With only the possibility of freedom pushing him onwards, Zephyr won, and with the winnings paid his way home.
His first steady job after returning to The Archipelago for the first time in almost ten years involved leaving right away on a civilian ship hired by Madame Le Fèvre. Because of his age, he wasn't suited to being a cabin boy or a deckswab, so the next available position was that of a sailor. His unique position as a former gladiator was what got him the job on the ship as a private for Le Fèvre, who insisted (at age fifty-nine!) on going to the most dangerous of locations. One would think that a normal crew wouldn't trust him for being green; however, as soon as he got his sea legs and started playing dice games in the mess with the others, they warmed up to him, enough so that he was a serious candidate for Quartermaster within his first six months on board.
He would have been, too, if he could read.
Zephyr spent four years aboard this ship, the last of which was spent as the First Mate, learning the ropes of leadership. The superiors had all grown older and were nearing retirement age, seeking out apprentices, and his mentor was the captain himself. Madame Le Fèvre was as spry as ever, and she would need another captain to boss around, especially since she didn't trust any old sea-dog. After the crew disbanded, Zephyr used some of his earnings from his hard labour to buy his own airship to fulfill the same purpose. His first passenger was the Madame herself, demanding she be taken to various sites of interesting research.
Out of the blue, after quite some time of travel with a crew of his own, Le Fèvre summoned him once more, this time with urgency. Together, they began to prepare a voyage that she would not be able to participate in; the next great discovery. Giving command over his old ship to his First Mate, Zephyr prepared for captaining the state-of-the-art airship, The North Wind, on a journey like no other, with an unparalleled crew.
ＡＭＢＩＴＩＯＮＳ
——————————————————————Zephyr doesn't have a home. His life revolves around exploring new places he's never seen before rather than settling down. As a result, it seems only natural that he turn to the last undiscovered mystery left in the world. His burning curiosity isn't answering the question 'what lies below the clouds?' so much as it is seeing it for himself and deliberately taking that first great leap into the unknown just as Cumulus did.
ＩＮＶＥＮＴＯＲＹ
——————————————————————● Sword – Zephyr calls her "Cecile", and she was his first love. He has used this exquisitely-crafted sword, with its silver and red colour scheme, since he earned it in The Emerald Tournament, and it has been his trademark weapon, other than his fists, ever since.
● Prayer Beads – Picked up in the Black Market on Tsukuyo, Zephyr doesn't care if they have any religious significance of special powers. All he knows is that they focus his mind in time of great distress, and that's as good a reason as any to keep them tied to his belt.
● Boot Knife – Zephyr's a pacifist, but he's not green. Everyone needs an emergency blade stashed in their boot (or elsewhere) to be able to make a break for it if they're ever tied up.
● Communication Stone – This is technically the property of The North Wind as a whole. It provides a direct link to Madame Le Fèvre in order to report back, no matter the distance between users.
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———————————————————————————————————
The island of Albayza landed solely outside of The Archipelago's sphere of influence; an independent territory first discovered by the great explorer himself. Cumulus wrote that on its highest peaks, one could see waterfalls glittering with gold, but if such a thing was ever true, greedy hands must have whittled it all away over the decades and centuries. Whatever wealth the island promised ended up in the hands of the few, not the many. The only settlement on the island, Albayza City, was built around the crumbling stonework of the ancient ruins that survived the heat and humidity of the rainforest, while great palaces and towers of new construction could be seen on the cliffs overlooking the dirt paths walked by the common people.
Though its architecture was in tatters, it was not accurate to say that the city looked poor. It held the same flair for vibrancy that other mercantile towns had, only ramped up to never-before-seen levels. From noon-to-night, The Plaza – a formal name for one of the most bustling marketplaces in the Known World – was packed. Spices and silks, secret textbooks and exquisite antique swords were some of the goods displayed with cutthroat price tags at wooden stalls; and if one dared to venture down a tempting alleyway, they might find the more alluring (and illegal) goods.
There were many reasons why Madame Le Fèvre chose Albayza as the staging point for her expedition. For one, it was easy to procure the necessary supplies for an airship without the red tape of Baleine's customs house. Several crates of supplies were being held at the docks, earmarked for an airship that was yet to arrive. It was also both easy to get to Albayza as a passenger aboard any merchant ship for the crew-to-be, and their wealthy benefactor's connections had secured accommodation for them for as long as they needed to wait for The North Wind.
And finally, the ultimate reason why The North Wind was to set off from this island instead of somewhere closer to home was plain to see for anyone who so much as glanced at the horizon. No matter how clear the day might have been, in the distance the skies faded from serene aquamarine to a dark, churning grey. That swirling mass of electrical energy was the source of the frequent tropical storms that struck the island, and the folly of far too many crews who were foolish enough to underestimate it. Albayza was the last port of call for those seeking to cross The Calamity.
For: , , , , , and .
In letters from Madame Le Fèvre sent out over a month ago, the successful applicants were both informed of their confirmed place on the expedition and instructed to report to the Albayza City docks by a certain date – today's date – at noon. If any of the crew arrived on the island early (be it days or weeks before they were due to set off) they would have been put up free of charge in L'Hôtel d'Albi, an establishment owned by a friend of the Madame's and known for its gaudy floral decor. It is no surprise that the owner spent his time boasting loudly about the presence of the crew and their mission, as who in their right mind would give up free advertisement?
Anyone who found their own accommodation would perhaps have had a less intrusive experience.
For those on an extended stay, they might have noticed some undue and possibly unwanted attention, though very little of it would have been negative. Something as simple as children stopping and staring on the streets, shyly approaching to ask questions (as prompted by equally-curious parents) would have been a near-daily occurrence. The expedition was famous before it even set out.
On the day of reckoning, an area of the docks was sectioned off for The North Wind and crew, mostly because of the small crowd of nosy busy-bodies who gathered to watch the spectacle unfold. It seemed like they were only the particularly dedicated few, because conditions are not friendly on Albayza during the rainy season. In the space of one morning, a storm rolled in in towards The Calamity. It hit the island with hot summer rain showers and a wind brisk enough to pull one right off the edge of the walkway and into the abyss.
The locals might have been accustomed to it, but it didn't mean everyone was. It was a good thing someone had built railings to hold onto while they waited for The North Wind. The ship's arrival was approaching 'fashionably late'.
For: , , , , and .
It was necessary to pick up certain crew-members first, before docking at Albayza to begin the first stretch of the journey. The North Wind has been run by a skeleton crew of four for the last fortnight as they picked up the finishing touches on the ship from islands in and out of The Ichiren Dynasty. That the captain decided to use their planned route as a test drive –– taking a detour directly through a storm on the way –– was his own prerogative. At the very least, it was reassuring to know that a tiny spell of bad weather could not so much as rock it, though it surely wouldn't compare to sailing through The Calamity.
Despite the slight divergence from Madame Le Fèvre's itinerary, the newly-minted airship had achieved everything it needed to do, mostly on time. Leaving Baleine, the captain already had on board both Deimos, who was provided with maps, charts, journals, logs, and an array of expensive (and likely unnecessary) navigational tools, and Godomar, because a first voyage would not be complete without a First Mate.
A stop-over in Gekkō produced the final member of their skeleton crew, Khun. One moment the captain was running errands and saying goodbye to some old friends, and the next he was returning to the airship with "their cabin boy". Zephyr was firm in his belief that one more mouth to feed wouldn't make a difference to the expedition's supplies, especially since it would just be them until they made port in Albayza a few days later.
Normally, it took more than four to man all the functions of the ship, and indeed many of the more technical aspects (like the thrusters) were too complex to deal with when they were missing a few extra pairs of hands. The North Wind, however, was the pinnacle of airship technology. Guiding her into the designated space in city's docks was almost automatic. She glided into place with so little effort, slowing down until the dockworkers were able to hold her in place with anchoring chains.
Just in time.
The North Wind stood in great contrast to the other docked ships. Some of them flew the colours of the empire, red and orange, while others preferred pirate-black. Their ship did not have any such flag, being unaffiliated with The Archipelago or The Ichiren Dynasty or any other group. Her glossy bow, gold-painted decorations and sails that looked like the fins of mythical sea serpents were eye-catching enough, and all of those were features that could be put down to the Madame's eccentricities. 'Sailing in style,' as she often crowed.
It was just a shame Madame Le Fèvre was unable to join them on the expedition –– an urgent meeting with a daimyō in The Ichiren Dynasty could not be avoided. Zephyrus did wonder how they made it through that expanse peacefully on a ship like theirs.
With a thud, a wide, sturdy gangplank slid down to bridge the gap between the walkway and the airship. Captain Zephyr stood at the top of it, smile overly-enthusiastic as he waved them on board. "Now those are some faces I recognise," he called out loudly as he stood to the side to let the crew on, but ready to reach out in case any of them stumbled. It would be unfortunate if any of them fell off the edge now, before they'd even officially set off. "We're not too late, are we?"
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If the sky is his home, Zephyrus Duchamps wants to know every inch of it.
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——————————Zephyrus Duchamps
↳ "Zephyr" or "Zeph"
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————————Twenty-Nine
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———————————————Male
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———————————————————————————————————Taureau – An island colony on the fringes of The Archipelago with a primarily agricultural community. It has fertile, flat lands and is wide enough for several hamlets. Because of it's prime positioning and ripe resources, it is frequently the target of pirates and pillagers. Zephyr has not seen it in many years, as even after competing in The Emerald Tournament, he did not feel the need to return to his former home.
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—————————————————————————Standing at about 5'5", Zephyr is a striking figure with sharp, boyish features that have people pin his age as younger than he actually is. Despite his smaller than average height, his build betrays an impressive level of fitness –– lean, broad-shouldered, and the perfect person to do some heavy-lifting. He seems to carry himself with an air of good cheer, and it is a rare occasion when his toothy grin is not present.
Zephyr's most prominent feature, much to his dismay, is his patchwork skin. Though his natural skin tone seems to be a shade of medium brown, he is covered in mottled pale patches –– a condition that the world-wise Madame Le Fèvre calls 'vitiligo'. It is for this that he was chosen as a competitor rather than taken into manual labour as a slave: the most eye-catching boys had a tendency to become crowd favourites.
He holds his curly black hair back from his forehead with a hairband, and keeps it from his neck by shaving the underside of a top-knot. This style is not uncommon among warriors in the lands of The Ichiren Dynasty. For whatever reason, Zephyr does not like to wear restrictive clothing. He'll go shirtless when in warmer air currents, and wears open shirts and blouses otherwise. He keeps his impressive array of tattoos and scars visible on most occasions. The inked designs do not fit the typical profile of those from The Archipelago, and many of them have inscriptions written in the Yuagen language.
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———————————————————————————Every morning, Zephyr wakes up and is filled with thankfulness for the simple fact that he is alive. He enjoys the little things in life –– birdsong, the rocking of a ship, laughter –– and the big things, like friendship and camaraderie. The most important feeling that he constantly chases, however, is the thrill of a new discovery, whether it's on a personal level or something more earth-shattering. While once this itch for adventure and exploration was scratched by helping out his wealthy benefactor on whatever journey she wanted to go on, now it requires being able to call the shots and make decisions himself. What he wants to see is the bottom of the world.
It seems as so Zephyr has a one-track mind, and he'll go to whatever lengths to reach his dream. He's made of enduring stuff, and is unafraid of going through hardship (physical or otherwise) in the pursuit of it. Often he forgets, in his eternal optimism, that there's a grey cloud attached to every silver lining.
Zephyr is not a violent person. Often he goes to great lengths to try and secure a peaceful conclusion to an argument, even when it is clear to almost everyone else that such a thing doesn't exist. It doesn't sit right with him when he doesn't try to maintain the moral high ground, even if it is futile. His pacifism seems to come from his calm and meditative nature that innately seeks to solve problems, a side-effect of his spirituality. Some people are impulsive, taking action and never dwelling on it. Zephyr is different: he takes action swiftly, but then replays it over and over again in his mind, wondering the ways in which he could have approached it differently, or how he can be better in the future.
At times, his lack of an education and his 'slowness' can get the better of him. When he finds himself face-to-face with a problem that he cannot solve himself for obvious reasons, Zephyr often becomes flustered and frustrated –– a terrible side-effect of an independent nature that has him resist asking for help. He does not turn it away when it is offered, however; it's just the stumbling block that is showing vulnerability that stops him. A captain must stand on his own two feet, or so he thinks, and feels inferior whenever he needs a helping hand.
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————————————————————● Sailing – Zephyr is an excellent sailor with ten years of practice to back it up. Due to his experience aboard Madame Le Fèvre's civilian ship and his eventual captaincy of his own, he is more than competent when it comes to making decisions on the fly to both avoid pirates –– using cloud for cover and dirty tricks to pick up extra speed –– or entering into a naval battle with them. The ease with which he moves around a ship via the ropes and ledges (shortcuts!) often seems both daring and acrobatic.
● Combat – Zephyr is a former contender of the Seishō circuit of tournaments––and not by choice. During his time as a slave, he learned a variety of combat skills (in particular hand-to-hand and swordsmanship) as well as the ability to dominate in a melee. To say something of his skill, he won the often-fatal Emerald Tournament in order to earn his freedom. He is a fierce opponent, albeit a pacifistic one by nature. Old habits die hard: he's also a show-off, because his value was entirely based on how well he could entertain a crowd.
● Captaincy – Zephyr has a natural flair for leadership. When it comes to quick, hard decisions, he does not struggle with indecisiveness. Being able to keep a calm and level head in sticky situations –– and being able to calm others –– is a part of the job.
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————————————————————Zephyr's life has never been conductive to literacy. First he was a farm boy on Taureau (and learned only his letters, and some of his numbers) and later he served as a slave-into-combatant with no time for learning. As a result, he's functionally illiterate, requiring either extra time to read something as simple as a sentence, or someone to read it out for him. In addition to this, he has never received an education in science, history, geography and a lot of other things that most people in The Archipelago are blessed with. He's in great need of having things explained to him slowly and painfully, a process some people have described as "like pulling teeth".
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It is strange to think that Zephyr's life could have been much different than it turned out. A farmer on Taureau, not 'settling down' so much as being born already settled. It seems a long time ago that he lived there, before his sleepy little town was raided by pirates, and the navy was not around to defend them.
Zephyr was eight when he was taken into captivity and sold on the market. Briefly, he worked in the manor of a rich baron out in the lawless lands, but a few years later, the man was murdered, and his holdings –– including Zephyr –– auctioned off. The key to Zephyr's chains swapped hands, this time ending up in the possession of an arena master. Zephyr spent most of his teenage years fighting for entertainment in various venues. He won some and he lost some, though never lost to the point of permanent disfigurement or death.
He was well aware that the only way to get out of the cycle of violence was to win The Emerald Tournament, when slaves and willing participants alike could fight for their freedom or a sizable pool of prize money. Given that losing a fight in it would almost certainly be fatal, Zephyr only entered it when he turned nineteen, by which point he was already a crowd-pleaser in Seishō. With only the possibility of freedom pushing him onwards, Zephyr won, and with the winnings paid his way home.
His first steady job after returning to The Archipelago for the first time in almost ten years involved leaving right away on a civilian ship hired by Madame Le Fèvre. Because of his age, he wasn't suited to being a cabin boy or a deckswab, so the next available position was that of a sailor. His unique position as a former gladiator was what got him the job on the ship as a private for Le Fèvre, who insisted (at age fifty-nine!) on going to the most dangerous of locations. One would think that a normal crew wouldn't trust him for being green; however, as soon as he got his sea legs and started playing dice games in the mess with the others, they warmed up to him, enough so that he was a serious candidate for Quartermaster within his first six months on board.
He would have been, too, if he could read.
Zephyr spent four years aboard this ship, the last of which was spent as the First Mate, learning the ropes of leadership. The superiors had all grown older and were nearing retirement age, seeking out apprentices, and his mentor was the captain himself. Madame Le Fèvre was as spry as ever, and she would need another captain to boss around, especially since she didn't trust any old sea-dog. After the crew disbanded, Zephyr used some of his earnings from his hard labour to buy his own airship to fulfill the same purpose. His first passenger was the Madame herself, demanding she be taken to various sites of interesting research.
Out of the blue, after quite some time of travel with a crew of his own, Le Fèvre summoned him once more, this time with urgency. Together, they began to prepare a voyage that she would not be able to participate in; the next great discovery. Giving command over his old ship to his First Mate, Zephyr prepared for captaining the state-of-the-art airship, The North Wind, on a journey like no other, with an unparalleled crew.
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——————————————————————Zephyr doesn't have a home. His life revolves around exploring new places he's never seen before rather than settling down. As a result, it seems only natural that he turn to the last undiscovered mystery left in the world. His burning curiosity isn't answering the question 'what lies below the clouds?' so much as it is seeing it for himself and deliberately taking that first great leap into the unknown just as Cumulus did.
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——————————————————————● Sword – Zephyr calls her "Cecile", and she was his first love. He has used this exquisitely-crafted sword, with its silver and red colour scheme, since he earned it in The Emerald Tournament, and it has been his trademark weapon, other than his fists, ever since.
● Prayer Beads – Picked up in the Black Market on Tsukuyo, Zephyr doesn't care if they have any religious significance of special powers. All he knows is that they focus his mind in time of great distress, and that's as good a reason as any to keep them tied to his belt.
● Boot Knife – Zephyr's a pacifist, but he's not green. Everyone needs an emergency blade stashed in their boot (or elsewhere) to be able to make a break for it if they're ever tied up.
● Communication Stone – This is technically the property of The North Wind as a whole. It provides a direct link to Madame Le Fèvre in order to report back, no matter the distance between users.
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Location: L'Hôtel d'Albi
Interacting With: 3 Dark Hedge Witches
Never before had the young mage been so thrilled to do something in her entire life. What had the Gods of Fate been thinking when they decided to send her off the abyss below and turn the world upside down. This was nothing less than the hands of destiny working through Madam. She couldn't have picked a more befitting mage for the expedition, thank you very much. And it wouldn't be long now before Illianna was on her way and off to "sea". It was quite early it seemed and a steady layer of fog that settled over the bustling island. Even at this time of morning, vibrant chatter and movement occurred all about and the smell of sweetened pooka berries from the dining area had somehow managed to lure Illianna out of her room and into the lavish eating quarters. She looked at her gold pocket watch, as an assortment of fruit, pooka berries, and roasted duckwart meandered through the air and onto her plate they were riding on an invisible string of magic.
Other hotel guests nearby looked upon the feat in amazement and awe. She had come to realize that being a mage was a rare thing, but she hadn't quite understood how much so until the came to the hotel two days before. Her entire stay had been pervaded with constant questioning, request for souvenirs, and theatrical displays of her magic. She had been asked to play her guitar at the after hours talent show in the west wing. And she didn't mind to be honest. She enjoyed the camaraderie that being a part of this crew had already brought to her before she even set sail.
But she had a bit of time before she needed to head over to the docks, so she took her time. Plucking and popping berry after berry into her mouth as she admired the golden architecture and large framed mahogany paintings that hung on the walls. She sat their sweetly, humming to herself between each bite until a group of men came over and planted themselves at her table. The largest of the men spoke first, his hair was thin and his cheeks looked as though they were swollen with acorns. And peculiar red eye fidgeted ever so slightly. The two beside grinned awkwardly, but the supposed leader portrayed a countenance as cold as ice.
"Illianna Poole?"
With a mouth full of duckwart at this moment, she chuckled to herself out of embarrassment and did her best to swallow the remainder of what was left in her mouth before she wiped her lips of the excess grease and looked to him, "Heh, excuse my dishevelment, but I am she. Curious about the expedition too are we?" she said in a pleasant manner, caressing a bit of her curly hair behind her ear. The man's red eye fidgeted wildly at this moment, but only briefly before settling back into its frozen position. Illianna sat back a bit, but made sure not to come off as too suspicious. But when the man suddenly pulled back the left sleeve of his suit, she glared at him sternly.
"That's The Mark of Kali. Which means..." she said in a quiet tone as her voice drifted off. The man with the mark on his arm grinned, "Precisely..." he mumbled, showing her a strange material magic from under the table. She leaned forward closer to the man's face, unafraid at this point. "You're a user of cursed magic..." she murmured softly, "Material magic like that is illegal...". The man put the material magic back into the pocket of his suit and leaned back casually, his posture relaxed and unconcerned.
"You're not as naive as you look, but I'd advise against you sharing this information with the authorities or your new to be crew for that matter. You might find yourself in an...unfortunate predicament", he said slyly. Illianna glared back at him, "What do you mean?". The man with the porky cheeks dipped his heard slightly, motioning towards her wrist. As her eyes slowly moved down to her hand, Illianna's mouth dropped in revelation as a spiral runic chain suddenly appeared and began to swirl around her wrist like a tattoo.
Illianna looked back up to the man, her countenance completely vexed. She shook her head confused, "What is that you desire from me?"
The man leaned forward and smiled devilishly, "I have a proposition for you..."
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Illianna's Voice
This is a strange and wonderful world.
♪ Can't Take It In ♫ Mermaid ♪ Remember ♫
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Illianna A'hn Poole, but she is generally introduced as and called by her nickname "Sulli".
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21.
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Female.
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Leannán originally, but moved to live with her mother on the island of Balla Mór some years before her father was killed. Balla Mór resides just on the outskirts of the Archipelago(nearest to Baleine), and is distinctly known for the excessively large wall that encompasses the main and only city of the island. The city is completely surrounded by a vast ocean and floating on a small plot of land on the opposite end of the vast ocean is the Dia Vanille Cathedral. The official language of Balla Mór is Teriques, but obviously Pelagian(Commons) is known by nearly all the residents as well, though this is mostly only used for trade or business. The island experiences rain frequently.
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To be honest, it's hard not to notice Sulli. Her most distinctive quality is her long curly two-toned hair, its texture soft and bouncy, swaying with the breezes of the wind as though moving to the beat of its own dance. Due to the extravagance of her hair, one would think there were magical properties imbued within it. Its very distinguishable to say the least. She almost always wears her ocean blue headband to help manage and stylize her naturally wild hair.
Expressive golden eyes help to accentuate her already feminine features, with straight eyebrows, creamy brown skin, kissable full lips, high cheekbones, and a cute flat nose. She is often underestimated or sought after because of her exotic beauty. Thin and willowy like a rose, she is actually somewhat tall, standing at about 5'7. Her legs are long, helping to accentuate her already doll like physique.
She often wears summery garbs, some shoulder-less, revealing the runic circles on the back of her neck before disappearing as they trail down her back. Other times, she wears clothes that completely cover her form, and a peculiar cloak that resembles a handcrafted quilt. Sulli tends to like wrapping ribbons around her forearms and legs. She has a birthmark in the shape of a quatrefoil on the side her neck and on occassion will wear a pair of simple golden hoops in her ear lobes. She has a habit of walking around barefoot on deck.
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Sulli could aptly be described as bright, quirky, dreamy, and perhaps even aloof(at first glance). While not completely inaccurate on the last count, this sense of initial detachment from those around her is more due to inquisitive glares and contemplative silences, broken only by the most left-field of questions. ("You hear them too, don't you?" she might say) Despite her bizarre colloquialisms, those who can focus her find her to be a gifted conversationalist and tireless listener, a suddenly cheerful disposition that is transcendent and infectious. Her sweet mannerisms often bring out the softer side in others and it is hard to stay mad at her for long.
Sulli is the type of woman who never gets bored and can always find something to occupy her time. She fears very little and does her best to be helpful and attentive to the needs of others. But she wonders about things so often that she can sometimes lose track of her current goal, and must be kept from going wayward by her friends and companions. She has a poetic, romantic way of speaking and a strange curiosity about the world that can borderline become annoying when she frequently ask questions.
However, she is the type of girl who is steadfast and attentive, with a keen sense of self and what she believes in. Though generally acquiescent to her superiors, she can be incredibly stubborn and vocal when she disagrees with something. She is like an panorama, always changing and moving, and willing to make new experiences. She has an electric vitality that is glowing and alive, and she will usually try something new at least once, twice if she enjoyed it. And she loves to sing and dance for herself, and for others.
There is a certain naive purity, loyalty, and innocence about her, unbiased about the world and evils that reside within it. She doesn't allow others to make judgement calls for her and has a complex about those who underestimate her because she is a girl. You'll never really find her repeating the same thing day by day. It's always a new experience for her to learn and grow and discover all that the world has to offer. Although, she is known for sometimes having incoherent thoughts when she becomes enthralled, and her memory isn't always the most reliable, which can give off the appearance that she is a bit starry-eyed and odd. It is safe to say that she is a bit incomprehensible.
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● Arcane Magic with a specialization in Telekinesis: It must be nice to come from a relatively well-off family. To be able to afford top quality magical training at the Erasmus d'Aurevilly University. It came in handy. Though she knows the common magical skills of a university mage, what she came to specialize in(as most university mages often have a specialization) was telekinetic magic, a form of magic that allows a mage to move objects with their mind so as long as they remain focused.
The runic circles that trail down her back glow when she activates her magic, but this form of magic in particular uses an excess of energy from the mind that most other magics doesn't require. Using this form of magic for prolonged periods of time can cause incredible mental strain, with overuse causing incapacitation.
● Quick to Catch On: Don't underestimate her ability to learn and comprehend. With an insatiable appetite for knowledge, she is quick to catch on and learn new skills. Like a sponge, she can absorb just about anything the world has to offer. Prepare to be surpassed if you are not careful. She is not obtuse like some may perceive her to be.
● Songstress: With the voice of an angel, she is an immaculate singer with a soprano vocal range. Something about her ethereal voice resonates with those around her, and someone even joked that her voice could bring grown men to their knees. She often uplifts the moral of the crew with staged performances, and can be often be found humming. One can generally hear her angelic song echoing through the corridors. However, her talent may not appeal to everyone, as some might find her frequent indiscriminate singing to be annoying.
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● Hand-to-hand Combat: She has yet to develop this skill, and therefore, is lacking when it comes to up close and personal combat. She generally relies on her magic to combat others, but that isn't going to always be an option, which can leave her somewhat vulnerable.
● Naivete: Sulli has a subtle purity about her, a steadfast loyalty to those she trust and a penchant for giving others the benefit of the doubt even when they probably don't deserve it. Though not fool, she can sometimes be a poor judge of character, which makes her a bit more vulnerable to manipulation than others and a bit too forgiving.
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As a young child, Sulli had always been a handful. Never afraid like most children were, and always trying to run off to explore and discover something new, her father found it difficult to keep tabs on her while trying to make a living to support them. Yurian A'hn Poole, her father, worked as a agriculturist for Leannán, using his knowledge of the land to help maintain and preserve its health and sustainability for the island. Life on the vast farmlands was actually quite simple and peaceful for a while, until famine struck that is and the stability of the island became unsteady. Uncertain of the future conditions of the island and fearing for his daughters well-being, Yurian regrettably sent Sulli to live with her mother on the island of Balla Mór, an island that resided just on the outskirts of the Archipelago and Baleine.
Sulli's mother, Celeste, was a famously beautiful mage, often called upon for her specialization in love magic. Having helped put together many high profile clients, Celeste made quite a healthy fortune for herself and, unwilling to part from her socialite and generally lavish way of life, sent her young daughter off to Erasmus d'Aurevilly University. Though she was initially very popular with both her male and female peers, rumors spread quickly throughout the school after she enrolled, word going around that Sulli's mother was the reason some of their parents separated or got divorced. The disdain for her unfurled like wildfire and she was eventually shunned out of fear that their parents would somehow be the next ones to divorce if they got anywhere near her. Without anyone to truly socialize with, Sulli spent much of her time excelling in her magical studies, eventually going through numerous boyfriends as she got older and at some point being deemed a poor judge of character by her female peers.
She had always been a bright and electric young girl, romantic at heart, poetic, and probably forgiving to a fault. Due to the fact that she had several boyfriends throughout her time there, many of whom were no good, some began proclaiming Sulli to be easy and simple. Frustrated and feeling isolated, Sulli sent letters to her father everyday, discussing of the hardships that the other students were causing her and finding just a little reprieve when he would reassure her that everything would be okay. Unfortunately, her father had been killed in a pirate raid of the ship he was taking on his way to visit her. Devastated and heartbroken, she focused on her studies more than ever, eventually delving so deep into the tiny crevices of the library, that she eventually came across the legend of a magical object that allowed a mage to travel back in time. The object had never been found after it's initial use centuries ago, but archaeologist and artificer Matthias Morgus, detailed the legend of the object he believed resided under the clouds in his book, 'Of Legends or Of Magic?'.
If Matthias Morgus was certain of its existence, then maybe, it really did exist. But Sulli knew the possibility of her ever finding it, even if it did exist, was slim to none. Still, with her heart aching, and her mind falling into a darkness she had never felt before, Sulli put her entire essence into her magical studies. So much so, that she became one of the top students of her class, and eventually garnering attention amongst the student body and the school board for her unique specialization in Telekinetic magic, one of the most mentally strenuous magics in existence and one of the hardest to learn. However, the versatility of this magic is invaluable, making it an asset for anyone who could find a mage with skill in its usage.
Insert Madame Le Fèvre. On the day that a special letter with a unique crest suddenly arrived at the school, everything changed. When an announcement was made by the university headmaster that a very powerful woman was looking to recruit individuals for an expedition under the clouds, Sulli felt she had no choice but to apply. And luckily, it seemed this Madam understood the value of Sulli's magical capabilities. And Sulli's high ranking in her class probably helped her get accepted as well. But without a doubt, this would be one of the, if not the most grand exploration of a life time. An exploration below the clouds. Could this be destiny leading her below the surface?
Father...wait for me...
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Supposedly, there is a material magic that allows one to travel back in time. Sulli's father died several years ago when the ship he was on was obstructed and beset by pirates. Her father had been on his way to visit her at the Erasmus d'Aurevilly University. Sulli wants to uncover this legendary magical object to go back in time to prevent her father from dying.
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● Ribbons, she often wraps these around her forearms and legs, and when she is focusing on a particular task, she ties her hair up with one into a puffy-curly ponytail.
● Ocarina, a flute like instrument she uses when she doesn't feel like singing.
● Guitar, for when she doesn't feel like playing the Ocarina. She sometimes sings and plays the Guitar at the same time for her shipmates or whenever she feels inspired.
● Magic Oil Lamp, though there is no genie inside, this oil lamp can actually capture her memories and dreams, allowing her to recall them at a later time, or completely release them(as a blue smoke) from her mind all together. Sulli has suffered from reoccurring nightmares since she was a child, so she had been using this object to dispel the memories of those nightmares from her mind. This is a very special object to her, a keep-sake from her late father. Unfortunately, the magic in the object ran out a year ago, so it seems she has to find an alternative method to resolve her issues.
● Countless journals for note taking and books, loads of books.
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It was midday, and the golden sun shone brightly in the sky over Albayza. From where she lay sprawled out on her bed Gwendolyn could hear the familiar shrill squawking of gulls down by the port. A soft breeze blew in through the window, causing the dark curtains to billow gently as glittering rays of sun pierced the musty din of the room beyond. Strewn across the floor of the space were countless little pieces of metal. Ball-bearings, screws, knobs, crystalline conductors, all sorts of technical junk. Rising from her bed slowly, Gwen clutched her chest as a ragged cough racked her slender pale body. Grimacing slightly, she tiptoed over the clutter to an ornate silver mirror across the room and gazed into its depths with tired eyes. The shadowy bags under her eyes had grown from her lack of sleep, and her pale face glowed slightly from the harsh sun filtering in through the window. Her mousy brown hair stuck up wildly in all directions, every hair seeming to have a mind of its own. With a sigh and a cough Gwendolyn did her best to tame the tangled mass with a tiny comb. Finally giving up, she tossed the rest into a ponytail and muttered, “Good enough.”
Gwen would have spent the entire day in her shaded room if it was not for the hunger that clawed at her stomach. Snatching a tiny bronze object off her bedside table she rushed out of the room and down the hall. Gwendolyn had been staying at L'Hôtel d'Albi whilst waiting for the ship The North Wind to make it to port. To her the ship held promise of adventure and most of all, answers. She had noted other members of the crew who were staying there, as there were often crowds of people around them gawking and asking questions. Gwen however had asked specifically for her name to not be mentioned, as she hated the prospect of becoming something akin to a zoo animal; a simple spectacle. Making her way down the stairs from where her room was, Gwen made her way over to the dining hall of L'Hôtel d'Albi. The delightful scent of something sweet wound its way over to her nose, and her stomach began to growl in longing. The architecture of the dining hall (as well as the entire building) was flowery and horrible. As she stuffed herself with unhealthy foods-pancakes, tea cakes, all forms of cake-she pulled out a small brown book from the dusty coat hung around her waist. It was common for Gwen to suddenly get ideas for new designs, and for this she always carried around a tiny journal to keep track of her scattered thoughts. After completing a brief schematic for some sort of stabilizing component she stood up and began to trudge her way back to her room.
For the rest of the day Gwen sat in her room tinkering with different ideas she had come up with. Different ways to capture and use the inert magical energy of the world. As the shadows lengthened and eventually faded to blackness she continued to toil late on into the dark of night, only the soft orange glow of a lantern guided her spindly fingers. At last when she could work no longer she crawled back into bed with heavy feet, her eyes refusing to be open any longer.
When morning came it brought with it a rainstorm. The sun was completely covered in clouds, and soft sheets of warm rain had begun to fall slowly over the port city. However this was no ordinary morn; this was the day when The North Wind was set to arrive to take her crew away on the adventure of a lifetime. Unfortunately for Gwendolyn, the darkness and the soft lullaby of rain kept her in bed for the majority of the day. At last after hours of sleep she awoke, looking lazily over at the clock on her bedside table. Her eyes shot open, and with an exasperated groan she hopped across the room hastily gathering up her things. Not even bothering to do her hair, she jumped out into the hallway and slammed the door behind her, wheezing as she did so. Taking a small puff of her inhaler she sputtered,
“Aw dang it,” she said with another hoarse cough, “I’m late!”
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"Only through science can the secrets of the universe be laid bare."
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Gwendolyn Alexander Rowe; Gwen for short.
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25.
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Female.
ＰＬＡＣＥ ＯＦ ＯＲＩＧＩＮ
Originating from the small island town of Rivensford, Gwendolyn was raised by her scientist father: Silias Rowe. Located on the outskirts of The Archipelago, Rivensford is located west of Bridesend. The town is surrounded by roaring waterfalls; the perfect source of power for any person interested in more advanced machinery. Engineers from far and wide flock to Rivensford to set up shop and further their research into the realm of the machine- or even that of the arcane.
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Gwendolyn is five foot and seven inches of cold logic and "superior knowledge". Draped around her bony frame she dons her mother's sun-bleached leather coat; a dusty grey heirloom that Gwendolyn could never be parted with. Underneath this coat she wears a black tank top that keeps her from getting too warm during her heat-intensive work. She has a thick head of mousy brown hair that is cut short, only falling down to the back of her neck. Due to her lack of knowledge in social customs, her hair often appears wild and unkempt.
One of the first things that most notice about Gwendolyn is the unhealthy pale pallor of her skin, as well as the knowing smirk that is forever painted on her face. Another thing that haunts the air around Gwen is the constant shuddering cough she lets out now and again, reminding all those near her of her persistent disability.
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Gwendolyn goes through life logically and rationally. Every decision she makes she reviews a few times before finally giving the final perfect answer. Her perfectionism is very obvious in the way she frantically searches for every excuse to be right and give at least fifteen reasons why. She feels that's it's only natural to lecture people when they are wrong, because it would be inefficient and illogical to go through life having the wrong answer to something. While she would love to be one to do this, she is extremely soft-spoken and has difficulties interacting with others when there are multiple people around(as she grew up alone and without friends).
When it comes to engineering and science, however, Gwen gets excited to the point where she might have to use her inhaler. She loves to go on long winded explanations on the inner mechanisms of airship technology, and would never miss an opportunity to have an intellectual conversation about new technology. When it comes to debates about science she can become extremely emotional, and will even come to the point of shouting to prove her point.
Gwen hates to be helped, as her entire childhood consisted of people worrying about her health. She stands on her own, proud of how far she has come despite her crippling lung difficulties. When she is outside of the social pressures of multiple people, many find Gwen to be quick and witty with her speech, drawing on her knowledge of comedies and other sharp tongued pieces of literature.
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● Avid Learner- Ever since she was a little girl Gwendolyn found that her father's schooling bored her. She much rather enjoyed pouring over the dusty tomes and scrolls of her father's library alone. Whenever she did so, she would begin to infer, make connections between objects and the forces that affected them. In next to no time, Gwen had already come up with a basic understanding of science and mathematics nearly all on her own. This lust for knowledge led to her father testing her harder and pushing her farther, until her intellect surpassed even his own. Due to her debilitating disease, Gwen spent most of her time indoors surrounded by sheets of paper as she would work through theorem after theorem. Now as an adult she is an avid scientist and engineer learning how to better the lives of others through the power of technology.
● Airship Engineer- Gwendolyn is an adept engineer with a very deep understanding of the inner workings of everything mechanical. Taking things apart and putting them back together better and stronger than before has become quite the hobby of Gwen's. She works tirelessly to hone her skills, tinkering with things on the daily and drawing up plans for things that could perhaps be useful or more efficient. This skill is the most precious thing to Gwen, as she learned everything she knows from her father.
● Practical- As a scientist and an engineer, dreamy solutions have never been one for Gwendolyn. When faced with a challenge she will continue to stay level headed as she works through the problem, taking every logical step until she achieves her goal. She is a very down to earth person and thinker, making her perfect for acting under pressure.
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Physical activity of any kind is the bane of Gwendolyn's existence. This can be attributed to the fact that she is asthmatic as well as completely out of shape. Another weakness she displays is her complete overconfidence in her ability to do anything. This strong-headed outlook has gotten her into many a bad situation in the past, however also serves as the thing that drives her to keep going.
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Gwendolyn Alexander Rowe was born twenty five years ago aboard a passenger ship on it's way to Bridesend. Her mother, Helena Rowe, was deathly ill and on her deathbed when she gave birth to the baby girl. After successfully saving the life of Gwen, Helena passed away shortly after due to her illness. As it turned out Gwendolyn had been born prematurely. Her lungs were not quite fully developed, and the doctors aboard the ship were worried that she would not be able to survive for long. Much to their relief the child seemed to stabilize over the rest of the voyage, and was rushed to a hospital for treatment soon after.
Gwen's father, Silias, had become overwhelmed with grief at the death of his beloved and the birth of his sickly child. He took the child and fled from his old home in Bridesend to find solace in his life's work; finding out what lay beneath the clouds. However he felt greatly attached to Gwendolyn, and even while he tirelessly worked day and night working on a small vessel to breach the clouds he made sure to teach the child all he knew. She was, after all, all he had left of Helena. Gwen's base of knowledge grew vast in next to no time. The child was not allowed to leave the house most of the time, as her terrible illness would cause her to seize up and have terrible problems breathing. Because of this, Gwen spent most of her childhood indoors pouring over all the books in the library and in her father's archives. Eventually, she stumbled across a book that was of great interest to her. The Adventures of Cumulus Le Fèvre. The stories of wonder and magic caused Gwen's jaw to drop to the floor in awe. She longed to finally be able to escape the house she had been confined to and explore this amazing world outside her dark horizons.
Starting at the age of fifteen the girl entered the annual Rivensford invention exchange, showing off her engineering prowess when she designed and built an airship thruster all on her own. People from all around were impressed with her work, but Gwen did not listen to their praise. She only cared on how she could change the design, improve it beyond measure. While she toiled in her dark room she would hear her father working day in and day out to perfect his pet project. At last, when she was nineteen years old he completed his dream; a craft able to dive below the clouds. Bidding Gwen a quick but tearful goodbye and leaving everything he owned to her, Silias dove below the cloud layer, promising to her that he would return in only a year's time.
When two years past, the truth became very apparent to Gwen. Her father had no intention of returning at all. Now on her own, she vowed one day to follow in her father's footsteps and finally discover what had become of her idol. Fate seemed to favor her in this endeavor, as when she was going on a monthly errand to buy food for her shut in lifestyle she came across two men in the market square discussing an ad they had seen posted down the road. People were wanted for an expedition of sorts; apparently it held promise of adventure, of camaraderie, and most of all...
Diving below the clouds.
Gwendolyn's dull brown eyes lit up at the sound of those words, and quickly she gathered up her things and left her dusty childhood prison behind. Now with a heart ablaze with passion, she sets sail to at last find out what has become of her father and to live the life she feels she was meant to live.
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Gwendolyn hopes to find out what has become of her father below the endless sea of clouds. She also wants to go out and experience all of what life has to offer in case her condition worsens.
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● Cluttered Tool Belt- A well worn leather belt covered in rusty tools of all varieties. (Spanners, Mallets, Screwdrivers, a Blowtorch and a Rivet Gun.)
● Dusty Coat- A sun-bleached cloak of ragged leather. Used to belong to Gwendolyn's mother.
● Tinted Goggles- A pair of protective goggles that serve to shield the wearer's eyes from bright lights and extreme temperatures.
● Inhaler- A tiny trinket that Gwendolyn (literally) can't live without. The inhaler was designed and built by her father to keep the sickly child from dying at a young age.
● The Book The Adventures of Cumulus Le Fèvre- This old tome is carried by Gwendolyn as a reminder that there is so much excitement away from home. It serves as a motivator for the sickly and scared girl go out and live life to the fullest.
● Blackened Socket Wrench- The last thing Gwendolyn has to remember her father by; his favorite socket wrench. The old tool is notched and charred, but still works as if in prime condition.
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The North Wind was really something to behold, especially to a twenty-something monk who had only really studied such vessels on the pages of weathered books. Yes, a ship as grand as this felt unknowingly fake to Deimos, especially for their first few days aboard its decks. They had wandered from bow to stern over and over again on the first day, watching the clouds around them shift and melt as they strode confidently on the sailing winds to the next few islands. Something about traveling in such a majestic boat made Deimos feel a bit powerful. They could taste a thousand different winds and, when they stared up at the sky at night, they could trace galaxies to the distant horizons. The world was at their fingertips, and all because some Western lady found Deimos' skills useful.
Deimos thanked their God one million times that night, whispering grateful songs until they eventually fell asleep among the piles of scrolls and books they had laid out as nightly reading.
And so here they were, hiding in the crow's nest and admiring the majesty that was The North Wind. Above them clouds fluttered, glistening white against an afternoon sky, and below them the captain was preparing to let the rest of the crew on board. Of course, the thought of even talking to new people, let alone now sharing a room with half of them, sent anxiety crawling across their skin. Deimos preferred the solitude that came from hiding up at the very top of the ship. Here they could read and write with only the gulls and the wind to keep them company, and it was far easier to scope out their new maps thanks to the fantastic view this spot gave.
Still, Deimos knew of this spot's real job. They were far from a look out, and did not possess a voice loud enough to even travel down a hall let alone back down to the deck of the ship from this point. Deimos was content with giving up the crow's nest eventually, but for right now they would hide and observe. Below, people had begun to gather at the other end of the gangplank, and Cap'n Zeph was greeting them all as he had greeted Deimos and the First Mate before: confidently. Such a characteristic drew Deimos fruitlessly to follow Zephyr's every word, and they found inspiration in the captain's very steps. They had even dedicated a few pages to doodling Zeph's likeness into their journal, along with a few other sketches of the bare crew they had traveled with after Baleine.
Just as they were getting ready to pull out their journal, however, the softest of darkness swallowed the sun, and a sudden rain storm manifested. Deimos worked quickly to shove all their open maps and books back into their small bag, glaring up at the weeping sky with something akin to half-hearted distaste. Such a dark expression melted away, though, as Deimos imagine what effort it took for this rain just to materialize. Everything has a purpose. Everything has a place. Right now, this rain's purpose was to fall, and it's place was above their wonderful ship.
The sudden gusts of wind, however, were not exactly ideal, even if they were doing as fate requested.
Deimos cowered against the storm and thought, briefly, of descending down onto the deck. Bracing a storm seemed better than bracing for conversations, however. Besides, the rain was warm enough to be pleasant. Distant memories of training beneath freezing waterfalls steel Deimos' mind enough for them to curl up against the mast of the ship, defending their books from the onslaught of soaking rain that threatened their delicate pages.
Silently, they decided they will head down in exactly thirty minutes if the rain does not let up. Deimos knew, however, that their anxiety was prepared to hold out until nightfall if it had to. And such was life.
That was Deimos' purpose, and their place.
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Devourer of knowledge, creature of the wind and the stars.
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Deimos of Tijan
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25
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Nonbinary (they/them)
ＰＬＡＣＥ ＯＦ ＯＲＩＧＩＮ
Tijan - A small island located close to The Ichiren Dynasty, Tijan is mainly dominated by the large temple that covers nearly every surface of the rocky land. The people who live here are most likely monks or scholars, living out their lives as peacefully as they can muster. Tijan holds a massive library full of found texts and scrolls and essays written by the scholars who make their homes here and many empty rooms which the monks use to house sickly or poor people if they are in need.
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Outfit
Baby-faced, short, and lean, Deimos could very easily pass for child upon first glance. Cursed with an extremely youthful expression and limbs that rarely act according to their whim, Deimos is as awkward physically as they are verbally. Standing a mere 5'4" and weighing just over one hundred and ten pounds, they are far from a threatening silhouette and seem to be fully aware of that. Deimos is rather attractive, however, even if they are not entirely aware of it. Vanity is not a virtue after all, and as such Deimos often does not spend too much time worrying or fussing over their appearance.
Tan skin contrasts vividly with Deimos' thick blonde hair which, despite constant badgering from the monks back home, they now refuse to shave. Their eyebrows are thick and dark, often turning upwards with anxiety, and their eyes give off a friendly light when they happen to be in a good mood. Pale green eyes star up at the sky and the stars when and glitter with curiosity when they think one one could possibly be looking. Deimos was happily blessed with an angular and androgynous face, and thanks to this they were able to go about day to day without having to worry about being misgendered. With a sharp, curved nose, full lips, and cheeks full of dark freckles, Deimos holds a relative attractiveness that definitely is not enough to turn heads.
Dressed in the usual modest outfit most monks seem to wear, Deimos is not exactly the most fashion forward person on the ship. They do not entirely understand the thralls of dressing fancily and find that suits and silks are rather lackluster, especially if they get in the way of working. Beneath their tattered outfits Deimos has fields of stars and monk symbols tattooed across their body, and sometimes, on particularly hot days, they will remove their sleeves and these odd markings will be visible to the world.
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Bumbling is the best way to describe someone like Deimos of Tijan. They were born into their awkwardness, raised by monks who shared their quiet and soft demeanor, and thrust into a world that was suddenly so much bigger than they expected, so of course they had to be a bit bumbling. Deimos always seemed to cling to the library when they were younger, craving the knowledge that the words held rather then companionship like many other monk children. Thanks to this, they have plenty of book smarts but fall flat when it comes to social situations. They often get anxiety from being in crowds or in tense situations, and have been known to hyperventilate when too panicked.
Despite their social anxiety, though, Deimos is a calm and gentle soul. They have taken a vow of pacifism and will never start a fight if they can help it. Of course, they will not hesitate to protect others or themself when presented with a dangerous scene, but in they end Deimos is strongly against causing harm to any living thing. To the people they have grown to known Deimos is an angel, treating them with the utmost respect and serenity they too would love to receive. Deimos believes strongly in karma, and as such acts according to what they wish to have in return. Because of this ideology, whenever Deimos makes a friend they work their hardest to make sure that person is as happy and content as can be.
Deimos is, of course, a book worm. They do not border on the term 'nerd', oh no, they are the term. Never has their been a better word to describe someone as bookish and meek as Deimos. They rely heavily on the well of knowledge that obtained from countless hours of studying and learning from the best scholars back home. This heavy leaning on their own intelligence, however, makes them a bit prickly when someone attempts to question Deimos' reasoning. Even the slightest insult to the cartographer's intelligence can put them in a bad mood, and while they are rarely angry Deimos does get depression or downtrodden rather easily.
In the end, Deimos is a soft and gentle soul that possesses an enormous amount of awkwardness. Where they fail in social situations they make up for in general intelligence and a thirst for adventure. Their curiosity rivals that of a hunting cat, and even if they are sure to tip toe around stressful issues once something of note pops up Deimos is always ready to learn more about it. Deimos rarely acts out with their emotions, and always seems to plan their steps a head of time before leaping into action. When not furiously documenting where they have been and where they will probably go, Deimos can be found reading wherever there is light or meditating and praying to their God. They work hard to maintain relationships and to prove their worth to their fellow crew mates, and this journey will be full of firsts for them.
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● Cartography and Star Mapping - Living with a monastery can get a bit boring sometimes, so Deimos decided to fill up their time by learning how to draw maps from the countless examples in the Tijan library. They are mostly self taught but have a fantastic sense of direction and enough knowledge on the subject to start from scratch. As for star mapping-- Deimos has always had an interest in constellation and has journals full of shapes and figures from the night sky. Both skills make them an extraordinary navigator.
● Herbal Knowledge - Thanks to growing up with a garden full of different leaves and flowers and monks who know how to use them, Deimos has picked up the ability to tell certain herbal plants apart from others. With this ability, they know how to use plants to make certain teas and pastes that could have powerful benefits. They can also tell when certain plants may be poisonous or dangerous to consume and actually have a few pouches of herbs on them for future use.
● Self-defense - Though well known to be a pacifist, Deimos was trained with their fellow monks in martial arts as a form of self defense and discipline. Their style derives from the act of using one's opponent's weight and power against them, and as such Deimos relies on speed and mental finesse rather then brute strength or direct hits.
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● Strength - As their usual stature may dictate, Deimos isn't exactly the most strong person on the boat. They have spent so much time building up their mental prowess they they have completely lost the ability to lift anything heavier than a half-full keg of beer or a small pile of books and scrolls. Of course, their monk discipline made them at least a bit quicker than most, but in the end Deimos is completely unfit to be manning any of the heavy lifting around the ship.
● Sailing - Though Deimos had studied the mechanisms of every ship possible in the library, when it comes to actually being out on the open air they known nothing of what to do with the ship. Directions aside, they really do not know the magic in how to get the boat to turn nor how to unfurl and wrap up the sails if asked, and thanks to this they often shy away from doing boat-duties in favor of just charting out their path.
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Twenty-four years ago, a child with dark skin and blonde hair was left at the doorstep of the Tijan Monastery-- a child that was born merely one year before. There were no parents accompanying this child, no pets or servants, and the only thing around the small crying bundle was a chain and a golden ring. This child was abandoned on a chilly Tijan night with nothing but the cooing songs of the gentle monks to sooth it and the blessing of an unknown God above to protect it.
Deimos' first memory was this: a dimly lit room, a blurred and concerned face, and a song. A song sung in a language they would not yet understand. A lullaby to calm the soul. Below them, in this memory, was an arm, holding them upright, and beside them was a chest keeping them warm. They had no clue who they were at this time, nor that they were abandoned and found and loved again instantly. This was their first memory and their first unknowable truth.
Deimos was brought into the monastery that night and instantly placed with a crowd of other children. If the tikes noticed the new comer's different hair and skin they said nothing about it, and Deimos was raised in a loving and practical environment as any other child. They were mentored by an older monk named Wangwei and the two grew close as Deimos slowly grew into their own as a scholarly type. Wangwei taught Deimos everything they know about their religion and their way of life, and was well known around to monastery for holding a rich love for philosophy and apothecary, that of which they also passed down onto Deimos. They learned to appreciate life and act according to their own wishes thanks to their mentor.
The happy days with Wangwei could not last forever, though. He was an older monk by the time Deimos was placed under his care, and when Deimos was about sixteen their mentor fell ill. Months passed with Wangwei bedridden, and Deimos, as loyal as ever, sat by their bedside and listened to the last teachings Wangwei had to offer. The night of his death was a mournful occasion for the whole monastery, but his life was celebrated for a week straight with wine and music afterwards. Deimos took part in the festivities only to keep their spirits up, but after the week of celebration ended they locked themselves away in the library to truly mourn their dead teacher.
Deimos studied every book in the library after that, sitting in the farthest corner for days on end just pouring each paragraph into their mind. They took a new found interest in plants and herbs thanks to Wangwei's influence and, slowly and carefully, began growing detached from the monks' hermit-like ways. They began to lose sleep and found their eyes drawn up to the stars mapped above the temple. They drew constellations from memory and mapped out the night sky one hundred different ways just to kill time. Their love for graphs and maps grew with each new scroll they discovered in the library, and soon they had hobbies that were more scholarly than monk-like. Training and meditation continued to play a big part in Deimos' life, but in the end they had begun to crave something outside the usual monotony they experienced.
And that 'something outside' came as a whisper that resonated through the temple halls. A monk, back from a pilgrimage, had heard tell of a grand voyage being planned and knew they were in need of a crew. Deimos devoured this gossip and instantly turned to the head council of the temple, pleading with them to allow them to use the boat as a means to obtain a spiritual journey. After days of pressing and pleading the monks gave in, and Deimos was suddenly thrust into a world that they did not entirely understand with a box full of scrolls and books and a dream to learn more than they possibly could know.
Deimos had nothing to offer but their brilliant mind and a curiosity that was deeper than most may realize. When they approached the person in charge of hiring for The North Wind's journey, Deimos laid their skills bare on the table. Hand drawn maps and star charts splayed across the table, and Deimos stared on with an unnatural flame of determination that seemed to cry 'look at me, look at me and see what I can do'. After a private interview and perhaps a whole hour of rambling map explanation, Deimos was hired as part of the crew of The North Wind, and they were finally getting the adventure they so craved.
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Growing up in a monastery can only keep someone entertained for so long. Deimos, after fulfilling his duties as a youth for the monks and teachers of Tijan, sought to experience the world to its fullest. They asked if they could go out to see the world, and when that didn't work they turned and began calling their excursion on the airship a 'pilgrimage'. Once free of the monastery rules, Deimos was free to find all of the knowledge they fervently sought. Their ambitions lay in their endless curiosity and their thirst for adventure, and The North Wind seemed to be the key to their wishes.
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● Scrolls x20 — Packed away in their large backpack, Deimos carries around countless scrolls full of old maps and star charts. Half of them are blank, however, ready to be use.
● Calligraphy Set — Ink (in various colors!) and at least a dozen paintbrushes used for map-making and, sometimes, calligraphy.
● Books x10 — Novels and textbooks and essays taken from the monastery. Deimos reads them on their down time or before bed.
● Prayer Beads — Normally tied around Deimos' left hand, these beads are a pale blue in color and give off a faint glow despite not holding any magical properties. They calm Deimos in the midst of anxiety and act as a focus for their nightly prayers.
● Silver Ring — A silver band which has just recently been able to fit around Deimos' finger. The inside of the ring is engraved with the name C. D'Aboville.
● Herbs — Plucked straight from the gardens of Tijan, Deimos has five pouches full of herbs that can be used for spicy teas, healing pastes, and other useful remedies.
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Godomar, last scion of house Vandame, looked out across the docks and felt content, an unusual emotion for him. The hot, humid air of the port was pleasant and the light swaying of the deck beneath his feet was oddly comforting, considering what it reminded him. If he closed his eyes, he could've been back at the academy, steering a skiff through one of the nearby waterfalls to drench his crew-mates. For a few seconds he revelled in those memories, not happy ones exactly but recollections of a simpler time when he knew what he wanted and how to get it. The benefit of two years out of education had given Godomar a little perspective on his school days and he reflected they might not have been so quire terrible. After all, what that had been required from him then was determination, a dogged refusal to give and a sharp tongue where as today... today, things were different.
His idle musings ended as his eyes slid open and surveyed the scene before him again. The more punctual and, perhaps, professional of the crew members they were docked to collect were already waiting for them on the quayside. Besides them were a small crowd of excited looking locals, pointing at The North Wind and exclaiming or chattering. A little spring of satisfaction blossomed in his chest, though Godomar knew he had had no influence on the purchasing of the vessel nor on its design as one of the premiere examples of ship-craft on the Archipelago. Still, it was hard not to feel pride when small children looked up at you with awe in their eyes and even leathery old sailors were eyeing up the ship with an appreciative eye.
Godomar itched to set himself to work, perhaps inspecting the state of the rigging or the engines, but he had already checked every inch of the vessel over several times in the relatively brief time since he'd been aboard and found everything to be perfectly in order. All that was left to do was to stand around and greet the members of the crew as they boarded the ship. He nodded to a few and fixed others with a steely gaze. Already he anticipated being the only one on the ship with any sense of discipline, as half of those now boarding greeted his appraising gaze with friendly nods or didn't notice at all. A lack of discipline would suit the ship's captain down to the ground though, Godomar wryly reflected.
He was in two minds about Zephyrus, the laughing young man who would be his commanding officer for the coming voyage. There was no chance that he was educated by an academy, that was for sure, and seemed to lack any sort of official learning whatsoever. However, the other man had a quiet strength and subtle self possession that spoke to Godomar of the confidence of command and self control. He knew he would be a fool to underestimate the man chosen by Madam Le Fèvre to oversee this journey and to direct this incredible ship. And moreover, Godomar was aware that Zephyr had spoken up in his favour during the process of first mate selection. A debt was owed there, no matter what the captain might say as he airily tried to wave it away.
With that in mind, Godomar resolved to reserve judgement on Zephyrus and, by extension, the rest of the crew. There would be plenty of time int he coming weeks for them to show their mettle and for him to show his. A journey such as the one they were to undertake was no small feat and would see them all tested. Until that time, the last son of house Vandame would watch and wait.
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BA3037 | Image Source | Typeface
Stand aside fool, I have an empire to build.
𝖭ᴀᴍᴇ
Godomar Vandame.
Aɢᴇ
Two-and-twenty.
Gᴇɴᴅᴇʀ
Male.
Pʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ Oʀɪɢɪɴ
Chaleur.
Aᴩᴩᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ
Tall, sharp featured and with a perpetual expression of dissatisfaction, Godomar cuts an imposing figure as he strides across the deck. He prefers a formal uniform of black framed with purple, every button shone to perfection and every frill delicately positioned, a formality that is, in his opinion, essential to the proper running of a ship. His hands are naturally clasped behind his back, allowing him to look the very signature of a classic Archipelago gentleman as he stalks the ship in search of laziness, slovenliness and disobedience to put to rights. When not dressed in a full formal uniform (for fencing practice or when working the rigging, for example) Godomar prefers an low cut white shirt and hard wearing trousers, though he rarely parts with his boots, each polished to a mirror-like sheen. Even when out of his stuffy formal uniform, he likes to remind others of his superiority with their pristine perfection, though you'd never hear him say that out loud.
Judged by the aesthetic standards of his native Chaleur, Godomar is a very handsome young man, with the wide shoulders and lithe form preferred on the island as well as the symmetrical, sharp features in vogue at the moment. He is only missing the extravagant hairstyle and expensive clothes to get all the way there. He has always kept his hair cut down close to his head for practical reasons and claims fashion is the pursuit of fools and the profession of conmen, however. He is lucky, then, that his preferred attire of an Academy regulation uniform is in fashion everywhere. Or, rather, it is out of fashion nowhere as it never pays to be too dismissive of the Academy. Besides, who doesn't like a man in uniform? The only thing that mars Godomar's good lucks is his predilection to scowl, sneer and otherwise look down his nose at others, though they say that is very much the preferred demeanour of men in Baleine. It's hard to appreciate the velvety quality of his voice of the pools of amber that are his eyes while both are doing their best to belittle you.
Pᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛy
With a sardonic smile and an appraising raised eyebrow, Godomar can tell you everything you need to know about him and exactly what he thinks of you. The smile is patronising, assuming for your sake that whatever you've just said or about to say sounded cleverer in your head. It makes you feel smaller, clumsier and sparks a red flush around the nape of your neck. The eyebrow is challenging, goading you into trying again like a red rag in front of bull, encouraging you to abandon the old motto of 'once bitten, twice shy'. And when you do, it's just more of the same, more looking down his nose and more and failing to suppress condescending little chuckles while you're speaking. His friends are few and far between and even they need to weather any number of barbs and jibes on a day-to-day basis, though in his defence he gives a playful nature to these insults, less attack and more poke, but lashes out with all venom on anyone unfortunate enough to try the same jovial mocking to him or one he considers friend.
It's a common criticism of those people who feel the need to tear others down that they do it only because it makes them feel better about their own inadequacies. And in the case of Godomar, this is half right. He has no personal surprising deficiency that he's covering for, he's not secretly a coward and didn't covertly cheat on his examinations. The only secret that Godomar is covering for a rather mundane one; he's not as rich as he pretends to be. The ancient house of Vandame is failing, its coffers long since drained and the family estate crumbling for lack of maintenance. Now, out on the decks of a ship, few care how much land a name has behind it or how many titles your grandfather had. Godomar, however, spent his youth in the Carreau Academy, where a person's family history speaks as loud or louder than their deeds. To be considered for notice or commendation in the Academy, he needed to work twice as hard for twice as long as anyone from a more wealthy dynasty.
As such, Godomar has become adept at two things that define him as a person. Firstly, deflecting doubt (internal or external) and aspersions onto those around him, whether friend or foe. He is bitingly harsh in his criticism, acidic in his wit and disingenuous in his compliments, all as a learned defensive reaction to growing up surrounded by those who found it natural to look down upon him. If you can't join them, beat them. Secondly, he is a singularly driven individual and a hard worker. When he sets himself to the task, he barely tires, doesn't slow and never deviates until it has been achieved or he has collapsed. It's tunnel vision, to be sure, but backed up by a deep reserve of willpower. And while it is less pronounced and more a product of his experience than upbringing, there is a third essential element to his character; he is fiercely loyal. After the cut-throat world of the Academy, Godomar has been refreshed to learn that people out here in the world are capable of interacting without sniping, of giving without expecting to take. It's new to him and he's having some difficulty getting to grasps with the concept but those that show him such kindness secure a spot in his heart, forever.
Sᴋɪʟʟꜱᴇᴛ
♦ The Noble Art of the Duel
♦ A Classical Education
♦ Command and Management
Wᴇᴀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ
As the son of a nobleman who was educated and largely raised in an Academy full of nobles, Godomar has some trouble connecting to those who've lived less privileged lives. For while the Vandame house is poor by their standards, they still possess more wealth most people will see in their lives and he has been afforded access to a standard of life at the Academy most can only dream of. Coupled with his haughty, prickly demeanour, this makes Godomar a hard man to like for those how are traditionally considered his social inferiors and, given the state of his family, an even harder man to respect for a noble. He's caught between the two, far too poor to be real nobility but too proud and too aloof to be a commoner. Most of those people he considers friends are themselves somewhat outside the normal structure of society, such as Zephyrus.
Additionally, while he is supremely well trained at the art of duelling, the theory of ship-to-ship combat and the practise of command, Godomar has no true experience. He has never killed in anger or self-defence, never ordered a ship to open fire upon the enemy and never had to make a decision upon which the lives of his crew hinged. In all these things, he is "so green he pisses grass" to use the colourful slang of the Imperial Navy. In time he is sure to accumulate experience and have ample opportunities to put hard earned skills into practical use but until he has faced those tests, there must be some doubt as to whether he can honestly bare the title of First Mate aboard The North Wind.
Hɪꜱᴛᴏʀy
Born to Varimir Vandame and Celeste Vandame, Godomar could be said to have been born a hundred years too late. A century ago, the members of house Vandame were influential, powerful and wealthy. Now the head of the house could barely scrape together the capital to hire a single ship and they couldn't even afford to send their son and heir to the Carreau Academy. Godomar was raised on tales of the glory days so that by the time he was seven, he knew far more of what happened in yesteryear than what was happening in his present or what might happen in his future. And that future was more than a little unclear.
There was no money in the family coffers to send him to Carreau Academy and no question of him learning a trade, not one of such illustrious blood. There was only one chance; scholarship. It would be galling for a noble to enter the Academy on such a scheme, as they were usually reserved for commoners of exceptional skill, but better that he be galled within the school than proud within it, it was decided. Of course, the scholarships were awarded based on merit so Godomar would have to prove himself a more attractive candidate than any sailor's son or merchants child.
Varimir, whose spirit had been broken some years ago with his final ill fated mercantile venture, held out no hope that his son would draw the eye of the Academy's scouts but Godomar was not deterred. He taught himself about the theory of sailing and navigation, learning from the family's decaying library, and practised on a decrepit skiff, the last of the ancestral fleet. He nearly killed himself a couple of times by crashing or going to far on the aged vessel but some accident of fate or family had granted him the iron backbone of the Vandames of old.
And so when the choosing came, some weeks after his eleventh birthday, Godomar was gratified but not terribly surprised to be selected to attend the Carreau Academy on a full scholarship. However, while he had been warned that he was unlikely to be welcomed into the arms of his noble born classmates, he couldn't have been prepared for the venom that the son of disgraced noble family who was only got in on grant money would face. He was shunned, ridiculed and had his life made even more difficult than the life of any student in the Archipelago's most prominent Naval Academy already was.
He persevered, however, learning first to ignore the stings of words and then how to use them for himself. His exemplary academic record kept him in the school and he made sure never to stray from the letter of the Academy's regulations but soon any who dared cross him would catch the sharp end of his tongue. More than a few gauntlets were dropped after he handed out a verbal tirade, as the insulted's only way to maintain a reputation after such a volley of vicious insults and listings of their shortcomings.
So, having developed a thick skin and a sharp tongue not to mention numerous Naval skills, Godomar finally graduated from the Academy at the age of twenty one and was somewhat surprised to find that the outside world cared far less for his blood than his record. While the Archipelago's aristocratic system was certainly still in place, merchants care more about the potential in lost profit by hiring a foolish crewman than about breaking with tradition. Within weeks of leaving the Academy, his home for ten years,
Godomar was flooded with offers.
He took a few brief contracts on Merchant skiffs and one on an Imperial junker, serving as one of the officer's staff. They were interesting and helped him learn the realities of the sailing life not taught in the Academy, like banging ships bread on the deck a few times before biting in or how to successfully sleep in a hammock, but he didn't feel interested in extending any of them to longer stays aboard. Instead, he continued to look for the perfect job, the one that would make sure he stood head and shoulders above his erstwhile classmates.
After nearly two years of mundanity, it came. Madame Le Fèvre, allegedly a descendant of the great explorer Cumulus himself, was in the market for a crew and, most importantly, a first mate. The interview was intriguing, not least because the parameters and length of the mission were kept so vague, and Godomar saw many of his former colleagues there as well. In the end, however, he was chosen to serve as first mate to the captain, one Zephyrus Duchamps. He would find out later that it had been the captain's advice that had swayed their benefactor's mind in the matter, as he had apparently preferred Godomar's unflinching belligerence to the snobby condescension of his peers.
Aᴍʙɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ
Godomar has, for most of his life, had one ambition; to restore the house of Vandame to its former glory and riches. It has been many decades since it was considered one of the great houses of the Archipelago or since one of its children was called upon to give advice in an Imperial Council. This ambition was thrust upon a young Godomar when his father, Varimir Vandame, gave up on the same quest. Since then, it has been a mantra for the only son of the house to console himself with through long years of back breaking toil and ridicule at the hands of his peers. One day, he has always assured himself, they will have no choice but to take it back, to eat their words. The name of Vandame will tower over them and they'll have to bow down.
Since graduating with full honours and a special commendation, however, that dream has seemed a little hollow. After all, the name of house Vandame didn't support him through his trials, he pulled himself through them by willpower and determination. His ambitions haven't changed entirely though, they've simply shifted in motive. It's not the name Vandame that he wishes to elevate anymore, it's the name Godomar. He will have glory, fame, riches, influence and anything else he can acquire through those means available to him. The last hope of house Vandame is as rabidly ambitious as he is stubborn and will not stop for anyone on his climb upwards.
Iɴᴠᴇɴᴛᴏʀy
♦ Duelling Pistol — An ornate pistol, designed for maximum accuracy and flashiness at the cost of reload speed.
♦ Family Sword — A family heirloom, this sword has seen many a combat and hangs heavy at Godomar's side.
♦ Spyglass — Using plates of glass, this tube allows for the magnification of far off sights.
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Tarybris.
Day in and day out, rain fell intermittently on Albayza and had wet finally the void itself. Familiar port ships ceased to waver as they flocked into the port town, wavering slightly upon the cascading masses of wind that pulled into the ill-defined bay. Now and again, with thick clouds veiling the sun, a faint glimmer of soft light would pierce the gap, revealing some ship that came to rest in the harbor. The torrential rain seemed endless in the summer, seeming the cradle the mass of ruins that stood in the center, ringed by shining towers that ribbed into the clouds. The flow of people remained somewhat constant, at least with regard to the working people who flocked The Plaza. Somehow it felt an appropriate setting for the journey they would all soon undertake, penetrating the depths of Cumulus’ dream.
The break of dawn had brought a familiar pitter-patter of rain down upon the port town, and Tarybris cradled the small package in her breast, ducking under a striped awning of some shop as she nodded pleasantly to the vendor. Turning, she wedged her fingernails into the viridian parcel, and tore enthusiastically into the steaming tuber inside, burning her tongue as she devoured the yam. The skin was wrinkled and slightly unpleasant - bitter like macerated Bridesend tea burned in an iron kettle. Cooked over smouldering coals, the yam and its piercing sweetness was tempered by the cloying taste of fragrant smoke and earth. This, Tarybris thought (though she would hardly admit it aloud), was cuisine truly befitting of the city that stood in the shadows of ancient ruins - not the overly decadent pastries and imported sweets from the Isles off Luciole. L'Hôtel d'Albi had reminded her much of the cheap paintings that had decked The Morneau - all blinding pastels and rough depictions of mustachioed men accompanying elaborately-dressed women through sunlit beaches as they politely sipped tea. The proprietor of the fine establishment had, upon meeting her, rather forcefully invited her to drink Baleienese wine in the crowded sitting room.
After spending enough time quizzically studying the patrons that filtered into the eating quarters - noting the presence of a few who stood out from the gaudy dress of some of the others - she had tried to tried to spend as little time in the public areas of the hotel as possible. Her last post had ended unceremoniously a few weeks back, and she had taken a supply ferry directly from L’Aigue to Albayza. Leaving her to mostly wander around the city, making excited conversation with those who seemed to be somewhat regular to the port. To wonder about her shipmates, who surely were all here, somewhere. To eat. All in all, it was a nice city, she thought, steadying herself as the rain tugged against her skin, tangling her skirts about her shins. The rain was warm, at least. But Tarybris hungered to begin the expedition, feeling it was the most important thing she could do in her position, which felt more and more superfluous by the day.
It was with this that she headed back to the hotel - for as stubborn as she was in avoiding it, she was now drenched in rainwater. Moreover, the North Wind was close approaching, if the hand-addressed letter the Madame had sent to her meant anything. By now, her case of clothes should have already made its way to the port. The pangs in her chest, emphasized by the sting of the now-devoured sweet potato, stuttered with the clack of her shoes as she made her way along.
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Tarybris Brun
The Floating World is full of marvels, and I will taste them all.
ＮＡＭＥ
Tarybris Brun
ＡＧＥ
Twenty-Seven
ＧＥＮＤＥＲ
Female
ＰＬＡＣＥ ＯＦ ＯＲＩＧＩＮ
Luciole
ＡＰＰＥＡＲＡＮＣＥ
Despite somewhat gaunt features - violet-colored circles and a slightly ashy complexion - Tarybris’ demeanor betrays a self-assured and rather cheerful personality. Her posture and body language are of someone who is commanding and confident, yet poised and non-threatening; back erect, hips fluid, and a big ol’ grin slapped across her face. She is no Luciolean beauty - not a specimen of refined grace or allure, but there is something very calming and reassuring about the way she carries herself, and this in itself is charming. Tarybris’ clothing of choice reflects her attitude, as she prefers loose-fitting and relaxed, flowing clothing where allowed (the royal vessels of Baleine would never allow a head chef to be so informal). Her fascination with the cultures of the Archipelago’s isles as well as those of the Ichiren Dominion extends to her clothing choices, as when possible she enjoys donning brightly-colored garments of those places. This is either fun, or looks somewhat goofy and misplaced (Ruched silk, for instance, is easily stained by hot water. Oops.). Her appearance, however, is always kept to a strict-level of cleanliness, and she is well-put together, particularly when the situation calls for it. Anything less would be unacceptable.
Nimble and skilled as Tarybris is, her forearms sport scattered scars and her hands are calloused from years of working in hot kitchens, or outside harvesting plants. Her frame - tall and hardy - has allowed her to stand up to a bit of wear-and-tear, though, and ship life has been kind to her. Physically, her hair is the color of flax and set in her oat-colored skin are pale green eyes that hint towards a more humble background. Her voice is both calming, but it is a bit jerky, and there is a slight cadence in the lilt of her voice.
ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ
With a bevy of siblings, Tarybris has learned to take a joke, and can make them just as well. In general, she is quite affable and easy-going, and there is a reassuring air to her demeanor - like an aunt or cousin one has fond memories of. She is self-assured, but not boastful or cocky - though she is confident in her abilities, and prefers to meet aggression with comfort. A naturally inquisitive person, she is totally fixated upon not only the flavors of the known world, but chasing new experiences in general. This is sometimes successful and other times disastrous, as some of her concoctions have been less than palatable.
Along this line, though, Tarybris is an extremely adventurous person, and is unafraid to volunteer herself to complete difficult or questionable tasks if it is to an important end. When truly devoted to an idea or person, her loyalty is unquestionable. Her childlike fixation on mundane things - the taste of rind of citrus, for instance - can be sometimes annoying to those around her (she has the tendency to ramble on). As an adult, though, she doesn’t really care.
Her childlike fixation on things endears her to other people, though: Tarybris is genuinely an empathetic person, and when she’s not completely irritating, she is rather charming. Likewise, she will go out of her way to take care of people whenever possible, given that she likes them and they’re not too stuffy.
Recent years upon exquisite vessels have made her more conscientious of the world beyond her corner of the Archipelago, but have also built a slow-burning resentment towards the upper echelons of Archipelagan society - The Chaleuran specifically, who would more often than not be attended by servants when they were not even of royal blood themselves, or even particularly rich. Their society in general was incredibly backwards, and it made her seize up a bit to think they let the poor among them die while they dined upon delicacies without a care in the world. These sorts of thoughts stung though, because she was complicit to this sort of system. Here she was, hypocritically making food like it was some sort of art while people were still dying from famine in Leannán.
The middle-child of her family, Tarybris grew up being needled by her siblings, and had always vied for attention from her father, as had most of her siblings. A need for some sort of validation beyond the reassuring smile of her grandmother had turned her somewhat bitter, and it wasn’t until leaving for culinary school that she felt somewhat at ease about herself, finally independent from her family. Studying cooking, she finally found the sense of validation she had lacked as a child, and secretly felt herself a bit better-off than her siblings. As a result of these things, however, Tarybris is poor at taking criticism, and can be rather haughty when it comes to things she feels she is good at. Criticism has the capacity to really cripple her, more than anything, turning her to emotionally withdraw, and this is the ugliest side of her personality. Now established, she no longer hungers for praise from others, but criticism - particularly from stuffy nobles who have no idea what they’re talking about - can turn her to stone. And while she may deny it to herself, her consuming obsession with food as art (and restoration) has turned her a bit stuffy, too.
ＳＫＩＬＬＳＥＴ
● Fan of Knives - Having quite a few years experience cooking aboard fast airships, Tarybris is extremely adept at both cooking and maneuvering around tight quarters to do so. As expected of someone with such experience (and formal training to boot), she can prepare nearly any dish or ingredient thrust upon her with relative ease.
● Robust - Tarybris has expert experience in vomiting, as she has dared to try even the most “authentic” cuisine from dodgy-looking alleyway food stalls. One might suppose she also has a lot of experience working in a high-pressure environment for a long time, and aboard ships in general.
● Trivia Expert - When most of one’s education about the world comes from reading about every ingredient known to man, they’re bound to pick up some weird facts here and there. A great amount of Tarybris’ knowledge about the world is through this lense.
ＷＥＡＫＮＥＳＳ
As one might imagine, working in royal cruise vessels to prepare the most artery-clogging, heart-stopping (decadence is always in fashion) variety of foods - in tight quarters nonetheless - does nothing good for one's waistline. And given that Tarybris spends her free time compulsively tasting odd flavour combinations, her physical capacities are rather limited. Anything that requires a great deal of stamina or endurance is a challenge for her; and while she has considerable experience on ships, that experience did not consist of climbing masts, or any of that nonsense. Similarly, she is a civilian, and much more than a quick tussle with knives (and this in itself is dubious) extends beyond her physical capacities.
ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ
Tarybris was born to a Luciolean shopkeeper, and a Leannán farmgirl, the latter having escaped to Luciolean with her mother ten years prior to Tarybris’ birth. Her family was large - three sons and two daughters besides Tarybris - and her father was the proprietor of a baking supply shop that had been around for many generations. They were not too wealthy, but very comfortable in the cobbled streets of San Michel, living in an apartment behind and above the shop. Tarybris spent her childhood tidying the delicate aluminum pastry moulds, and transporting some of the goods from their manufacturer, a man who lived a few towns over. Many times they had too much inventory for their shop, which was nestled in a fashionable street of San Michel, and she slept with the towering crates of steel-cast bowls and spoons next to her bed.
Somewhat surprisingly, her fascination with food did not come from her father (though it was certainly amazing to look into the window fronts of neighboring Luciolean boulangeries). It was the neighboring Ichiren tea shop (such exotic concepts were quite popular) that had first awakened her palate. From birth, she had been fast friends with the shop owner’s son (of similar age, though he was much shyer), and one spring day they had been eating lunch together, when he’d shared a sweet given to him by his aunt, for one of the unfamiliar Ichiren holidays. Wrapped delicately in translucent paper that shuddered in the spring air, the small cake was dusted in a slightly nutty, sweet powder. There was a thin, crunchy shell that tasted of woodsmoke, blending with the cloying nuttiness, and the inside of the cake was filled with a sticky paste that clung to Tarybris’ mouth. It was, at one moment, too sweet - some sort of bright legume - but gave way to a bright sourness that sent a shudder up her spine. After a moment, her mouth was filled with the taste of flowers. It was intrigue and exoticism wrapped in a slip of paper.
When she’d learned as a teenager that cuisine was exceedingly popular in Baleine, and that there were sky-vessels that served all matter of foods from around the Floating World, and that this was something she could do as work, Tarybris was hooked. When not working, she spent her free time nibbling weird ingredients she bought with pocket-change from San Michel’s open-air market: funky-smelling curdled yolks from some island under the Ichiren, some sort of healthy lichen drink from Bridesend, a sliver of dried ham from Calor. She read about the grey-feathered pheasants that flocked to some island off of Baleine, which supposedly tasted like saffron. Upon completing some small amount of education mandated by her father, and becoming an adult in the eyes of the state, she applied for a scholarship in a well-regarded culinary institute in Baleine. After two years, she was accepted, and studied under the nose of Archipelagan chef instructors, graduating after two years. She then found work as a saucier upon a lesser-known cruise vessel, The Mourneau.
The fashionable pastries of The Archipelago and especially Baleine and Luciole were generally made using whipped egg whites, which created an airy base that was otherwise impossible to create in the high altitudes of the Floating World. As such, making fresh pastries or bread was impossible on an airship, lest it had a coop of birds aboard. Tarybris’s claim-to-fame, so to speak, was discovering that the juice from an incredibly protein-dense root would form a strong foam when whipped. And this could be used to make all sorts of pastries and breads and cakes with no need for fresh ingredients. After replicating a Luciolean pastry - topped with glazed fruit and caramel, as was the fashion - aboard The Lilliene, Chef Brun became the talk of the Baleinese socialite culinary circle for all of a few weeks (which made her very uncomfortable). After all, what self-respecting patron of the culinary arts could really bear to be on a cruise vessel for very long, without access to a boulangerie? It was truly, truly a revelation. After this incident, and perhaps one involving pickled yuzu, Tarybris became somewhat well-known among fashionable socialites as a chef of haute couture and her career similarly oriented towards serving the elite.
It became less of a struggle to find a good position on any vessel of her choosing after this incident, because she was not only able-bodied and skilled, but also because Chaleuran and Baleienese socialites lived off of feeling special, catered to. Indeed, Tarybris’ scant stint under the limelight catered to this, though it was nothing more than a flash of light in an unending reel of upper-class gossip. Though admittedly, no one could make food quite like she did - warm bread that was not hard or stale (as par the course for vessels), but tempered to be soft with the addition of citrus juice, airy and light from a base of root-foam. Luxurious and comforting, studded with crisp nuts and small dried fruits. While cooking aboard a vessel was light years more interesting than being stuck in Baleine or Calor, Tarybris found it terribly uninspiring. Chaleurean nobles only ever wanted to eat fatty beast-meat in pools of overly decadent butter, and too-sugary pastries served on tiny plates. No one was interested in her pickled fruits, or the breads she made from root-flour, or the small slivers of fish she’d dried with herbs, to make them salty and fragrant and wonderful. And the chefs she worked alongside weren’t too keen on the weird Ichiren vegetables she’s tried to grow alongside the fruit trees, either.
It was incredibly frustrating, not what she’d imagined. And by this point, she was far too experienced to work on a dingier vessel, one of those trade vessels permeated with a rousing mix of sex and excess - though she was leading towards trying to, anyways. Maybe she would go back to Luciole and work with one of her brothers or sisters at the baking supply shop. But that wasn’t a real alternative, and with any luck, Luciole would turn to Calor’s caste system and they’d all be screwed, anyhow. She would sooner try and move to Gekkō and start a tea shop, or make pies there which were actually bombs. The hint of an opportunity came when news of Madame Le Fèvre’s search for a crew arrived. It was intriguing, to say the least. Tarybris had actually met the Madame before, and her name said nothing about how spry she actually was - adventurous and interesting. Affable, even. The prospect of working on a vessel charted by her - a living legend - was too good to pass up.
ＡＭＢＩＴＩＯＮＳ
Heading into her late twenties, Tarybris feels as if she’s done nothing of real interest or value, and this scares her. The years after graduating from school have afforded her the ability to gain practical job experience, but all feels very constrained and stodgy to her. While respectable, her latest position upon a royal Baleinese vessel has left her feeling mentally and physically unfulfilled - without the heady blend of excitement and intrigue that had made airship life appealing in the first place. And hardly any room for her unwavering creativity, curiosity. The North Wind seems like a truly once-in-a-lifetime experience for a civilian like Tarybris; to escape the rigidity of The Archipelago and explore the unknown is an exciting prospect. Perhaps she could grow interesting plants and herbs, fruits on the ship, prepare something other than exquisitely fatty beef or river-fish to Beauchene-wannabe nobility. There were so many places beyond Baleine and Luciole and Calor that seemed unbelievable, exotic, of legend. A patron of The Feuille had once given her an orange fruit from Migiwa he insisted upon having with his fish. The dull, unassuming kaki turned out to have a wonderfully woodlike, slightly spicy yet muted flavor. In one of her old books on Ichiren cuisine, there were a scant few illustrations of the ornamental wagashi made in Tennō - supposedly made from fruits and starch, carefully carved into flowers. An old mentor of hers had once spoken of gold-speckled moss that grew along the rim of The Cauldron, which supposedly tasted like lava smelled, with a dash of citrus. The sulphurous teas of Tijan were rumored to make one spread one’s arms out in benediction. Cumulus had written about horned, multicolored frogs around Kujira that tasted like the wind, and springtime. And so on.
ＩＮＶＥＮＴＯＲＹ
● Roll of Knives - A canvas-bound roll of knives - one for paring, one serrated, and a large one, with general heft - for everything else.
● Codex of Tastes - Rather beat-up and seriously worn, this book chronicles different ingredients in the known world. The margins and negative space are heavily marked up with notes.
● DIY Spore and Herb Kit
● Sachet of Dried Ichiren Plums - A great comfort to suck on.
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The stars seemed closer on the edge of a precipice. Without an island to cloud the view, the sky seemed to stretch far beyond the great void. From here, where Rahab stood, it dipped into the vantage point just beyond the billowing clouds of the Calamity. Juxtaposed against the backdrop of an endless, churning void of lighting and peril, the stars seemed to glow all the brighter. The blackness of danger lit the sparks in the night sky into endless, burning candles.
With the heat of a summer shower wafting from the sparse grass in Albayza, it created a still life of the world for Rahab. It felt like he could reach out with a wet brush and blur each color together. These feelings don't find him often enough. Chaleur didn't have much opportunity to enjoy the splendors of life as it should be enjoyed. Instead, currency and status clouded even the prettiest of vistas to twist them into another grab for money or reputation. It soured Rahab's taste to the outside world and to the art and culture that tried to strive beyond the confines of Chaleur's social scheme.
In shifting perspectives and coming upon many vast revelations in his own handful of adventures, Rahab took a curious interest to the culture and beauty of past civilizations. Great monuments torn and turned into ribbons of stone and vines would always look better as he saw them, rather than as depicted before the mystery that wiped the past empire clean. Nothing compared to the very nature of an island reclaiming her lost bounty in the rubble of stone pillars and stone walls. No art work came close to topping the stubs of feet wrapped in vines and cobbled with dirt erected in grassy courtyards.
These were things Rahab yearned for; they brought him to Albayza with a purpose that shoved all thoughts of family to the side. He was making history far more interesting than featuring as a simple name in scholar's workbook.
It was why he woke early that morning to the smell of summer rain filtering in through his cracked window. A streak of wetness, tiny little water droplets, formed a solid rectangle along the windowsill before falling in streaks down the hotel wall. Rahab forced the window shut before gathering what all he packed. There would have been no use in unpacking when he'd only be in the hotel for a day, so each case remained tightly sealed and ready to be carried swiftly out.
With such an eager expression lighting his face, Rahab bypassed any morning ritual he might have had. Excitement and adrenaline carried his feet one, large step at a time and it spared little time for trivialities of society. If Rahab stopped for just a second, he'd find himself going back: he needed to fix his hair, needed to wear the right set of jewelry, needed to put on proper clothing, needed to look fresh and like royalty.
In reality, he needed only one thing: to board that ship into oblivion.
Warm rain greeted him the moment his foot went from marbled floors to hard pavement. It was welcome, as it gave Rahab an excuse to look as rundown as the rest of the riffraff plaguing the docks. He'd arrived early and would likely wait the longest. Among the locals, Rahab would still stick out with his many cases of luggage pressed against him in any way he can manage. Yet, the man still held his head as high as he could, with a bright smile filled with a row of stark, white teeth - straight enough that it garnered sneers from people who caught sight of him. Many a hotel patron offered to have it shipped to the port by noon, but he wouldn't trust anyone else with his possessions. Call him selfish or an elitist scumbag, he knew his stuff best and knew how best to handle it.
So he forewent assistance and preferred looking cumbersome and ridiculous in the downpour of rain. Rahab made little contact with those that came to stand by him in, though he thanked a portly man for keeping him upright during a particularly heavy gust of wind. The railings wouldn't help if he had enough momentum and weight to topple himself into the void. Whether those that gathered by or around him were his shipmates, Rahab made no actual effort to find out. It was an inevitability, one he wanted his absolute, fullest attention to focus on. People he could likely die with (how exciting!) deserved at least that modicum of respect.
When The North Wind finally docked (most definitely late), Rahab jolted onto the deck of the ship first among the new crew members. He made for the underbelly of the ship only to stop half-way. It would be entirely rude of him to not greet anyway, and yet he had so many things to carry. The predicament forced him to stand upon the deck, wobbling in the heavy wind and warm rain.
"Greetings! It's a fantastic day for an adventure, isn't it?" he shouted over the gale roaring in his ears.
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Always running. Running. Running.
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Rahab'in al-Somail-Dokar ibn Hakim
⇘ Rahab Somail
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Twenty-Four
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Male
ＰＬＡＣＥ ＯＦ ＯＲＩＧＩＮ
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Chaleur/Calor
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Smooth, tawny skin lacking any real blemishes, Rahab inherits more than a title for status. Everything from the set in features to the feather tufts of hair speak of a mountain of wealth. The ability to afford exotic soaps and spices settle into Rahab's skin. Products that come off the market for small fortunes more expensive than a decent plot of land waft in his hair and along his silk clothes.
For a man who's hobby consists of disarming and triggering traps and running through dilapidated ruins for a living it's extremely hard to tell from a simple glance. Even if he has callouses on his feet and hands or a stash of ripped up leather and cheap cloth they aren't things people imagine him with. When people can see him and when he's not in the 'safety' of uncharted islands (or even in a private room for comfort), Rahab often dresses to impress or simply looks impresses. Some people say soft or genteel, but he prefers comfort. Just more ties to his heritage and upbringing that's evident even in his proper stature - always poised for and settled for esteemed company.
He's tall and affords most things to the 'controlled breeding' of Chaleur's arranged marriages, though he owes only athleticism to his own hard work. It's mostly for stamina built through running through endless corridors and mountains of rubble. His eyes are a vibrant brown and his hair shines a heavy black color; he talks with exact enunciation and a low baritone with slight rolls to his R's; he smells expensive and different every time he walks by. He's rich and, despite running from that life any chance he can, he doesn't seem to care about subduing his status.
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Rahab has a thirst for knowledge that drives him, with a stubborn streak and a hotheaded determination to further boost him. It makes for an energetic young man with enough enthusiasm to spare. It also means that Rahab dives first without looking and second without knowing. He'll leave an impression, at least, potentially in the ground.
Further interactions with Rahab allow his demeanor to breathe, exposing itself. Being raised without want and with every need satisfied far above the necessary threshold makes for a very spoiled individual. Rahab is no different in this and feels almost entitled to a number of things. It rubs people the wrong way, especially as this attitude is overshadowed by his own passions. In a sense, it's easy to misplace the trait, but not quite so easy to brush it off. Coupled with the fact that Rahab is also stubborn in a very persistent, prodding way, it makes it that much more frustrating to deal with him.
Deeper still, Rahab hides a lot of his less than savory nature beneath a wide and loud front. He doesn't want people to know that he'll run away from his problems rather than face them. It's the entire reason he is where he is. Ignoring issues comes easily when he's been taught that money can buy near anything. When in reality Rahab holds more power than he knows, which comes off as scary more than thrilling. He's not worried about making change; he's worried about becoming another pawn to his family. It's scarier still when he knows deep down that he already is. By doing nothing, he's condemned his home to the coiling snake of nobility.
Those are things he won't tell a soul. He'd rather let people see a spoiled brat than a coward. He fumbles with conversation with people. It's easy for him to keep up the act simply because he has no idea how to change people's minds. Socialization isn't a thing he's built for. Dealing people was something his family did, not something he ever really wants to do. Thus, 'spoiled, bratty, rich asshole' seems to be a common title for him.
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● Linguistics (Ancient Languages)
● Trap Disarming
● Reconnaissance
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A man of Rahab's status would have everyone believe that he can do anything. He'd be able to convince them too, if not for the fact that he's an awful liar and can't navigate conversation to save himself. Having been of high status for most of his life, Rahab hasn't needed to do much other than look pretty and study hard. The conversation skills were supposed to be genetic, since his entire family hold a considerable amount of political power. The lack of combat related skills, however, makes sense. Bodyguards and mercenaries can be bought. Plus, money can do wonders in place of a silver tongue.
Rahab dives into ruins without much thought to his well being and his work often doesn't require persuading if money or valuables are within reach. Rahab has yet to run into a situation that lands him in a bind, but so far his work has been cushy, simple jobs. Though, his judgment isn't the best, either.
Of course, there's always running away. From experience, he's rather good at that.
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Chaleur suffers incredibly from an already large gap in its societal structure. Nobles have unmistakable power sitting atop Chaleur's social ladder, with the ashen* beholden to the bottom of the rungs. With the recent occupation, this gap has only grown. The higher ups sit on even more power and wealth than previously and have enforced a number of ways to ensure the caste system remains in check. This has only given the various families that make up these nobilities more ammunition to chew and spit at each other.
Tied to one of these families, Rahab has always found himself shown only a modicum of the political field. As a method of keeping their family in check, the parents tend to skew details to ensure that they remain in the best light. This gradual spoon feeding of information churns out a number of children who have only one side of the story and a bias to keep their family on the top. Even when the truth is uncovered, they remain ever loyal to the cause - little soldiers for a war of words.
Of course, some children find away to break the mold. For Rahab it came as an accident. While still in his studies, Rahab found interest in the prior civilization beneath the depths of the cloud seas. Each of his siblings took to a hobby in their studies to provide them with enough culture to pass the meat grinding social parties of their nobility. A hot topic at the time was Ancient Languages, something that caught Rahab's attention near immediately. Concerning his knowledge, it opened quite a few doors that brought him further away from his father's words.
With Rahab's mindset, it was very difficult to instill anything that he didn't want to hear. Thus, it pushed him into doing things he might otherwise not - a rebellious streak a mile wide. He skipped out on classes to further his own interests and only attended things he thought were useful to his passion. Further studies were skewed toward a career in linguistics. The sudden turn from politics to a pipe dream enraged his father, but Rahab kept at it.
Eventually, Rahab found himself itching to get off the island. The endless power struggles came to a head and if he didn't run, then he'd get caught in it. So he bought out a spot on a research vessel full of mage students on their way to a pocket of unmapped ruins. He spent days running through endless corridors, decipherign the language and finding an endless fountain of knowledge. It spurred further adventures down the road, more and more perilous.
In his treasure hunting stint, Rahab forged a number of skills he found invaluable and that a number of teams could take value from (an added bonus from the hefty stipend he usually offered them). The second time he hitched a ride, the ship he'd bought his way onto sent him ahead as a joke. He was expendable, after all. When he came back wounded, tired, and elated the patch job scouting became a common occurrence. Rahab would venture out first, map the corridors, trigger and unhinge traps, then report his findings. It was both his enthusiasm and a smidgen of luck that kept him alive through each and every trip forward.
Much of this came at a great cost and not only in money. Each time he'd go off and return, his parents would punish him and threaten worse. In the recent months, they've threatened disowning him, something he's feared since he began. As his parents take to the political floor once again, however, Rahab has decided to take another chance and push his luck further.
To secure himself a spot on The North Wind, he's stolen a small fortune from his parent's vault in order to fund the adventure to a head. He'd found out through rumors; something about a relative of Cumulus setting to finish the old man's job. An opportunity of a lifetime for Rahab and at such a perfect time. He set out as soon as he could with the money in tow, as well as a listing of all his relative skills. Every crew needs someone to translate and transcribe things, after all - if they want an easier time navigating ruins, that is.
*A term used to describe the impoverished of Chaleur due to the grime and dirt that often clings to their skin. They look ashen and malnourished.
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Escaping the political scene in Chaleur. Ever since the occupation, power seems to have shifted balance and his family is doing everything in their power to leech off of the misfortune. Instead of working to stop them, Rahab has taken to treasure hunting as a 'hobby' of sorts. If an opportunity keeps him away from his family, Rahab's going to take it.
Aside, Rahab does find fascination with learning more and more about the ancient civilization(s) that once ruled the world. He seeks knowledge from artifacts more than he seeks money or glory. Adventure is also a plus.
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● Journal - inside is various map layouts of ruins traveled, drawings of artifacts and vistas, as well as documentation of surroundings.
● Pen and Ink - writing tools; the ink is always sealed tight with a cork.
● Crimson Amulet - a one use amulet that's imbued with the magic to create a medium strength shield.
● Fire making Kit - some flint and stuff to make a fire with in an emergency situation.
● Flask - for water or any other beverage he wants on hand.
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The North Wind was far more extravagant than any other ship Zephyrus had ever been on, as a passenger or otherwise. The thought of captaining it left him a neurotic wreck, not because he was worried about doing badly –– there wasn't enough time in the day for thoughts like those –– but instead at the idea of accidentally rubbing off the gold paint, chipping the railings, or leaving scuff marks on the deck. Even for a ship on a long-term voyage, it had more space than it ought to have had reserved for a myriad of different purposes. What kind of vessel had a private library? It might have been more of a nook than a room, but it existed! And the crew quarters were more akin to rooms on a cruise-liner, so large they were! Hardly the hammocks that had them crammed in like sardines that he remembered.
(Speaking of, his own personal quarters had too much finery. He'd have to find a new purpose for the rich scarlet curtains and the incense burner on his end-table. Zephyrus had a sneaking suspicion that literally made his nose itch: it seemed more akin to Baleinese preferences than his own austere tastes.)
The first one on board was Rahab'in al-Somail-Dokar–something. Zephyrus hadn't been present when he applied, but he knew enough about him to pick him out of a crowd. An air of wealth wafted up the gangplank and past the captain as the second Chaleurian to grace The North Wind's deck stepped on board, possessions in tow.
"You wouldn't think it to look at it, but these are the best conditions for what we're doing," Zephyrus told Rahab with a grin, which didn't fade even as his windswept bangs flopped into his eyes. "Here, why don't you set those down? Unless they're light enough to be blown away, that is. We have other supplies to take on board, and it'll certainly be easier to get things settled in if you have an extra pair of hands to help you out."
The captain knew just where he could find such help. Cupping his hands to his mouth to ensure his voice wouldn't be lost in the squalls, Zephyrus called out to the crow's nest, where he knew a certain navigator could be found. "Deimos! Want to give us a hand down here?" Much quieter, and as an aside to Rahab, he continued, "I don't doubt that they can direct you to the library if you ask nicely. I'm told that the Madame put some interesting scrolls in there." And with that, Zephyrus clapped him on the back, hoping that it wouldn't unsteady the man enough to drop all of his things.
There were pressing issues to attend to. The dockworkers were already preparing crates of their supplies: perishables and all sorts of other essentials for the maintainance of a ship that were cheaper to order in Albayza than Baleine. He might have Godomar sign for them––he seemed like the sort to be thorough when it came to checking every box on paperwork––and then, after all the others had arrived, they could set off. We could be out of here within the hour, Zephyrus mused as he moved to help attach ropes to a crate of dried foodstuffs to bring it up the gangplank.
Casting a glance towards the other ships on the docks, the sooner the better. Flags and sails as far as the eye could see. Smugglers and Ichiren Pirates and merchants docked alongside Imperial Navy, but it was the ones whose colours he couldn't identify that worried him.
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If the sky is his home, Zephyrus Duchamps wants to know every inch of it.
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ＮＡＭＥ
——————————Zephyrus Duchamps
↳ "Zephyr" or "Zeph"
ＡＧＥ
————————Twenty-Nine
ＧＥＮＤＥＲ
———————————————Male
ＰＬＡＣＥ ＯＦ ＯＲＩＧＩＮ
———————————————————————————————————Taureau – An island colony on the fringes of The Archipelago with a primarily agricultural community. It has fertile, flat lands and is wide enough for several hamlets. Because of it's prime positioning and ripe resources, it is frequently the target of pirates and pillagers. Zephyr has not seen it in many years, as even after competing in The Emerald Tournament, he did not feel the need to return to his former home.
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—————————————————————————Standing at about 5'5", Zephyr is a striking figure with sharp, boyish features that have people pin his age as younger than he actually is. Despite his smaller than average height, his build betrays an impressive level of fitness –– lean, broad-shouldered, and the perfect person to do some heavy-lifting. He seems to carry himself with an air of good cheer, and it is a rare occasion when his toothy grin is not present.
Zephyr's most prominent feature, much to his dismay, is his patchwork skin. Though his natural skin tone seems to be a shade of medium brown, he is covered in mottled pale patches –– a condition that the world-wise Madame Le Fèvre calls 'vitiligo'. It is for this that he was chosen as a competitor rather than taken into manual labour as a slave: the most eye-catching boys had a tendency to become crowd favourites.
He holds his curly black hair back from his forehead with a hairband, and keeps it from his neck by shaving the underside of a top-knot. This style is not uncommon among warriors in the lands of The Ichiren Dynasty. For whatever reason, Zephyr does not like to wear restrictive clothing. He'll go shirtless when in warmer air currents, and wears open shirts and blouses otherwise. He keeps his impressive array of tattoos and scars visible on most occasions. The inked designs do not fit the typical profile of those from The Archipelago, and many of them have inscriptions written in the Yuagen language.
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———————————————————————————Every morning, Zephyr wakes up and is filled with thankfulness for the simple fact that he is alive. He enjoys the little things in life –– birdsong, the rocking of a ship, laughter –– and the big things, like friendship and camaraderie. The most important feeling that he constantly chases, however, is the thrill of a new discovery, whether it's on a personal level or something more earth-shattering. While once this itch for adventure and exploration was scratched by helping out his wealthy benefactor on whatever journey she wanted to go on, now it requires being able to call the shots and make decisions himself. What he wants to see is the bottom of the world.
It seems as so Zephyr has a one-track mind, and he'll go to whatever lengths to reach his dream. He's made of enduring stuff, and is unafraid of going through hardship (physical or otherwise) in the pursuit of it. Often he forgets, in his eternal optimism, that there's a grey cloud attached to every silver lining.
Zephyr is not a violent person. Often he goes to great lengths to try and secure a peaceful conclusion to an argument, even when it is clear to almost everyone else that such a thing doesn't exist. It doesn't sit right with him when he doesn't try to maintain the moral high ground, even if it is futile. His pacifism seems to come from his calm and meditative nature that innately seeks to solve problems, a side-effect of his spirituality. Some people are impulsive, taking action and never dwelling on it. Zephyr is different: he takes action swiftly, but then replays it over and over again in his mind, wondering the ways in which he could have approached it differently, or how he can be better in the future.
At times, his lack of an education and his 'slowness' can get the better of him. When he finds himself face-to-face with a problem that he cannot solve himself for obvious reasons, Zephyr often becomes flustered and frustrated –– a terrible side-effect of an independent nature that has him resist asking for help. He does not turn it away when it is offered, however; it's just the stumbling block that is showing vulnerability that stops him. A captain must stand on his own two feet, or so he thinks, and feels inferior whenever he needs a helping hand.
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————————————————————● Sailing – Zephyr is an excellent sailor with ten years of practice to back it up. Due to his experience aboard Madame Le Fèvre's civilian ship and his eventual captaincy of his own, he is more than competent when it comes to making decisions on the fly to both avoid pirates –– using cloud for cover and dirty tricks to pick up extra speed –– or entering into a naval battle with them. The ease with which he moves around a ship via the ropes and ledges (shortcuts!) often seems both daring and acrobatic.
● Combat – Zephyr is a former contender of the Seishō circuit of tournaments––and not by choice. During his time as a slave, he learned a variety of combat skills (in particular hand-to-hand and swordsmanship) as well as the ability to dominate in a melee. To say something of his skill, he won the often-fatal Emerald Tournament in order to earn his freedom. He is a fierce opponent, albeit a pacifistic one by nature. Old habits die hard: he's also a show-off, because his value was entirely based on how well he could entertain a crowd.
● Captaincy – Zephyr has a natural flair for leadership. When it comes to quick, hard decisions, he does not struggle with indecisiveness. Being able to keep a calm and level head in sticky situations –– and being able to calm others –– is a part of the job.
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————————————————————Zephyr's life has never been conductive to literacy. First he was a farm boy on Taureau (and learned only his letters, and some of his numbers) and later he served as a slave-into-combatant with no time for learning. As a result, he's functionally illiterate, requiring either extra time to read something as simple as a sentence, or someone to read it out for him. In addition to this, he has never received an education in science, history, geography and a lot of other things that most people in The Archipelago are blessed with. He's in great need of having things explained to him slowly and painfully, a process some people have described as "like pulling teeth".
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It is strange to think that Zephyr's life could have been much different than it turned out. A farmer on Taureau, not 'settling down' so much as being born already settled. It seems a long time ago that he lived there, before his sleepy little town was raided by pirates, and the navy was not around to defend them.
Zephyr was eight when he was taken into captivity and sold on the market. Briefly, he worked in the manor of a rich baron out in the lawless lands, but a few years later, the man was murdered, and his holdings –– including Zephyr –– auctioned off. The key to Zephyr's chains swapped hands, this time ending up in the possession of an arena master. Zephyr spent most of his teenage years fighting for entertainment in various venues. He won some and he lost some, though never lost to the point of permanent disfigurement or death.
He was well aware that the only way to get out of the cycle of violence was to win The Emerald Tournament, when slaves and willing participants alike could fight for their freedom or a sizable pool of prize money. Given that losing a fight in it would almost certainly be fatal, Zephyr only entered it when he turned nineteen, by which point he was already a crowd-pleaser in Seishō. With only the possibility of freedom pushing him onwards, Zephyr won, and with the winnings paid his way home.
His first steady job after returning to The Archipelago for the first time in almost ten years involved leaving right away on a civilian ship hired by Madame Le Fèvre. Because of his age, he wasn't suited to being a cabin boy or a deckswab, so the next available position was that of a sailor. His unique position as a former gladiator was what got him the job on the ship as a private for Le Fèvre, who insisted (at age fifty-nine!) on going to the most dangerous of locations. One would think that a normal crew wouldn't trust him for being green; however, as soon as he got his sea legs and started playing dice games in the mess with the others, they warmed up to him, enough so that he was a serious candidate for Quartermaster within his first six months on board.
He would have been, too, if he could read.
Zephyr spent four years aboard this ship, the last of which was spent as the First Mate, learning the ropes of leadership. The superiors had all grown older and were nearing retirement age, seeking out apprentices, and his mentor was the captain himself. Madame Le Fèvre was as spry as ever, and she would need another captain to boss around, especially since she didn't trust any old sea-dog. After the crew disbanded, Zephyr used some of his earnings from his hard labour to buy his own airship to fulfill the same purpose. His first passenger was the Madame herself, demanding she be taken to various sites of interesting research.
Out of the blue, after quite some time of travel with a crew of his own, Le Fèvre summoned him once more, this time with urgency. Together, they began to prepare a voyage that she would not be able to participate in; the next great discovery. Giving command over his old ship to his First Mate, Zephyr prepared for captaining the state-of-the-art airship, The North Wind, on a journey like no other, with an unparalleled crew.
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——————————————————————Zephyr doesn't have a home. His life revolves around exploring new places he's never seen before rather than settling down. As a result, it seems only natural that he turn to the last undiscovered mystery left in the world. His burning curiosity isn't answering the question 'what lies below the clouds?' so much as it is seeing it for himself and deliberately taking that first great leap into the unknown just as Cumulus did.
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——————————————————————● Sword – Zephyr calls her "Cecile", and she was his first love. He has used this exquisitely-crafted sword, with its silver and red colour scheme, since he earned it in The Emerald Tournament, and it has been his trademark weapon, other than his fists, ever since.
● Prayer Beads – Picked up in the Black Market on Tsukuyo, Zephyr doesn't care if they have any religious significance of special powers. All he knows is that they focus his mind in time of great distress, and that's as good a reason as any to keep them tied to his belt.
● Boot Knife – Zephyr's a pacifist, but he's not green. Everyone needs an emergency blade stashed in their boot (or elsewhere) to be able to make a break for it if they're ever tied up.
● Communication Stone – This is technically the property of The North Wind as a whole. It provides a direct link to Madame Le Fèvre in order to report back, no matter the distance between users.
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The hard-wooden wall of her alcove bruised Searc’s temple, and Searc curled further into herself to find that small shred of sleep again. Sleep alluded her, however. The sway of the airship and patter of rain frustratingly left Searc disturbed and sick to her stomach. Crust broke around the slit of her eyes, flaking down her cheeks and oil caused her eyes to water – opening her eyes were useless, Searc couldn’t see her fingers even if they were pressing against the feather strands of her eyelashes. If she concentrated hard enough, though, Searc could see an outline of a cow in the darkness and red blisters on vibrant inflamed skin.
The airship jolted again and Searc inadvertently let out a whine. Anxiety quelled in her stomach and burning acid scorched her insides. Searc hated storms, even light ones like this.
When the ship is docked is the only time its moderately safe for Searc to visit the kitchens. Most of the crew are gone at that time, running errands or bumbling on deck. Searc knew what day it was. More members were joining today, which meant more people Searc must avoid. Getting food will be harder from here on out.
Food runs were a delicate business. Searc always took only what she needed for now, and the food was always the undesirable in some way or another. Stale bread, cheese eaten with mold, curdled milk. It avoided suspicion – they won’t miss what they don’t want. But with new crew members, with more risk, Searc can’t make as many food runs as she did before.
Searc’s hands fumbled in the dark, numbly pressing against hard surfaces until a door gave way and small slivers of light burned her eyes. Time was of the essence, unfortunately, and so Searc spilled out of her nook. The floor thudded underneath her knees and palms – sharp needles ran up and down her legs and arms and her back ached from being curled in such a small place for such a long time. Searc stumbled, getting unsteadily onto her feet and making her way to the kitchens sluggishly.
The kitchens were empty – Searc thanked any deity looking out for her – and she rummaged in the bottom cabinets. She had to take more food than she would have liked – stock up in order to avoid more kitchen runs; both were risky business. She rummaged through the food, reaching in the back to find the expired meals, and felt a sack of baguettes.
“Hi, food, time to come home with me.” Her voice sounded unfamiliar, croaking into the still air and scratching unpleasantly on the back of her throat. Searc talked to herself sometimes – to inanimate objects, sometimes – it kept her from going crazy, to make herself feel less alone.
The walk back to her hideaway unsettled her stomach and frequent tripping caused splinters to slide into the callouses of her heels. A cold sweat beaded her forehead, globules of salt damping her unwashed hair, and Searc licked her dry lips. The airship bobbed. Searc could no longer hear anything except for the sounds of rain, slapping against the ceiling above her head. The acid began to crawl up her stomach and bile rumbled against her throat.
Searc scrambled towards a bucket in the hull, leaning over it and acidic bile coughed out of her and into the bucket. There was no food in her stomach, so it was only stomach muck and frothed saliva.
Searc crawled the rest of the way to her hiding spot and curled in on herself, attempting to ignore the way the sweat felt like rain on her back.
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A lonely stowaway hoping to find a new purpose.
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Searc Brolaigh.⧐ pronunciation "SHARK BROLLY".
Fifteen.
Female.
Leannán, but presides in Chaleur currently.
Searc has the paradoxical appearance of someone whose body has not quite caught up to the maturation of her mind. Obviously young, Searc has full cheeks that haven’t been melted away by dreary, life-pulling time. Her small, button-nose, dusted with light freckles and reddened at the highest peak, whether it’s cold or not, accentuates her cheeks and gives them an even wider appearance than the baby chub. However, her lower cheekbones have begun to thin, showing the beginnings of a strong, diamond-shaped jawline. The dull tan roughness of her lips, bitten to scabs and dried by the occasional dehydration, are disproportionate in thickness as the top is wide and the cupid’s bow is a small dip that barely impacts the upper lip’s shape while the bottom lip is thinner. Searc possess a small overbite, pronouncing the difference in her lip shape, and revealing the front of her teeth, which are slightly larger and with a small gap in-between.
Despite all the youthfulness in her face, Searc’s forest green eyes are surrounded by purple bruises brought by weary day’s work and little sleep. Her normally pale skin has an unhealthy sallowness to it and dark tan lines from where she works in the hot sun all day. The tan lines tend to show along her clavicle and lower thighs, since Searc prefers to wear shorts and cotton shirts that do not cling uncomfortably to her neck, though fit perfectly everywhere else to prevent the shirt from falling during stunts. Searc’s hair, once beautiful locks of light honey blonde, have been horrendously bleached by the day and constantly greased with sweat. Searc’s fingers and palms and heels and soles are rough with visible callouses; her fingernails are slightly chipped with a thin layer of dirt creviced between the nail and the bed.
Searc is young – obvious in her face, her body features, her small height of 5’1”, and even in the way she bounces on her feet. Though, the overwork on her body illustrates a life of hardship and constant struggle.
Certain traits are expected in someone with enough nerve to stowaway on the most famous ship of the moment. Adventurous, brave, ambitious, and definitely thrill-seeking. Searc Brolaigh is none of these. Actually, she is quite the opposite.
In reality, Searc is a lost soul who has no ambition or even a specific desire for adventure. She’s lost and doesn’t really know who she is; she moves through the motions of life, but she isn’t really living. The only thing Searc is focused on is surviving in this harsh, cruel world. Hardly living as a human, Searc lives as a subhuman, willing to degrade and demean herself for the cruel entertainment of upper caste members. Though, her humiliation does not affect her much – she instead believes she deserves it as she has an abundance of self-hate for herself. Everything that has ever happened in her life, Searc blames herself more and finds her life as more of a curse than a blessing. Seeing life as a curse, it should come to no surprise that Searc is an extreme pessimist. The world is dreary and in shades of black and grey for her; no good in the world can be seen. The only thing keeping her alive is her instinctive drive for survival.
Knowing how bleak Searc lives her life, it is a logical leap to assume that she is a rather withdrawn individual. She’s quiet and tends to internalize her problems, preferring her own company over that of others. This is not due to a dislike of other people, but rather of deep ingrained trust issues from her past naivety being taken advantage of too many times. However, if someone were to gain her trust, Searc could be easily manipulated by them as she tends to put her whole being into a new formed bond. Searc is obviously a very lonely girl, with no one to call family.
Not all of her personality is miserable and sad, though. Searc could pride herself on her independence – despite being all alone, she has made a living in the world and can provide for herself. She is capable of doing things on her own and does not want someone to hold her hand through the walk of life (though maybe she needs it). When she sets her mind onto something, Searc is incredibly determined and she is a hardworking individual that will do what she has to until her fingers bleed and her vision blurs. In addition, Searc is rather clever – she catches onto things quickly and can figure out things without help. Unfortunately, however, she has been deprived of a proper education and so she lacks in more scholarly knowledge, but she's not quite illiterate.
● Stealth.
● Intel.
● Acrobatics.
Searc suffers from astraphobia - fear of lightning and thunder. Searc developed the fear after being left by her circus troupe and abandoned to the life on the streets. Searc had to wait out storms in the open and suffer through them which has caused an extreme phobia of them. During a storm, Searc gets anxious and panicked - has vomited on multiple occasions due to her anxiety. On two occasions, Searc had broken into someone's home out of fear of the storm.
Furthermore, Searc has no skill in combat whatsoever and has never fought in her life. Searc has always been the type to runaway rather than face things head on. In all of her life, Searc had chose cowardice over coming to blows - avoiding the problem has always been the best solution in Searc's mind, and so she never learned how to protect herself from others.
Searc Brolaigh was born and raised on a small farm in Leannán. Her caretakers were her loving father and uncle – a year after she was born, her mother had run off with a travelling merchant and that was the extent of which Searc knew about her. Their small farm didn’t have much – a small coop of chickens and a single cow named Aoibheann. The first six years of her life were spent on that farm.
Famines are hard to live through – disease and starvation rattled the country. Searc’s home wasn’t any different. They had survived off the bare minimum of eggs and milk with a few fruits and vegetables they managed to salvage from their dying crops. It became much harder after Aoibheann stopped producing milk and two-thirds of the chickens were killed by a hungry fox. It was at this breaking point that Searc’s father and uncle decided on eating their livestock to survive. Searc was only five years old and didn’t understand why they had to die – she was very attached to the farm animals and she had developed a one-way bond with them as a child. Searc couldn’t prevent her dad and uncle from eating the chickens – they had done it before Searc even knew it – but she was able to save Aoibheann. Searc opened the gate of Aoibheann’s pen and let her runaway.
Without food, her uncle had a weaker immune system. He had an infection of some sort – he would cough up blood and mucus and got violent chills and night sweats. Her uncle eventually died and it was just her and her father at that point. They did what they could to survive – sometimes Searc would go in to town and steal items for them – food, blankets, other such necessities. Unfortunately, the only thing that lasts in a famine is the famine. Searc’s father had caught smallpox – Searc doesn’t know how (though she later believes it was one of the blankets she stole). Searc had become acquainted with death since the start of her life – the famine made sure of that – and after her uncle’s death, she understood disease quite well. Searc was six years old, and she didn’t want to die. She abandoned her father to the smallpox, running as far away as she could, in hopes that she wouldn’t die of it as well.
Weeks went by and Searc made do with stolen food and lived under any possible coverage, even during the rain. There was a point where Searc snuck into a travelling circus to see the sights – and to steal some coin for food – and an old woman caught her with her hands in another’s pockets. The old woman took kind on her and brought her under her wing. The old woman was named Amal, from Chaleur, and was a retired acrobat that travelled with the circus to lend a helping hand as a fortune teller. Under Amal’s direction, Searc began performing with the circus and travelling with them. She learned all sorts of acrobatics – tightrope walking, flips, trapeze, hooping, juggling, aerial silks, contortion, acrobalance. The circus became her family – for seven years, at least.
The circus had been doing a show in Chaleur – Searc was particularly excited to show off her new trapeze routine. Before it was her turn to do her act, Searc was walking along the circus’s caravans, when she overheard Amal arguing with another man over debts. Searc couldn’t hear the full conversation before she was ushered away to perform. However, later, she asked Amal about it – Amal only gave her cryptic, vague answers and Searc figured that was that. Except it wasn’t.
The next night, Searc wasn’t going to be performing, and so Amal brought her out to “meet a friend.” This friend, named Hakim al-Somail-Dokar ibn Fazid, was the same man she had been arguing with the other night. Amal owed him a lot of debts from before she ran off with the circus and now that she was back in town, he had come to collect. Working at a circus doesn’t pay that well, though, and Amal had nothing to offer him. Except for Searc. Fortunately, Hakim had no interest in such areas, but he did have use for Searc yet.
For the next two and a half years, Searc was employed to him as a spy of sorts. She gathered intel for Hakim from on the streets, helping him further his political position with her information. Meanwhile, she lived her life as a street rat. With no steady income, and being forced to pay off Amal’s debts with work, Searc had to resort to performing on the streets to gain money. At times it was bearable, at other times it became humiliating with jeers from the crowd over something or another. With what little money she had, Searc bought food, and for the things she couldn’t pay for, Searc stole. Living her life as a scoundrel, Searc became part of the “Ashen”, the low of the low in the caste system. People watched her from afar, treated her like shit, but Searc bared it with gritted teeth.
Until Searc snapped. It was a break of her anger, or even of her patience – it was the slow shattering of her resistance to such squalor. Searc became so tired of how she was living, or just living in general. Everything became a chore – breathing was a chore. But her drive to live kept her from ending it all. It was only when she caught wind of a special airship leaving that she found a way to escape Amal’s debt and Hakim's cruelty – Searc snuck into the bowels of the airship and said goodbye to her old life.
Searc hopes to start anew. She wants to live a life worth living and this airship might very well be her last shred of hope in the world. Even if it's a life of adventure and danger, Searc wants to feel more like a person than she ever did before and be able to let go of her past. Though, at the same time, Searc feels like she doesn't deserve it.
What does your character always have on them?
● Wire Rope — Typically used for tightrope walking on the streets as it is very durable.
● Cloak — A dark cloak with a hood that helps conceal Searc; it is covered in ash.
● Bag - The bag is completely empty except for three coins at the bottom of it.
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Above the whistling gale of the storm and the sharp patter of rain and cloud, Deimos heard the tell-tale cries below of their presence being summoned. Captain Zeph's voice shot above the dimming storm sharply, and Deimos almost had to hold back the sigh of disappoint as they realized their crow's nest alone time would surely be ending now. Though the storm has severely dampened (literally and figuratively) Deimos' mood already, the thought of having to climb down and interact with another human being brought a newfound anxiety to their mix of cloudy discomfort. Still, Deimos liked Zephyr, and disrespecting an order went strictly against their obtained code of honor and trust. The storm swirled above, lessening as time went on and they imagined how long it would take for them to climb down, and by the time they actually moved to commit the act of descending the wind and the barest of rain showers was all that remained.
Deimos stood slowly and shimmied to the ladder, descending down the mast as slowly and carefully as they could manage. The wood, turned slick and cold from the storm's torrential showers, threatened to drop Deimos at any moment if they had the guts to make any wrong move. Oddly enough, though, Deimos felt no anxiety at the thought of falling. Perhaps living at the monastery had schooled their fear of heights into something more useful. Glancing down they felt nothing but thrill. It swooped within their stomach and echoed waves of excitement through their limbs and summoned an urge to release the bars and just fall, but, of course, Deimos had no use for a broken body. So they descended, and as soon as their feet touched solid wood the anxiety of human interaction returned.
Approaching Captain Zephyr and the newly boarded stranger felt as if Deimos was walking towards some sort of rabid animal. Frightening shivers traveled up and down their spine, and their heart pounded with unfounded panic. Years of minimal to no human contact made speaking to strangers unbearable, which might be understandable but… Deimos wished they had as much skill with words as they did with maps. Eventually all the space between them and the two other people was filled by Deimos’ worried footsteps, and they started up at the taller man next to Zephyr with an oddly intense glare.
“Hello…” Deimos said quietly, voice barely heard above the gales of the storm, “M-my name… My name is Deimos.” They bowed politely, and when they rose they made direct eye contact with their feet, refusing to look up at the man standing next to Zephyr. A long second passed between the three of them before Deimos turned to their captain, staring at his chest with a bit more confidence. “How can I be of use, Captain Zephyr?”
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Devourer of knowledge, creature of the wind and the stars.
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Deimos of Tijan
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25
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Nonbinary (they/them)
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Tijan - A small island located close to The Ichiren Dynasty, Tijan is mainly dominated by the large temple that covers nearly every surface of the rocky land. The people who live here are most likely monks or scholars, living out their lives as peacefully as they can muster. Tijan holds a massive library full of found texts and scrolls and essays written by the scholars who make their homes here and many empty rooms which the monks use to house sickly or poor people if they are in need.
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Outfit
Baby-faced, short, and lean, Deimos could very easily pass for child upon first glance. Cursed with an extremely youthful expression and limbs that rarely act according to their whim, Deimos is as awkward physically as they are verbally. Standing a mere 5'4" and weighing just over one hundred and ten pounds, they are far from a threatening silhouette and seem to be fully aware of that. Deimos is rather attractive, however, even if they are not entirely aware of it. Vanity is not a virtue after all, and as such Deimos often does not spend too much time worrying or fussing over their appearance.
Tan skin contrasts vividly with Deimos' thick blonde hair which, despite constant badgering from the monks back home, they now refuse to shave. Their eyebrows are thick and dark, often turning upwards with anxiety, and their eyes give off a friendly light when they happen to be in a good mood. Pale green eyes star up at the sky and the stars when and glitter with curiosity when they think one one could possibly be looking. Deimos was happily blessed with an angular and androgynous face, and thanks to this they were able to go about day to day without having to worry about being misgendered. With a sharp, curved nose, full lips, and cheeks full of dark freckles, Deimos holds a relative attractiveness that definitely is not enough to turn heads.
Dressed in the usual modest outfit most monks seem to wear, Deimos is not exactly the most fashion forward person on the ship. They do not entirely understand the thralls of dressing fancily and find that suits and silks are rather lackluster, especially if they get in the way of working. Beneath their tattered outfits Deimos has fields of stars and monk symbols tattooed across their body, and sometimes, on particularly hot days, they will remove their sleeves and these odd markings will be visible to the world.
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Bumbling is the best way to describe someone like Deimos of Tijan. They were born into their awkwardness, raised by monks who shared their quiet and soft demeanor, and thrust into a world that was suddenly so much bigger than they expected, so of course they had to be a bit bumbling. Deimos always seemed to cling to the library when they were younger, craving the knowledge that the words held rather then companionship like many other monk children. Thanks to this, they have plenty of book smarts but fall flat when it comes to social situations. They often get anxiety from being in crowds or in tense situations, and have been known to hyperventilate when too panicked.
Despite their social anxiety, though, Deimos is a calm and gentle soul. They have taken a vow of pacifism and will never start a fight if they can help it. Of course, they will not hesitate to protect others or themself when presented with a dangerous scene, but in they end Deimos is strongly against causing harm to any living thing. To the people they have grown to known Deimos is an angel, treating them with the utmost respect and serenity they too would love to receive. Deimos believes strongly in karma, and as such acts according to what they wish to have in return. Because of this ideology, whenever Deimos makes a friend they work their hardest to make sure that person is as happy and content as can be.
Deimos is, of course, a book worm. They do not border on the term 'nerd', oh no, they are the term. Never has their been a better word to describe someone as bookish and meek as Deimos. They rely heavily on the well of knowledge that obtained from countless hours of studying and learning from the best scholars back home. This heavy leaning on their own intelligence, however, makes them a bit prickly when someone attempts to question Deimos' reasoning. Even the slightest insult to the cartographer's intelligence can put them in a bad mood, and while they are rarely angry Deimos does get depression or downtrodden rather easily.
In the end, Deimos is a soft and gentle soul that possesses an enormous amount of awkwardness. Where they fail in social situations they make up for in general intelligence and a thirst for adventure. Their curiosity rivals that of a hunting cat, and even if they are sure to tip toe around stressful issues once something of note pops up Deimos is always ready to learn more about it. Deimos rarely acts out with their emotions, and always seems to plan their steps a head of time before leaping into action. When not furiously documenting where they have been and where they will probably go, Deimos can be found reading wherever there is light or meditating and praying to their God. They work hard to maintain relationships and to prove their worth to their fellow crew mates, and this journey will be full of firsts for them.
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● Cartography and Star Mapping - Living with a monastery can get a bit boring sometimes, so Deimos decided to fill up their time by learning how to draw maps from the countless examples in the Tijan library. They are mostly self taught but have a fantastic sense of direction and enough knowledge on the subject to start from scratch. As for star mapping-- Deimos has always had an interest in constellation and has journals full of shapes and figures from the night sky. Both skills make them an extraordinary navigator.
● Herbal Knowledge - Thanks to growing up with a garden full of different leaves and flowers and monks who know how to use them, Deimos has picked up the ability to tell certain herbal plants apart from others. With this ability, they know how to use plants to make certain teas and pastes that could have powerful benefits. They can also tell when certain plants may be poisonous or dangerous to consume and actually have a few pouches of herbs on them for future use.
● Self-defense - Though well known to be a pacifist, Deimos was trained with their fellow monks in martial arts as a form of self defense and discipline. Their style derives from the act of using one's opponent's weight and power against them, and as such Deimos relies on speed and mental finesse rather then brute strength or direct hits.
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● Strength - As their usual stature may dictate, Deimos isn't exactly the most strong person on the boat. They have spent so much time building up their mental prowess they they have completely lost the ability to lift anything heavier than a half-full keg of beer or a small pile of books and scrolls. Of course, their monk discipline made them at least a bit quicker than most, but in the end Deimos is completely unfit to be manning any of the heavy lifting around the ship.
● Sailing - Though Deimos had studied the mechanisms of every ship possible in the library, when it comes to actually being out on the open air they known nothing of what to do with the ship. Directions aside, they really do not know the magic in how to get the boat to turn nor how to unfurl and wrap up the sails if asked, and thanks to this they often shy away from doing boat-duties in favor of just charting out their path.
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Twenty-four years ago, a child with dark skin and blonde hair was left at the doorstep of the Tijan Monastery-- a child that was born merely one year before. There were no parents accompanying this child, no pets or servants, and the only thing around the small crying bundle was a chain and a golden ring. This child was abandoned on a chilly Tijan night with nothing but the cooing songs of the gentle monks to sooth it and the blessing of an unknown God above to protect it.
Deimos' first memory was this: a dimly lit room, a blurred and concerned face, and a song. A song sung in a language they would not yet understand. A lullaby to calm the soul. Below them, in this memory, was an arm, holding them upright, and beside them was a chest keeping them warm. They had no clue who they were at this time, nor that they were abandoned and found and loved again instantly. This was their first memory and their first unknowable truth.
Deimos was brought into the monastery that night and instantly placed with a crowd of other children. If the tikes noticed the new comer's different hair and skin they said nothing about it, and Deimos was raised in a loving and practical environment as any other child. They were mentored by an older monk named Wangwei and the two grew close as Deimos slowly grew into their own as a scholarly type. Wangwei taught Deimos everything they know about their religion and their way of life, and was well known around to monastery for holding a rich love for philosophy and apothecary, that of which they also passed down onto Deimos. They learned to appreciate life and act according to their own wishes thanks to their mentor.
The happy days with Wangwei could not last forever, though. He was an older monk by the time Deimos was placed under his care, and when Deimos was about sixteen their mentor fell ill. Months passed with Wangwei bedridden, and Deimos, as loyal as ever, sat by their bedside and listened to the last teachings Wangwei had to offer. The night of his death was a mournful occasion for the whole monastery, but his life was celebrated for a week straight with wine and music afterwards. Deimos took part in the festivities only to keep their spirits up, but after the week of celebration ended they locked themselves away in the library to truly mourn their dead teacher.
Deimos studied every book in the library after that, sitting in the farthest corner for days on end just pouring each paragraph into their mind. They took a new found interest in plants and herbs thanks to Wangwei's influence and, slowly and carefully, began growing detached from the monks' hermit-like ways. They began to lose sleep and found their eyes drawn up to the stars mapped above the temple. They drew constellations from memory and mapped out the night sky one hundred different ways just to kill time. Their love for graphs and maps grew with each new scroll they discovered in the library, and soon they had hobbies that were more scholarly than monk-like. Training and meditation continued to play a big part in Deimos' life, but in the end they had begun to crave something outside the usual monotony they experienced.
And that 'something outside' came as a whisper that resonated through the temple halls. A monk, back from a pilgrimage, had heard tell of a grand voyage being planned and knew they were in need of a crew. Deimos devoured this gossip and instantly turned to the head council of the temple, pleading with them to allow them to use the boat as a means to obtain a spiritual journey. After days of pressing and pleading the monks gave in, and Deimos was suddenly thrust into a world that they did not entirely understand with a box full of scrolls and books and a dream to learn more than they possibly could know.
Deimos had nothing to offer but their brilliant mind and a curiosity that was deeper than most may realize. When they approached the person in charge of hiring for The North Wind's journey, Deimos laid their skills bare on the table. Hand drawn maps and star charts splayed across the table, and Deimos stared on with an unnatural flame of determination that seemed to cry 'look at me, look at me and see what I can do'. After a private interview and perhaps a whole hour of rambling map explanation, Deimos was hired as part of the crew of The North Wind, and they were finally getting the adventure they so craved.
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Growing up in a monastery can only keep someone entertained for so long. Deimos, after fulfilling his duties as a youth for the monks and teachers of Tijan, sought to experience the world to its fullest. They asked if they could go out to see the world, and when that didn't work they turned and began calling their excursion on the airship a 'pilgrimage'. Once free of the monastery rules, Deimos was free to find all of the knowledge they fervently sought. Their ambitions lay in their endless curiosity and their thirst for adventure, and The North Wind seemed to be the key to their wishes.
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● Scrolls x20 — Packed away in their large backpack, Deimos carries around countless scrolls full of old maps and star charts. Half of them are blank, however, ready to be use.
● Calligraphy Set — Ink (in various colors!) and at least a dozen paintbrushes used for map-making and, sometimes, calligraphy.
● Books x10 — Novels and textbooks and essays taken from the monastery. Deimos reads them on their down time or before bed.
● Prayer Beads — Normally tied around Deimos' left hand, these beads are a pale blue in color and give off a faint glow despite not holding any magical properties. They calm Deimos in the midst of anxiety and act as a focus for their nightly prayers.
● Silver Ring — A silver band which has just recently been able to fit around Deimos' finger. The inside of the ring is engraved with the name C. D'Aboville.
● Herbs — Plucked straight from the gardens of Tijan, Deimos has five pouches full of herbs that can be used for spicy teas, healing pastes, and other useful remedies.
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A hard rain had befallen the camp. The kind of rain that has droplets that weigh something, the type of rain you can feel in your bones. Clouds had gathered. Dark clouds. It was closing in on dusk and yet it was black as night already. A brisk wind had picked up from a breeze and was now blowing gusts through the trees. During the daytime hours the trees were a normal sight, just part of the scenery. But this night had changed them. The trees were an ominous backdrop, they stood taller than usual. The night animals had made their way far from the storm, or deep into their cracks and crevices. This was not a night for hunting or a night for travel, this was a night for hiding. And hiding it would be for those inhabiting the United States Military Refugee Camp, numbered Seventeen. The locals called it USRC-17. The camp itself was large and littered with all kinds of different hovels, homes, tents, and places people could seek refuge. In the beginning there was organization, sections, but now everything meshed together. Tents mixed with the shanty houses which mixed with the RVs and so on. It was a mess, and yet, it was beautiful in it's own way.
Lining the outside of the camp was the first, second, and third perimeter fences. The first fence was the first line of defense. The military had spent countless weeks preparing the refugee camp, and countless lives building it. The first and second perimeter fences were made of chain link and were layered. On top of that, the fences were held up by structural support beams that were meant to offset the weight if they were leaned on. The first two fences stood at eighteen feet high and were three inches thick. They stood, encircling the camp, a looming reminder as to what the world had become. The third, and final, fence was concrete and was a foot thick. It stood at seven feet tall, just high enough to keep the Infected from tumbling over, if somehow they managed to penetrate the first two lines of defense. The gates were patrolled by three man teams, ten of them to be exact. These men, and women, were highly trained and armed perfectly for most situations. These teams were not the best defense though. The best defense would be the "Cleaners" that left the camp to clear out local areas and keep the Infected populace down.
Now to the guts of the camp. The heart of the camp was a building, perhaps a house at one point in time, now the office of the Commanders. Surrounding this building were streets paved by the foot traffic of hundreds of people. Shanty houses built from plywood and lumber. Tents set up in various locations and of various models. And RVs, as well as huts and other types of structures. Some would recall it as reminding them of the photos they had seen of refugee camps in other countries. The difference was these refugees were hiding from a completely different type of war. In the midst of the chaos that was the refugee camp, near the center actually, there was a large barn. This barn had become one of the meccas for drinking and saloon-type activities.
And that barn-bar is where Matthew Clarke found himself sitting. After two years of crossing the country and killing Infected after Infected, he was now drinking beer out of a tin cup. It was degrading slightly, especially considering that he was once a veterinarian and fancied himself as a rising star. Nowadays, however, he was lucky to find a pet to operate on. Nowadays Matthew found his skills being tested and developed on the living form. Nowadays, he was trying to stay alive as a living. This new world had forged a new version of Matthew, but that was just a shell. Deep inside of that shell, his old personality and hopes and dreams still rested. But for now, he would rest and drink at the bar-n.
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Name: Jack Sullam
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Description: Jack is a well-built man, standing at 5 foot 11 inches he is not very tall though. His shoulders very broad and his stomach and chest are flat, not toned though. He also has prominent muscles on his arms and legs but not to the point of being incredibly strong. Naturally he is stronger than he is quick and it shows in the way he stands and walks. His skin itself is quite dry and his hands and legs are covered in small scars and calluses. On his head Jack has closely shaved black stubble which he cuts himself with the large clip folder knife he carries on his belt. His beard he has allowed to grow out and falls prominently for a good 4 or 5 inches off of his face, well defined jawline and chin. Again he uses his knife to keep the black facial hair in check as well. His face is also broad, like his shoulders, and holds deeply set green eyes, a slightly large and misshapen nose that holds the scars of a number of breaks. His lips are quite thin and are a light pink.
Biography: Jack is actually a Brit born and bred, born in East London he grew up on an estate, having been kicked out of school, and spent his time in small time looting and small time mugging. Before he could be caught for any of his ‘minor offenses’ he was sent to America by his parents, where he then lived with distant relatives. Whilst the family tried to set him straight Jack continued to ditch his school and mess around. When final grades came around Jack was less than surprised that he had not one passing grade. He took up an apprenticeship as a handyman with a friend’s dad. It was a dead end job with a dead end pay. By the time Jack was 25 he had a small apartment, a decent TV and some camping gear. Jack was almost looking for an excuse to break free from his boring hole of a life. He couldn't hold down a relationship and worked for some of the worst families in the Florida area. Eventually slipping into slight alcoholism. The only thing keeping Jack from abandoning his life now was the fun he had camping. He wasn't an outdoors nut but enjoyed the time he spent outdoors, alone and in the calm. After the outbreak Jack found it terrifying and then, oddly, calming. He decided to go camping as his escaping of the hordes and violence. For a time he was happy, but despite his enjoyment of being alone, he started to go a little stir crazy on his own. That was when he made his way to the Refugee camp.
Pre-Infection Career: Jack was a handyman, or jack of all trades, and so has a number of maintenance skills. However he is certainly no expert, so don't ask him to perform open heart surgery.
Other: Jack wears skinny blue jeans, mustard Timberland boots, a checked cotton shirt and a slightly large leather bomber jacket. He also has a large rucksack full of equipment, such as a Zippo lighter, most of a carton of cigarettes, a full bottle Jack Daniels, a couple of tins of beans, a spare pairs of jeans, a spare shirt and a pair of wellington boots. He also has a canvas tent however he donated that to the camp to help others.
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Come on, Marie, let me see it. Captain Ishida Hisashi pleaded with his patient, a rather harassed looking girl of about 10, even though what harassed her was herself and the wooden floor. Marie merely shook her head.
"I'm sorry, doctor, she's just shy." Marie's mother said, "she actually likes you, Hish. You know how it's like."
"Yes, I do." the medical officer replied to the mother before turning to the child again. From a corner of his eyes, he could see the blood seeping through the girl's skirt. She's had a bad fall, rolling down uneven terrain, her leg torn by broken wood, splinters and nails when she finally made it to even ground, "You know, I have something for you..." Hisashi swivelled his salvaged office chair around and rummaged through a cardboard box as he said, "if you show me how tough you are." From within the cardboard box, he produced a small bag of gummy bears. To be specific, it was a bag full of gummy Hamtaros infused with a range of vitamins and minerals. It was produced post-war, if the lack of luxurious colouring and the date of expiry was anything to go by. Hamtaro, the anthropomorphic anime hamster, was wearing a helmet, and gunning down an anime zombie with an inaccurately drawn M16 that looked good anyway. A speech bubble floated aggressively above its head, with indecipherable kanji (at least to the average American) being shouted.
"Doctor- You don't have to- It's too much for so little-" Marie's mother, as if presented with a million dollar vase, was shocked at the treatment.
"No, it is fine. Marie needs supplements. Her last health screening worried me." Captain Ishida Hisashi defended his decision. Marie reluctantly took the pack of vitamin Hamtaros and lifted her skirt, slowly as she winced in pain. It was bad. Appeared bad. A patch of bloodied skin, the outermost layer peeled at some places. Splinters were sticking out. Sergeant Maiko, the medical officer's most able and trusted medic, could not help but to come forward.
"It will be fine. Captain Hisashi take care of you." Maiko said in near perfect English as she gave Marie a gentle squeeze in the shoulder. It was funny that she should say that, considering that the child was surrounded by Japanese soldiers armoured from head to toe, looking like soulless robots, with swords dangling from their sides, and guns stuck to their bodies. The medical officer was the only soldier in the room with his helmet off. The only consistent concession they had made with their full battle order was their backpacks, which were close by.
What played out next was less than fine. A bloodcurdling scream could be heard a few shacks over even if it had all happened within a first-aid tent - the medical officer could only be pleased that it didn't travel far enough to attract any of the Kyonshi (as they were called in Japan). A few flicks of the tweezer, a wash of antiseptics and bandages later, however, and it was over. The child had been crying throughout, but she would live to see another day, and certainly to munch on her vitamin gummy Hamtaros.
It was certainly not the end of the day, however, even when the sun was dying, even when a heavy rain had stolen whatever daylight had remained. Then a radio call came in from one of the Kyonshikirapeitai patrols. A fight in a bar. One casualty. There was no longer such a thing as a 9 to 5 job anymore, with 24/7 being the norm. Hurrying over to the 2-man team who received the news and called it in, he approached what the humourous locals had called the 'bar-n'. He had to give them credit though, for not letting the grim reality of present life beat them down. It certainly did bring a smile to his face, even as he lowered and locked his visor.
It had faded when he entered the bar-n though, as he saw how men and women in low spirits drank to forget with lowered heads. With two of his fellow Kyonshikirapeitai flanking him, he quickly got to the casualty, who was in a daze and leaning against a wooden pillar, probably suffering a concussion. His face was covered in blood. There was a puddle of vomit nearby, though the stench was masked by the smell of alcohol and residual waste. In any case, he was stable, as the bleeding had stopped. All that was needed were antiseptic and bandages. The concussion, however, would be a problem in the longer term.
"These Americans." Captain Ishida Hisashi said to his men in Japanese, "As if the dead rising isn't bad enough, they are still trying to send each other to the grave."
"What can I say? They're Americans." Private First Class Ichiro followed up bluntly in the same language. The conversation was not continued from here on, as the officer in command found it hard to agree, yet just as hard to disagree.
What had set the medical officer off about the violence that had erupted over a game of cards and gambling, game of cards and gambling, mind you! Was that the victim looked to be about 18, if even that. He wouldn't be a man at all in many countries. It had cut a little too deeply into his hope for children living as normal a life as possible. "Who did this?" He asked, calmly, the people around him, however. Violence was not his way even if things appear to require it. There was reluctance around him at first, until a discreet finger was pointed in the direction of a man sitting at a makeshift bartop.
Captain Ishida Hisashi's eyes were drilling holes into the back of the culprit's skull soon after. He could tell even from the man's back that he was twice the boy's age. Flanked by his fellow JSDF soldiers, he made his approach towards Jack, his left hand gripping the mouth of his katana's sheath. "You! You there! I need to talk to you." He said, almost shouted, but kept the rage as far down as possible. His voice had almost wavered towards anger.
Some of the bar patrons were starting leaving.
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Name: (Family Name) Ishida (Given Name) Hisashi
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Asian, Japanese
Description: Hisashi is not a very tall man, standing at the average height of 1.78m. As he had been practising in the traditional arts of Kenjutsu, Iajitsu and various other armed and unarmed sports, he is toned and hardy, though not to the point of excess that could only be gained through bodybuilding. He found solace in such tradition, but regarded them more as art and fitness regime than anything. His eyes are a dark shade of brown that they appear black in less than bright settings, and as such can be hard to read at times. His hair is simply black, as it would be for asians. Being a soldier, and being traditional, he doesn't dye it. However, as he is more civilian in attitude than military, he did not adopt the standard short, spiky hair, but has let it grow a little bit longer right to the edge of military requirement. He thought it would put his patients at ease.
As a regular soldier with the JSDF and UN, he is always found in the uniform of his service, in whatever standard required of his operation. As he has been sent into the United States with the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company (In other words, the Zombie-Killer Military Unit), he is equipped like any other in the unit.
Over a light kevlar vest, he wears a suit of riot gear custom designed and made for the fight against the infection. In addition to hardplates that could withstand stabs and blunt trauma, whatever openings there are is covered with leather or PVC to reduce the chance of scratches and bites breaking the skin. The suit covers the function of knee and elbow pads, so those aren't included in his kit. Instead of a normal M88 ballistic helmet, the Kyonshikirapeitai helmet, like riot gear, has a clear visor that could be locked in closed position, preventing trauma to the face. This is not perfect however, as the throat is still exposed via a thin slit of opening. As he is part of the UN, his helmet is covered in blue cloth.
Beyond that, his gear consists also of some state-of-the-art borderline space age stuff, parts of Japan's own future warrior programme that was rushed into service when the dead began to rise. Only a small percentage of the programme was implemented, namely a forearm mounted PDA, which gives access to GPS, a messaging system, and in Hisashi's case, a doctor's assistant program. It is also connected to a RCF system on his rifle, which enables him to use it to peek around corners without exposing himself. A camera is mounted on his helmet so that soldiers of the same unit could patch into his line of sight. A radio allows quick communication, and is similarly charged. All of this, however, would be useless without power, and power could be gained from tiny solar panels built into the gadgets, as well as a larger one on his backpack.
On his uniform and zombie gear would be clearly indicated his national flag, UN affiliation, the red cross, his rank, as well as his prestigious unit badge: Two katana crossed at the bottom of a tori gate with the rising sun in the horizon.
As a medical officer, he is also required to carry an extra large military fieldpack filled with not just his personal gear but also medical equipment, supplies and drugs. As a Kyonshikirapeitai, he is required to carry a wealth of weapons with him adapted for combat against zombies, tweaked according to his profession (different kinds of soldiers in the unit carry different assortments of weapons). His primary weapon (though in the Kyonshikirapeitai doctrine, what is the primary weapon is fluid) is the Howa Type 89-F rifle, carbined for extra manueverability when being swarmed or in tight spaces. The folding stock adds to that agility. It has an attached bayonet, which is equally important. Sidearm consists of the Sig Sauer P226. But what truly makes a soldier with the Kyonshikirapeitai is his return to the military roots of Japan: the Samurai. Indoctrinated in the old ways, he is also armed with modern katana made of alloy steel and a wakizashi as backup and contingency for tight corners. He has 2 fragmentary grenades.
Biography: Hisashi was born into a traditionalist samurai family, the kind that did not acknowledge the atrocities of World War 2, the kind that spat at the circumstances leading up to the disbandment of the Samurai. As such, he is brought up this way, and has been practicing the traditional arts required of the Samurai ever since he was able to walk and speak. This traditionalist streak changed, however, when the time came for him to make his decision for further studies. In addition to being traditionalist, everything anyone had ever done in the family is done in the name of joining the military and climbing the ranks there, to fight wars, bring honour to family and country.
Instead, he had an interest in medicine, through his study of herbs, and through his friends, who were hoping to get into medical school as well. So he joined them, and flew to a neighbouring province to study in a medical school. His family and clan began to suspect his intentions, but thought it fine as medics are soldiers too. In university, Hisashi had made alot of likeminded friends, including foreigners, and it was there that he learnt more about the atrocities of WW2. He was further encouraged to go down a more pacifistic path, much to the chagrin of his kin.
Upon graduation when he was 22, he defied clan orders to join the military, and instead worked in a hospital as a surgeon. After numerous high profile surgeries and 6 years later, he decided to kick back and relax, and promptly became a general practitioner with his own clinic and staff. He got married, and had children five years later. He found out after that that he could relate well to children and their innocence - many of his best patients were children, and so he began specialising as a pediatrician, seeing that they were some of those in most need of medical care.
Paradise did not last. It was only a few years later when he was 36 when he clan began to act against his wishes, out of frustration and shame. The ultimatum: join the military or be disowned and abandoned. He gave in, and reluctantly joined the military as an officer. Due to his education, he was offered the position of medical officer, which he took immediately, finding it to be the only escape he has from his circumstances. But he was a reluctant soldier; he was never serious in his exercises and training, and could barely pass his fitness tests and marksmanship package.
When the outbreaks began, he was immediately put on the frontlines on account of his skills in medicine, which was sorely needed as casualty rates were high in the early days, and doctors were needed to research the pathogen that caused the dead the rise. He was kept back on most occasions in military operations to tend to the wounded and assist in disease research, but had his scrapes with the dead. The dead were piling up high before the war stabilised in Japan.
By luck (or ill-luck, or perhaps politics), he was put on a ship bound for the US, as part of a reconnaissance mission going ahead of a UN operation to reestablish communications with the US. Upon landfall, a base camp was set up in Florida, and overran. The 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai was decimated after putting up a fierce last stand (they were outnumbered 60:1. 90 soldiers were killed but so were about 3000 zombies) and its commander killed, forcing Hisashi, who was next in command, to lead what remained of the unit deeper into Florida, where they found what they were looking for; what remained of the US government in the form of a United States Army Refugee Camp.
As they were bringing two truckloads of supplies and 10 hardened Japanese zombie hunters into their fold, they were welcomed with open arms, and celebration, inasmuch as half-starved refugees could celebrate. Hisashi had set up a practice in the refugee camp since then, looking after the people and children there, as well as providing much-needed defence and morale boosts.
Pre-Infection Career: He became a surgeon for 6 years before settling as a general practitioner. This does not mean that he stopped doing surgery completely however, as some cases required him to perform operations. 5 years as a general practitioner in addition to those 6 years before had helped him decide on a pediatrician specialisation. He was then forced into the military ever since, and took the vocation of a medical officer readily. However, he had never been promoted past the rank of Captain, which was where he'd remain for the rest of his life.
Other
Personality: Hisashi is a pacifistic man, kind hearted, approachable - especially towards children. He is idealistic in his approach, and would not compromise even if circumstances change. Some would call him stubborn and rigid. He would normally respond to his detractors by calling them immoral, inconsistent and lacking in integrity. While some might venture further to call him naive, it was just that he was easy to misunderstand that way; naivety requires him to be ignorant of the consequences of his beliefs. The thing is, he isn't.
However, circumstances throughout his life did change him, just not in the above. He was once a confident, forward-looking optimist. He'd earned that through his successes in his medical career. However, his clan's meddling in his life had blunted such optimism. The war did the rest. He would frequently feel helpless and overwhelmed when faced with the prospects of the plague. He had to put down hundreds of patients who had contracted the incurable disease. Almost two years of research yielded nothing but sketchy theories, no cure; the best they could do was to delay the inevitable with medicine. His time fighting in the frontlines went a similar route. There were times when people would die under his watch, no matter how vigilant he was.
It didn't help that his company was decimated within days of setting foot in the United States. A legion of the dead was a rare thing - herds were usually under a thousand rotten heads strong, something a hundred soldiers of the Kyonshikirapeitai could easily handle.
Notes on the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company
The company belongs to a larger unit, the Kyonshikirapeitai Division. They are a new 'special forces' type military unit created to fight specifically against the infected. While they may stand shoulder to shoulder with commandos and other elite units, they are not as adept against human enemies. This is due to their combat training and method, which were mostly created to deal with the infected.
Half the time, they would be fighting hand-to-hand or at close range. The equipment that they use were ill-suited against human enemies as well. Their armour is bulky, which slows them down, making them easy targets. Some of their weapons, namely their swords and bayonet (as well as riot shields, spears and even gladius), would only be useful in specific circumstances against people. This disadvantage, however, would not be a big problem if the enemy consists of civilians and criminals without substantial firepower.
The reason they flourished in Japan was only due to the way people reacted to the outbreak. There, people were less prone to anarchy and competition, and instead turned to cooperation (mostly) to survive. This allowed the military and society at large there to concentrate on the real enemy, and adapt accordingly.
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He had to admit he liked the rain. He'd always liked the rain. But here, in the Sunshine State, it was a beast of it's own. It rained when the sun was shining sometimes. He remembered watching old reruns of Nick shows, seeing the bright, sunny, Universal Studios. It was gone, of course, so even though he was now in Orlando from St. Louis, he couldn't see what it was really like back in the 90s.
But this rain was nice and dark. He liked that too. He was on watch, even in the rain they came so they had to stand around and keep a look out. He'd left his jacket back in his tent, he only had the one of those. But he had a few t shirts and a two pairs of jeans. So he'd let the rain soak his shirt, which he'd finally stripped off and hung off the back of his pants. Someone new, he was sure, because he couldn't remember their name came up to take over for him, and he happily handed the rifle over before heading back to his tent. He changed into...well at least dry if not clean jeans, shoving a battered paperback book into his back pocket, and pulled his hoodie on before heading to the only place hat served drinks. Even if they always seemed to hesitate on giving him anything.
Conrad ran his hands through his wet curls, looking around the scene that was transpiring in the place. A fight, like normal. The number of people in this place had to lead to a fight or two. It was bound to happen in even better times. But the threat of life and death outside the camp didn't ease the tension inside it's safety. He rolled his eyes obviously, even if he would have liked to get a few swings in himself. Pushing his glasses up into his hair he headed towards the counter that served as the bar, leaning against it and waiting for the bartenders attention. He nodded to the older men just down from him, giving them a half grin of somewhat politeness.
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Name
Conrad Peter Axford
Age
Seventeen
Gender
Male
Ethnicity
Caucasian
Description
Tall, a little lanky, freckled and bispecteled. Conrad has a mess of auburn hair, stopping at about his shoulders unless he's cut it back closer to his jaw recently. It's a messy sort of curl that he keeps out of his face with either a hair tie or headband. Blue eyes set in a handsome face behind a pair of glasses that have seen better days. He has what looks like used to be three rings through his bottom lip, but is now only the right and middle one with a scar on the left from the other one being pulled out. There is a mostly finished tattoo of a phoenix around his left arm along with a few scars there and elsewhere. Some from before, more of them from after.
Pre-infection he was a little more muscular, but he's still rather fit.
Biography
Third child and second son, his father was an accountant for a gang and his mother a former prostitute. He grew up around a lot of family (some of whom were also in the same gang as his father), and a lot of "family" as well.
Schooling was never made overly important, or at least school itself. Conrad, along with his older brother ditched class a lot, but still managed to pass. If only just barely. By the time the world was going to hell he was already dropped out if high school (dropped out before they could kick him out for fighting among other things) working on his GED while working part time with his cousin at the restaurant he owned.
Pre-infection career
Bust boy and part time thug. Mostly just a trouble making teenage.
Other
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Before Jack could get a response out of his mysterious drinking buddy he heard the door to the bar-n slam open in the sort of way that screamed 'the authorities' and self-righteousness. Hunkering down he decided it was better than trying to draw attention to himself. He was sure the kid wasn't dead and fights were quite common so nobody would be lining up to rat him out. Though someone normally did, Jack just hoped it was one of those where they didn't. He was in no mood to deal with camp security, much less those pompous, self-entitled peacekeepers, most from god knows where. Jack had no real problem of them being there however he did have a problem that they had arrived and simply taken over running the camp. No vote, election or candidate to be found. Too Jack that sounded like an occupation, but of course the 'situation' has deemed this necessary.
Taking another sip of his drink, Jack thought maybe it was his lucky day. And then he heard the angry voice behind him. The distinct Japanese accent screamed UN and Jack muttered some muted curses to himself. Taking down the last of his drink he spun around on his seat and then sat back. The group of men were imposing though it was a surprise to see the middle one clutching at his sword. Not that peaceful and pretty aggressive too a man who was 'innocent until proven guilty' and one that was offering no form of resistance.
"Officer, this may be your first time interviewing a 'suspect', but it's not mine. And I promise you, if you keep shouting and going to pull your sword out you will scare away your witnesses, and that will probably give a nice big wall of no evidence to work with. So how about I give you my version of events, then you tell me your usual sermon and realize you are dealing with the situation like a bloody ametuer." Another drink was brought forward but Jack raised his hand and shook his head. He really wanted a drink but he also wasn't going to impair himself anymore than he had, the world was quite fuzzy now.
"See, me and my friends were over there having a friendly game of cards, there may have been some gambling, I'm not sure my mind is hazy at that part. Anyway, then I play a hand that I thought was unbeatable, it's looking like I am about to win and then suddenly the err..." Jack attempted to lean around the hulking forms of the soldiers to try and spot the boy. "...newest member of our game played a winning hand. Now, as anyone would be, I was fairly mad at this point. I hate to lose. But then as the kid leans over to collect his chips a card falls from his sleeve. See he had been cheating to get the win. Now cheating, none of us here can abide, and so there was a bit of red mist. I'm not entirely sure again what happened, probably the drink, and the next thing I know the kid is on the floor and I am walking over here."
Jack lent back with a wry and innocent looking smile on his face. "So officers, unless you have any real evidence then can I get back to my drinking? Because if not then I am going to claim witness intimidation 'till the cows come home, that armour and sword is fairly scary after all, and probably get off scot free anyways. Besides, this is some minor bar scrap, why send in the tanks for this? Aren't there other problems? Like the dead. Or is this just because you blue-topped boys wanted to exert your power again. Remind me when any of us decided we wanted you to take over the security and policing here?"
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Name: Jack Sullam
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Description: Jack is a well-built man, standing at 5 foot 11 inches he is not very tall though. His shoulders very broad and his stomach and chest are flat, not toned though. He also has prominent muscles on his arms and legs but not to the point of being incredibly strong. Naturally he is stronger than he is quick and it shows in the way he stands and walks. His skin itself is quite dry and his hands and legs are covered in small scars and calluses. On his head Jack has closely shaved black stubble which he cuts himself with the large clip folder knife he carries on his belt. His beard he has allowed to grow out and falls prominently for a good 4 or 5 inches off of his face, well defined jawline and chin. Again he uses his knife to keep the black facial hair in check as well. His face is also broad, like his shoulders, and holds deeply set green eyes, a slightly large and misshapen nose that holds the scars of a number of breaks. His lips are quite thin and are a light pink.
Biography: Jack is actually a Brit born and bred, born in East London he grew up on an estate, having been kicked out of school, and spent his time in small time looting and small time mugging. Before he could be caught for any of his ‘minor offenses’ he was sent to America by his parents, where he then lived with distant relatives. Whilst the family tried to set him straight Jack continued to ditch his school and mess around. When final grades came around Jack was less than surprised that he had not one passing grade. He took up an apprenticeship as a handyman with a friend’s dad. It was a dead end job with a dead end pay. By the time Jack was 25 he had a small apartment, a decent TV and some camping gear. Jack was almost looking for an excuse to break free from his boring hole of a life. He couldn't hold down a relationship and worked for some of the worst families in the Florida area. Eventually slipping into slight alcoholism. The only thing keeping Jack from abandoning his life now was the fun he had camping. He wasn't an outdoors nut but enjoyed the time he spent outdoors, alone and in the calm. After the outbreak Jack found it terrifying and then, oddly, calming. He decided to go camping as his escaping of the hordes and violence. For a time he was happy, but despite his enjoyment of being alone, he started to go a little stir crazy on his own. That was when he made his way to the Refugee camp.
Pre-Infection Career: Jack was a handyman, or jack of all trades, and so has a number of maintenance skills. However he is certainly no expert, so don't ask him to perform open heart surgery.
Other: Jack wears skinny blue jeans, mustard Timberland boots, a checked cotton shirt and a slightly large leather bomber jacket. He also has a large rucksack full of equipment, such as a Zippo lighter, most of a carton of cigarettes, a full bottle Jack Daniels, a couple of tins of beans, a spare pairs of jeans, a spare shirt and a pair of wellington boots. He also has a canvas tent however he donated that to the camp to help others.
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Tanya walked along the small market place carrying a bag full of groceries that she had gotten by trading a few things that she had in her RV, her eyes going up to look at the sky seeing the dark ominous look about them. Then there was a very loud clash of thunder as the rain started to come down, her RV was on the other side of the safe zone. Tanya noticed a group of Japanese peacekeepers entering the bar which she would frequent sometimes just to get a few drinks for herself after working on the walls. Curiosity getting the better of her Tanya walked into the small building, her eyes going down to the injured boy on the floor being tended to one of the men, and one of the men was talking to another by the bar.
It was more of a common thing there Tanya just rolled her eyes and sighed as she turned back around making a run towards her RV, it was a good five minute run to there as she opened up the door and closed it behind her. "Welcome back." Her younger sister said sitting up from the small built in couch, the RV they had managed to get while on their way to Orlando since this whole thing started. "Thanks." Tanya said softly as she emptied the bag to reveal several cans of canned food.
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Name: Tanya Roberts
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Biography: Born in a small family Tanya grew up in the city of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, both of her parents owned a high end restaurant down by the waterfront in the city. She also has a younger sister who she is very close to Tanya had a rather average high school life, she was never popular or put in with the outcasts. Tanya was apart of her high school choir which was where she eventually fell in love with music, and started to sing in clubs and other places. When she finished high school Tanya got a job at her parents restaurant, she enjoyed working with her coworkers and also enjoyed talking with her regular customers.
When the disease finally started to sweep through, Tanya heard word that her father had fallen ill somehow. Tanya and her sister Alexis visited their father every day, when he fell into a coma they started to get worried. When word came back that he came out of the coma Tanya her mother and sister quickly went to see him, but when they did the hospital was in chaos. When the police told them that they weren't allowed to go in they turned back to head back home, Tanya and her family spent the next few months going from camp to camp at one camp Tanya's mother ended up getting bit by someone who was infected. Doing the only humane thing Tanya ended up killing her mother still do this day she is still haunted by it, protecting the only family she has left Tanya headed further south hearing that there was a safe zone just outside of Orlando.
Pre-Infection Career(s): During the day Tanya used to work as a waitress at a high end restaurant, the pay was always good enough for her to live stably on her own with, she was well liked by her coworkers. Usually on her days off or at night Tanya would be singing in bars and other clubs around Pittsburgh.
Other:
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The scene in front of Matt was one that evolved quite quickly. The veterinarian, though nowadays he was regarded more as a doctor, was simply looking for a drink. When he had gotten his drink, he absorbed himself in it. Apparently there had been a disagreement that had turned physical, maybe not, Matt was not paying much attention, and now the security for the camp arrived. An Asian fellow leading a crack team, Matt assumed. The survivors in the camp needed to focus less on fighting and more on surviving, Matt knew that, so he decided that it would be best to intervene at this point.
"Guys, guys" he said, turning from his barstool. "There is no need for this to proceed any further" he spoke calmly when he spoke. "Lets just have some drinks and calm down, please. It's a shitty night anyway, no need for any more drama".
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Name: (Family Name) Ishida (Given Name) Hisashi
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Asian, Japanese
Description: Hisashi is not a very tall man, standing at the average height of 1.78m. As he had been practising in the traditional arts of Kenjutsu, Iajitsu and various other armed and unarmed sports, he is toned and hardy, though not to the point of excess that could only be gained through bodybuilding. He found solace in such tradition, but regarded them more as art and fitness regime than anything. His eyes are a dark shade of brown that they appear black in less than bright settings, and as such can be hard to read at times. His hair is simply black, as it would be for asians. Being a soldier, and being traditional, he doesn't dye it. However, as he is more civilian in attitude than military, he did not adopt the standard short, spiky hair, but has let it grow a little bit longer right to the edge of military requirement. He thought it would put his patients at ease.
As a regular soldier with the JSDF and UN, he is always found in the uniform of his service, in whatever standard required of his operation. As he has been sent into the United States with the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company (In other words, the Zombie-Killer Military Unit), he is equipped like any other in the unit.
Over a light kevlar vest, he wears a suit of riot gear custom designed and made for the fight against the infection. In addition to hardplates that could withstand stabs and blunt trauma, whatever openings there are is covered with leather or PVC to reduce the chance of scratches and bites breaking the skin. The suit covers the function of knee and elbow pads, so those aren't included in his kit. Instead of a normal M88 ballistic helmet, the Kyonshikirapeitai helmet, like riot gear, has a clear visor that could be locked in closed position, preventing trauma to the face. This is not perfect however, as the throat is still exposed via a thin slit of opening. As he is part of the UN, his helmet is covered in blue cloth.
Beyond that, his gear consists also of some state-of-the-art borderline space age stuff, parts of Japan's own future warrior programme that was rushed into service when the dead began to rise. Only a small percentage of the programme was implemented, namely a forearm mounted PDA, which gives access to GPS, a messaging system, and in Hisashi's case, a doctor's assistant program. It is also connected to a RCF system on his rifle, which enables him to use it to peek around corners without exposing himself. A camera is mounted on his helmet so that soldiers of the same unit could patch into his line of sight. A radio allows quick communication, and is similarly charged. All of this, however, would be useless without power, and power could be gained from tiny solar panels built into the gadgets, as well as a larger one on his backpack.
On his uniform and zombie gear would be clearly indicated his national flag, UN affiliation, the red cross, his rank, as well as his prestigious unit badge: Two katana crossed at the bottom of a tori gate with the rising sun in the horizon.
As a medical officer, he is also required to carry an extra large military fieldpack filled with not just his personal gear but also medical equipment, supplies and drugs. As a Kyonshikirapeitai, he is required to carry a wealth of weapons with him adapted for combat against zombies, tweaked according to his profession (different kinds of soldiers in the unit carry different assortments of weapons). His primary weapon (though in the Kyonshikirapeitai doctrine, what is the primary weapon is fluid) is the Howa Type 89-F rifle, carbined for extra manueverability when being swarmed or in tight spaces. The folding stock adds to that agility. It has an attached bayonet, which is equally important. Sidearm consists of the Sig Sauer P226. But what truly makes a soldier with the Kyonshikirapeitai is his return to the military roots of Japan: the Samurai. Indoctrinated in the old ways, he is also armed with modern katana made of alloy steel and a wakizashi as backup and contingency for tight corners. He has 2 fragmentary grenades.
Biography: Hisashi was born into a traditionalist samurai family, the kind that did not acknowledge the atrocities of World War 2, the kind that spat at the circumstances leading up to the disbandment of the Samurai. As such, he is brought up this way, and has been practicing the traditional arts required of the Samurai ever since he was able to walk and speak. This traditionalist streak changed, however, when the time came for him to make his decision for further studies. In addition to being traditionalist, everything anyone had ever done in the family is done in the name of joining the military and climbing the ranks there, to fight wars, bring honour to family and country.
Instead, he had an interest in medicine, through his study of herbs, and through his friends, who were hoping to get into medical school as well. So he joined them, and flew to a neighbouring province to study in a medical school. His family and clan began to suspect his intentions, but thought it fine as medics are soldiers too. In university, Hisashi had made alot of likeminded friends, including foreigners, and it was there that he learnt more about the atrocities of WW2. He was further encouraged to go down a more pacifistic path, much to the chagrin of his kin.
Upon graduation when he was 22, he defied clan orders to join the military, and instead worked in a hospital as a surgeon. After numerous high profile surgeries and 6 years later, he decided to kick back and relax, and promptly became a general practitioner with his own clinic and staff. He got married, and had children five years later. He found out after that that he could relate well to children and their innocence - many of his best patients were children, and so he began specialising as a pediatrician, seeing that they were some of those in most need of medical care.
Paradise did not last. It was only a few years later when he was 36 when he clan began to act against his wishes, out of frustration and shame. The ultimatum: join the military or be disowned and abandoned. He gave in, and reluctantly joined the military as an officer. Due to his education, he was offered the position of medical officer, which he took immediately, finding it to be the only escape he has from his circumstances. But he was a reluctant soldier; he was never serious in his exercises and training, and could barely pass his fitness tests and marksmanship package.
When the outbreaks began, he was immediately put on the frontlines on account of his skills in medicine, which was sorely needed as casualty rates were high in the early days, and doctors were needed to research the pathogen that caused the dead the rise. He was kept back on most occasions in military operations to tend to the wounded and assist in disease research, but had his scrapes with the dead. The dead were piling up high before the war stabilised in Japan.
By luck (or ill-luck, or perhaps politics), he was put on a ship bound for the US, as part of a reconnaissance mission going ahead of a UN operation to reestablish communications with the US. Upon landfall, a base camp was set up in Florida, and overran. The 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai was decimated after putting up a fierce last stand (they were outnumbered 60:1. 90 soldiers were killed but so were about 3000 zombies) and its commander killed, forcing Hisashi, who was next in command, to lead what remained of the unit deeper into Florida, where they found what they were looking for; what remained of the US government in the form of a United States Army Refugee Camp.
As they were bringing two truckloads of supplies and 10 hardened Japanese zombie hunters into their fold, they were welcomed with open arms, and celebration, inasmuch as half-starved refugees could celebrate. Hisashi had set up a practice in the refugee camp since then, looking after the people and children there, as well as providing much-needed defence and morale boosts.
Pre-Infection Career: He became a surgeon for 6 years before settling as a general practitioner. This does not mean that he stopped doing surgery completely however, as some cases required him to perform operations. 5 years as a general practitioner in addition to those 6 years before had helped him decide on a pediatrician specialisation. He was then forced into the military ever since, and took the vocation of a medical officer readily. However, he had never been promoted past the rank of Captain, which was where he'd remain for the rest of his life.
Other
Personality: Hisashi is a pacifistic man, kind hearted, approachable - especially towards children. He is idealistic in his approach, and would not compromise even if circumstances change. Some would call him stubborn and rigid. He would normally respond to his detractors by calling them immoral, inconsistent and lacking in integrity. While some might venture further to call him naive, it was just that he was easy to misunderstand that way; naivety requires him to be ignorant of the consequences of his beliefs. The thing is, he isn't.
However, circumstances throughout his life did change him, just not in the above. He was once a confident, forward-looking optimist. He'd earned that through his successes in his medical career. However, his clan's meddling in his life had blunted such optimism. The war did the rest. He would frequently feel helpless and overwhelmed when faced with the prospects of the plague. He had to put down hundreds of patients who had contracted the incurable disease. Almost two years of research yielded nothing but sketchy theories, no cure; the best they could do was to delay the inevitable with medicine. His time fighting in the frontlines went a similar route. There were times when people would die under his watch, no matter how vigilant he was.
It didn't help that his company was decimated within days of setting foot in the United States. A legion of the dead was a rare thing - herds were usually under a thousand rotten heads strong, something a hundred soldiers of the Kyonshikirapeitai could easily handle.
Notes on the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company
The company belongs to a larger unit, the Kyonshikirapeitai Division. They are a new 'special forces' type military unit created to fight specifically against the infected. While they may stand shoulder to shoulder with commandos and other elite units, they are not as adept against human enemies. This is due to their combat training and method, which were mostly created to deal with the infected.
Half the time, they would be fighting hand-to-hand or at close range. The equipment that they use were ill-suited against human enemies as well. Their armour is bulky, which slows them down, making them easy targets. Some of their weapons, namely their swords and bayonet (as well as riot shields, spears and even gladius), would only be useful in specific circumstances against people. This disadvantage, however, would not be a big problem if the enemy consists of civilians and criminals without substantial firepower.
The reason they flourished in Japan was only due to the way people reacted to the outbreak. There, people were less prone to anarchy and competition, and instead turned to cooperation (mostly) to survive. This allowed the military and society at large there to concentrate on the real enemy, and adapt accordingly.
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Jack merely looked at the Peacekeeper who had shouted at him in Japanese. He had no idea what the man said but it sounded like he wasn't fond of the Brit. He didn't care for the half rations, with his cigarettes suppressing his appetite he barely ate half of what he was given any way, normally gave the other half to his other bunk mates. Sighing he spoke to the back of the Peacekeepers.
"Nobody trusts you y'know! You keep turning up and over reacting to the situation, before shouting in Japanese and pissing off. That only breeds discontent and then, when the chips are down. Nobody will listen. You may appeal to the kids but the fathers, brothers and uncles here. They don't like you!" Jack was partly right, the fact is nobody trusted something they didn't know about, such as the Peacekeepers and their language, and liked it even less when the misunderstood bullied them. The crowd were pretty tense and a few men came over and patted Jack on the back. He had no intention of stopping his behaviour. Whilst a day with half rations would be enforced, but a whole week? No, the commander wouldn't allow that. Rations were low enough as it was, half for a week would be one step above starvation. Turning back to the bar he passed his last drink back to the barkeep.
"Keep it fella, those Peacekeepers wanna swing their cocks around a bit, so someone else can enjoy the beverage. I am a man of charity after all." The barkeeps stoney face broke for a quick chuckle before he walked off. Jack closed his eyes and then looked over at his new 'friend'.
"So, you tried to stand up to the big bad bully, impressive. Your name Matt yeah? Well just lemme say your friends in blue are fucking bastards. Though we can't all be blamed for our choice in friends. So I wont blame you." Jack threw Matt a smile.
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Name: Jack Sullam
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Description: Jack is a well-built man, standing at 5 foot 11 inches he is not very tall though. His shoulders very broad and his stomach and chest are flat, not toned though. He also has prominent muscles on his arms and legs but not to the point of being incredibly strong. Naturally he is stronger than he is quick and it shows in the way he stands and walks. His skin itself is quite dry and his hands and legs are covered in small scars and calluses. On his head Jack has closely shaved black stubble which he cuts himself with the large clip folder knife he carries on his belt. His beard he has allowed to grow out and falls prominently for a good 4 or 5 inches off of his face, well defined jawline and chin. Again he uses his knife to keep the black facial hair in check as well. His face is also broad, like his shoulders, and holds deeply set green eyes, a slightly large and misshapen nose that holds the scars of a number of breaks. His lips are quite thin and are a light pink.
Biography: Jack is actually a Brit born and bred, born in East London he grew up on an estate, having been kicked out of school, and spent his time in small time looting and small time mugging. Before he could be caught for any of his ‘minor offenses’ he was sent to America by his parents, where he then lived with distant relatives. Whilst the family tried to set him straight Jack continued to ditch his school and mess around. When final grades came around Jack was less than surprised that he had not one passing grade. He took up an apprenticeship as a handyman with a friend’s dad. It was a dead end job with a dead end pay. By the time Jack was 25 he had a small apartment, a decent TV and some camping gear. Jack was almost looking for an excuse to break free from his boring hole of a life. He couldn't hold down a relationship and worked for some of the worst families in the Florida area. Eventually slipping into slight alcoholism. The only thing keeping Jack from abandoning his life now was the fun he had camping. He wasn't an outdoors nut but enjoyed the time he spent outdoors, alone and in the calm. After the outbreak Jack found it terrifying and then, oddly, calming. He decided to go camping as his escaping of the hordes and violence. For a time he was happy, but despite his enjoyment of being alone, he started to go a little stir crazy on his own. That was when he made his way to the Refugee camp.
Pre-Infection Career: Jack was a handyman, or jack of all trades, and so has a number of maintenance skills. However he is certainly no expert, so don't ask him to perform open heart surgery.
Other: Jack wears skinny blue jeans, mustard Timberland boots, a checked cotton shirt and a slightly large leather bomber jacket. He also has a large rucksack full of equipment, such as a Zippo lighter, most of a carton of cigarettes, a full bottle Jack Daniels, a couple of tins of beans, a spare pairs of jeans, a spare shirt and a pair of wellington boots. He also has a canvas tent however he donated that to the camp to help others.
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Those peacekeepers are no friends of mine Matt replied.
It was slowly turning into an eventful evening. Though he started off swirling a drink in his hand and suffocated by his own thoughts, Matthew was starting to take more interest in real life. The man shot Matthew a smile, a friendly gesture that he had not seen much of lately. "Another drink?" Matthew asked. Regardless of the answer, Matthew would have a drink again. It would have just been nice to have a drink with another person for a change.
"I didn't catch your name by the way" Matthew said slowly, eyeing his own half full cup. The man knew his and so did the peacekeeper. Did they have a file on him? Did they even keep files still? Matthew really did not care. Most people knew his name because they were patients of his or knew him as a doctor. Matthew assumed the latter.
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Name
Conrad Peter Axford
Age
Seventeen
Gender
Male
Ethnicity
Caucasian
Description
Tall, a little lanky, freckled and bispecteled. Conrad has a mess of auburn hair, stopping at about his shoulders unless he's cut it back closer to his jaw recently. It's a messy sort of curl that he keeps out of his face with either a hair tie or headband. Blue eyes set in a handsome face behind a pair of glasses that have seen better days. He has what looks like used to be three rings through his bottom lip, but is now only the right and middle one with a scar on the left from the other one being pulled out. There is a mostly finished tattoo of a phoenix around his left arm along with a few scars there and elsewhere. Some from before, more of them from after.
Pre-infection he was a little more muscular, but he's still rather fit.
Biography
Third child and second son, his father was an accountant for a gang and his mother a former prostitute. He grew up around a lot of family (some of whom were also in the same gang as his father), and a lot of "family" as well.
Schooling was never made overly important, or at least school itself. Conrad, along with his older brother ditched class a lot, but still managed to pass. If only just barely. By the time the world was going to hell he was already dropped out if high school (dropped out before they could kick him out for fighting among other things) working on his GED while working part time with his cousin at the restaurant he owned.
Pre-infection career
Bust boy and part time thug. Mostly just a trouble making teenage.
Other
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After visiting the bar, Captain Ishida Hisashi needed something lighter to do, something less tense. So he decided to pay Tanya and her sister a visit. The sight of the young was something he savoured; it gave him hope and motivation. Everything could go wrong, and normally they do, but for him, as long as the children were safe, it would be fine for him. The visit itself would just be a random visit. The only real practical purpose being to remind the dwindled family that they had missed their medical checkup.
It was a monthly thing, something that he had made compulsory ever since his arrival. Immediately upon checking everyone's health, he found out that it was severely needed. With survival being jeopardised, no one had paid attention to such things as nutrition, hygiene and proper medical procedures. As a result, half the camp was lacking in one nutrient or another. Lice was common, and so were festering wounds. The American soldiers were far too busy with fighting the Kyonshi that they couldn't do much to attend to this problem; not that they had much in the way of medical expertise to begin with. All they had was a few medics and some common sense.
After dismissing his fellow Kyonshikirapeitai, he made his way to the RV in question. After living for two months in camp, he was starting to get a hang of who lives where, which would be important in emergencies. Walking up to the door, he knocked on it a few times. "Hello? I am Captain Ishida Hisashi of the UN Peacekeepers." His left hand was resting on the hilt of his katana. It was a common habit within his unit, but out here in the warzone, it was a useful habit to have. With just his left hand resting on the handle of his katana alone, several moves with his sword would be possible.
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Name: (Family Name) Ishida (Given Name) Hisashi
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Asian, Japanese
Description: Hisashi is not a very tall man, standing at the average height of 1.78m. As he had been practising in the traditional arts of Kenjutsu, Iajitsu and various other armed and unarmed sports, he is toned and hardy, though not to the point of excess that could only be gained through bodybuilding. He found solace in such tradition, but regarded them more as art and fitness regime than anything. His eyes are a dark shade of brown that they appear black in less than bright settings, and as such can be hard to read at times. His hair is simply black, as it would be for asians. Being a soldier, and being traditional, he doesn't dye it. However, as he is more civilian in attitude than military, he did not adopt the standard short, spiky hair, but has let it grow a little bit longer right to the edge of military requirement. He thought it would put his patients at ease.
As a regular soldier with the JSDF and UN, he is always found in the uniform of his service, in whatever standard required of his operation. As he has been sent into the United States with the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company (In other words, the Zombie-Killer Military Unit), he is equipped like any other in the unit.
Over a light kevlar vest, he wears a suit of riot gear custom designed and made for the fight against the infection. In addition to hardplates that could withstand stabs and blunt trauma, whatever openings there are is covered with leather or PVC to reduce the chance of scratches and bites breaking the skin. The suit covers the function of knee and elbow pads, so those aren't included in his kit. Instead of a normal M88 ballistic helmet, the Kyonshikirapeitai helmet, like riot gear, has a clear visor that could be locked in closed position, preventing trauma to the face. This is not perfect however, as the throat is still exposed via a thin slit of opening. As he is part of the UN, his helmet is covered in blue cloth.
Beyond that, his gear consists also of some state-of-the-art borderline space age stuff, parts of Japan's own future warrior programme that was rushed into service when the dead began to rise. Only a small percentage of the programme was implemented, namely a forearm mounted PDA, which gives access to GPS, a messaging system, and in Hisashi's case, a doctor's assistant program. It is also connected to a RCF system on his rifle, which enables him to use it to peek around corners without exposing himself. A camera is mounted on his helmet so that soldiers of the same unit could patch into his line of sight. A radio allows quick communication, and is similarly charged. All of this, however, would be useless without power, and power could be gained from tiny solar panels built into the gadgets, as well as a larger one on his backpack.
On his uniform and zombie gear would be clearly indicated his national flag, UN affiliation, the red cross, his rank, as well as his prestigious unit badge: Two katana crossed at the bottom of a tori gate with the rising sun in the horizon.
As a medical officer, he is also required to carry an extra large military fieldpack filled with not just his personal gear but also medical equipment, supplies and drugs. As a Kyonshikirapeitai, he is required to carry a wealth of weapons with him adapted for combat against zombies, tweaked according to his profession (different kinds of soldiers in the unit carry different assortments of weapons). His primary weapon (though in the Kyonshikirapeitai doctrine, what is the primary weapon is fluid) is the Howa Type 89-F rifle, carbined for extra manueverability when being swarmed or in tight spaces. The folding stock adds to that agility. It has an attached bayonet, which is equally important. Sidearm consists of the Sig Sauer P226. But what truly makes a soldier with the Kyonshikirapeitai is his return to the military roots of Japan: the Samurai. Indoctrinated in the old ways, he is also armed with modern katana made of alloy steel and a wakizashi as backup and contingency for tight corners. He has 2 fragmentary grenades.
Biography: Hisashi was born into a traditionalist samurai family, the kind that did not acknowledge the atrocities of World War 2, the kind that spat at the circumstances leading up to the disbandment of the Samurai. As such, he is brought up this way, and has been practicing the traditional arts required of the Samurai ever since he was able to walk and speak. This traditionalist streak changed, however, when the time came for him to make his decision for further studies. In addition to being traditionalist, everything anyone had ever done in the family is done in the name of joining the military and climbing the ranks there, to fight wars, bring honour to family and country.
Instead, he had an interest in medicine, through his study of herbs, and through his friends, who were hoping to get into medical school as well. So he joined them, and flew to a neighbouring province to study in a medical school. His family and clan began to suspect his intentions, but thought it fine as medics are soldiers too. In university, Hisashi had made alot of likeminded friends, including foreigners, and it was there that he learnt more about the atrocities of WW2. He was further encouraged to go down a more pacifistic path, much to the chagrin of his kin.
Upon graduation when he was 22, he defied clan orders to join the military, and instead worked in a hospital as a surgeon. After numerous high profile surgeries and 6 years later, he decided to kick back and relax, and promptly became a general practitioner with his own clinic and staff. He got married, and had children five years later. He found out after that that he could relate well to children and their innocence - many of his best patients were children, and so he began specialising as a pediatrician, seeing that they were some of those in most need of medical care.
Paradise did not last. It was only a few years later when he was 36 when he clan began to act against his wishes, out of frustration and shame. The ultimatum: join the military or be disowned and abandoned. He gave in, and reluctantly joined the military as an officer. Due to his education, he was offered the position of medical officer, which he took immediately, finding it to be the only escape he has from his circumstances. But he was a reluctant soldier; he was never serious in his exercises and training, and could barely pass his fitness tests and marksmanship package.
When the outbreaks began, he was immediately put on the frontlines on account of his skills in medicine, which was sorely needed as casualty rates were high in the early days, and doctors were needed to research the pathogen that caused the dead the rise. He was kept back on most occasions in military operations to tend to the wounded and assist in disease research, but had his scrapes with the dead. The dead were piling up high before the war stabilised in Japan.
By luck (or ill-luck, or perhaps politics), he was put on a ship bound for the US, as part of a reconnaissance mission going ahead of a UN operation to reestablish communications with the US. Upon landfall, a base camp was set up in Florida, and overran. The 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai was decimated after putting up a fierce last stand (they were outnumbered 60:1. 90 soldiers were killed but so were about 3000 zombies) and its commander killed, forcing Hisashi, who was next in command, to lead what remained of the unit deeper into Florida, where they found what they were looking for; what remained of the US government in the form of a United States Army Refugee Camp.
As they were bringing two truckloads of supplies and 10 hardened Japanese zombie hunters into their fold, they were welcomed with open arms, and celebration, inasmuch as half-starved refugees could celebrate. Hisashi had set up a practice in the refugee camp since then, looking after the people and children there, as well as providing much-needed defence and morale boosts.
Pre-Infection Career: He became a surgeon for 6 years before settling as a general practitioner. This does not mean that he stopped doing surgery completely however, as some cases required him to perform operations. 5 years as a general practitioner in addition to those 6 years before had helped him decide on a pediatrician specialisation. He was then forced into the military ever since, and took the vocation of a medical officer readily. However, he had never been promoted past the rank of Captain, which was where he'd remain for the rest of his life.
Other
Personality: Hisashi is a pacifistic man, kind hearted, approachable - especially towards children. He is idealistic in his approach, and would not compromise even if circumstances change. Some would call him stubborn and rigid. He would normally respond to his detractors by calling them immoral, inconsistent and lacking in integrity. While some might venture further to call him naive, it was just that he was easy to misunderstand that way; naivety requires him to be ignorant of the consequences of his beliefs. The thing is, he isn't.
However, circumstances throughout his life did change him, just not in the above. He was once a confident, forward-looking optimist. He'd earned that through his successes in his medical career. However, his clan's meddling in his life had blunted such optimism. The war did the rest. He would frequently feel helpless and overwhelmed when faced with the prospects of the plague. He had to put down hundreds of patients who had contracted the incurable disease. Almost two years of research yielded nothing but sketchy theories, no cure; the best they could do was to delay the inevitable with medicine. His time fighting in the frontlines went a similar route. There were times when people would die under his watch, no matter how vigilant he was.
It didn't help that his company was decimated within days of setting foot in the United States. A legion of the dead was a rare thing - herds were usually under a thousand rotten heads strong, something a hundred soldiers of the Kyonshikirapeitai could easily handle.
Notes on the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company
The company belongs to a larger unit, the Kyonshikirapeitai Division. They are a new 'special forces' type military unit created to fight specifically against the infected. While they may stand shoulder to shoulder with commandos and other elite units, they are not as adept against human enemies. This is due to their combat training and method, which were mostly created to deal with the infected.
Half the time, they would be fighting hand-to-hand or at close range. The equipment that they use were ill-suited against human enemies as well. Their armour is bulky, which slows them down, making them easy targets. Some of their weapons, namely their swords and bayonet (as well as riot shields, spears and even gladius), would only be useful in specific circumstances against people. This disadvantage, however, would not be a big problem if the enemy consists of civilians and criminals without substantial firepower.
The reason they flourished in Japan was only due to the way people reacted to the outbreak. There, people were less prone to anarchy and competition, and instead turned to cooperation (mostly) to survive. This allowed the military and society at large there to concentrate on the real enemy, and adapt accordingly.
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Tanya was over the stove using a can opener to open up the can they were going to be sharing for their dinner, hearing another clash of thunder made Tanya jump slightly. Smelling the food as it started to cook on the small electrical stove that came with the RV when they found it, this was their home ever since traveling between New York and Florida. Maria jumped slightly hearing the knocking on the door, putting down the book she was reading Maria walked over towards the door of the RV.
Hearing the knocking on the door she reached for the machete on the counter until she heard Captain Ishida's voice on the other side, Tanya set the weapon down and made her way towards the door. She had just completely forgot about the whole checkup Tanya opened the door and smiled at him. "Good evening, please come in." Tanya said softly as she held the door open for him, when Ishida walked inside Tanya closed the door behind him. "Would you like something to eat, drink? I think I have some coffee I've been rationing for awhile." She offered, Tanya walked over to turn off the stove.
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Name: Tanya Roberts
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Biography: Born in a small family Tanya grew up in the city of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, both of her parents owned a high end restaurant down by the waterfront in the city. She also has a younger sister who she is very close to Tanya had a rather average high school life, she was never popular or put in with the outcasts. Tanya was apart of her high school choir which was where she eventually fell in love with music, and started to sing in clubs and other places. When she finished high school Tanya got a job at her parents restaurant, she enjoyed working with her coworkers and also enjoyed talking with her regular customers.
When the disease finally started to sweep through, Tanya heard word that her father had fallen ill somehow. Tanya and her sister Alexis visited their father every day, when he fell into a coma they started to get worried. When word came back that he came out of the coma Tanya her mother and sister quickly went to see him, but when they did the hospital was in chaos. When the police told them that they weren't allowed to go in they turned back to head back home, Tanya and her family spent the next few months going from camp to camp at one camp Tanya's mother ended up getting bit by someone who was infected. Doing the only humane thing Tanya ended up killing her mother still do this day she is still haunted by it, protecting the only family she has left Tanya headed further south hearing that there was a safe zone just outside of Orlando.
Pre-Infection Career(s): During the day Tanya used to work as a waitress at a high end restaurant, the pay was always good enough for her to live stably on her own with, she was well liked by her coworkers. Usually on her days off or at night Tanya would be singing in bars and other clubs around Pittsburgh.
Other:
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No. Captain Ishida Hisashi rejected the offer, before remembering the more socially graceful words, "thank you. That would be illegal. What ration is given to you is your own. Supplies are limited." He had always had difficulty expressing himself in the language of the land, partly due to his basic grasp of it. All he could do was to state facts, but what he felt and what he thought were constantly locked inside of him. He could state those as facts too, but that would be insufficient.
Looking down at Alexis, Tanya's younger sister, he couldn't help but to crack a smile, "Hello, Alexis-Chan. It is good that you are reading." Before turning back, rather reluctantly, to her guardian. Behind her was her dinner - they were eating out of cans again. In fact, most people were these days. Modern living by itself was unhealthy in some ways, and to live in a fallen modern society would be worse. The 'farm' that was set out would not be able to feed everyone around the year, very far from it in fact. The very same thing that was sustaining them was killing them over the long term.
"Tanya-Kun, you missed your medical appointment today." The medical officer said, concern trickling through. "While you and your sister's last screening has uncovered little health issues, a month passing is a very long time." Bringing up his computer, he checked his digital schedule. After pressing a few virtual buttons and passing between virtual windows, he came upon the right day on his calender. "I have another window for you open two days later. Or I could do it tonight."
Looking at the kid again, he remembered what Jack had said behind his back as he was leaving the bar-n, what some people were saying when they thought he couldn't hear or understand. While they didn't have the power to remove him from his duty, what they had said had cut deeper than that. Looking at the kid had given him some hope. "We will protect Alexis-Chan. No matter what it takes." He said to Tanya as he smiled again at the youngling.
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Name: (Family Name) Ishida (Given Name) Hisashi
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Asian, Japanese
Description: Hisashi is not a very tall man, standing at the average height of 1.78m. As he had been practising in the traditional arts of Kenjutsu, Iajitsu and various other armed and unarmed sports, he is toned and hardy, though not to the point of excess that could only be gained through bodybuilding. He found solace in such tradition, but regarded them more as art and fitness regime than anything. His eyes are a dark shade of brown that they appear black in less than bright settings, and as such can be hard to read at times. His hair is simply black, as it would be for asians. Being a soldier, and being traditional, he doesn't dye it. However, as he is more civilian in attitude than military, he did not adopt the standard short, spiky hair, but has let it grow a little bit longer right to the edge of military requirement. He thought it would put his patients at ease.
As a regular soldier with the JSDF and UN, he is always found in the uniform of his service, in whatever standard required of his operation. As he has been sent into the United States with the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company (In other words, the Zombie-Killer Military Unit), he is equipped like any other in the unit.
Over a light kevlar vest, he wears a suit of riot gear custom designed and made for the fight against the infection. In addition to hardplates that could withstand stabs and blunt trauma, whatever openings there are is covered with leather or PVC to reduce the chance of scratches and bites breaking the skin. The suit covers the function of knee and elbow pads, so those aren't included in his kit. Instead of a normal M88 ballistic helmet, the Kyonshikirapeitai helmet, like riot gear, has a clear visor that could be locked in closed position, preventing trauma to the face. This is not perfect however, as the throat is still exposed via a thin slit of opening. As he is part of the UN, his helmet is covered in blue cloth.
Beyond that, his gear consists also of some state-of-the-art borderline space age stuff, parts of Japan's own future warrior programme that was rushed into service when the dead began to rise. Only a small percentage of the programme was implemented, namely a forearm mounted PDA, which gives access to GPS, a messaging system, and in Hisashi's case, a doctor's assistant program. It is also connected to a RCF system on his rifle, which enables him to use it to peek around corners without exposing himself. A camera is mounted on his helmet so that soldiers of the same unit could patch into his line of sight. A radio allows quick communication, and is similarly charged. All of this, however, would be useless without power, and power could be gained from tiny solar panels built into the gadgets, as well as a larger one on his backpack.
On his uniform and zombie gear would be clearly indicated his national flag, UN affiliation, the red cross, his rank, as well as his prestigious unit badge: Two katana crossed at the bottom of a tori gate with the rising sun in the horizon.
As a medical officer, he is also required to carry an extra large military fieldpack filled with not just his personal gear but also medical equipment, supplies and drugs. As a Kyonshikirapeitai, he is required to carry a wealth of weapons with him adapted for combat against zombies, tweaked according to his profession (different kinds of soldiers in the unit carry different assortments of weapons). His primary weapon (though in the Kyonshikirapeitai doctrine, what is the primary weapon is fluid) is the Howa Type 89-F rifle, carbined for extra manueverability when being swarmed or in tight spaces. The folding stock adds to that agility. It has an attached bayonet, which is equally important. Sidearm consists of the Sig Sauer P226. But what truly makes a soldier with the Kyonshikirapeitai is his return to the military roots of Japan: the Samurai. Indoctrinated in the old ways, he is also armed with modern katana made of alloy steel and a wakizashi as backup and contingency for tight corners. He has 2 fragmentary grenades.
Biography: Hisashi was born into a traditionalist samurai family, the kind that did not acknowledge the atrocities of World War 2, the kind that spat at the circumstances leading up to the disbandment of the Samurai. As such, he is brought up this way, and has been practicing the traditional arts required of the Samurai ever since he was able to walk and speak. This traditionalist streak changed, however, when the time came for him to make his decision for further studies. In addition to being traditionalist, everything anyone had ever done in the family is done in the name of joining the military and climbing the ranks there, to fight wars, bring honour to family and country.
Instead, he had an interest in medicine, through his study of herbs, and through his friends, who were hoping to get into medical school as well. So he joined them, and flew to a neighbouring province to study in a medical school. His family and clan began to suspect his intentions, but thought it fine as medics are soldiers too. In university, Hisashi had made alot of likeminded friends, including foreigners, and it was there that he learnt more about the atrocities of WW2. He was further encouraged to go down a more pacifistic path, much to the chagrin of his kin.
Upon graduation when he was 22, he defied clan orders to join the military, and instead worked in a hospital as a surgeon. After numerous high profile surgeries and 6 years later, he decided to kick back and relax, and promptly became a general practitioner with his own clinic and staff. He got married, and had children five years later. He found out after that that he could relate well to children and their innocence - many of his best patients were children, and so he began specialising as a pediatrician, seeing that they were some of those in most need of medical care.
Paradise did not last. It was only a few years later when he was 36 when he clan began to act against his wishes, out of frustration and shame. The ultimatum: join the military or be disowned and abandoned. He gave in, and reluctantly joined the military as an officer. Due to his education, he was offered the position of medical officer, which he took immediately, finding it to be the only escape he has from his circumstances. But he was a reluctant soldier; he was never serious in his exercises and training, and could barely pass his fitness tests and marksmanship package.
When the outbreaks began, he was immediately put on the frontlines on account of his skills in medicine, which was sorely needed as casualty rates were high in the early days, and doctors were needed to research the pathogen that caused the dead the rise. He was kept back on most occasions in military operations to tend to the wounded and assist in disease research, but had his scrapes with the dead. The dead were piling up high before the war stabilised in Japan.
By luck (or ill-luck, or perhaps politics), he was put on a ship bound for the US, as part of a reconnaissance mission going ahead of a UN operation to reestablish communications with the US. Upon landfall, a base camp was set up in Florida, and overran. The 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai was decimated after putting up a fierce last stand (they were outnumbered 60:1. 90 soldiers were killed but so were about 3000 zombies) and its commander killed, forcing Hisashi, who was next in command, to lead what remained of the unit deeper into Florida, where they found what they were looking for; what remained of the US government in the form of a United States Army Refugee Camp.
As they were bringing two truckloads of supplies and 10 hardened Japanese zombie hunters into their fold, they were welcomed with open arms, and celebration, inasmuch as half-starved refugees could celebrate. Hisashi had set up a practice in the refugee camp since then, looking after the people and children there, as well as providing much-needed defence and morale boosts.
Pre-Infection Career: He became a surgeon for 6 years before settling as a general practitioner. This does not mean that he stopped doing surgery completely however, as some cases required him to perform operations. 5 years as a general practitioner in addition to those 6 years before had helped him decide on a pediatrician specialisation. He was then forced into the military ever since, and took the vocation of a medical officer readily. However, he had never been promoted past the rank of Captain, which was where he'd remain for the rest of his life.
Other
Personality: Hisashi is a pacifistic man, kind hearted, approachable - especially towards children. He is idealistic in his approach, and would not compromise even if circumstances change. Some would call him stubborn and rigid. He would normally respond to his detractors by calling them immoral, inconsistent and lacking in integrity. While some might venture further to call him naive, it was just that he was easy to misunderstand that way; naivety requires him to be ignorant of the consequences of his beliefs. The thing is, he isn't.
However, circumstances throughout his life did change him, just not in the above. He was once a confident, forward-looking optimist. He'd earned that through his successes in his medical career. However, his clan's meddling in his life had blunted such optimism. The war did the rest. He would frequently feel helpless and overwhelmed when faced with the prospects of the plague. He had to put down hundreds of patients who had contracted the incurable disease. Almost two years of research yielded nothing but sketchy theories, no cure; the best they could do was to delay the inevitable with medicine. His time fighting in the frontlines went a similar route. There were times when people would die under his watch, no matter how vigilant he was.
It didn't help that his company was decimated within days of setting foot in the United States. A legion of the dead was a rare thing - herds were usually under a thousand rotten heads strong, something a hundred soldiers of the Kyonshikirapeitai could easily handle.
Notes on the 2nd Kyonshikirapeitai Company
The company belongs to a larger unit, the Kyonshikirapeitai Division. They are a new 'special forces' type military unit created to fight specifically against the infected. While they may stand shoulder to shoulder with commandos and other elite units, they are not as adept against human enemies. This is due to their combat training and method, which were mostly created to deal with the infected.
Half the time, they would be fighting hand-to-hand or at close range. The equipment that they use were ill-suited against human enemies as well. Their armour is bulky, which slows them down, making them easy targets. Some of their weapons, namely their swords and bayonet (as well as riot shields, spears and even gladius), would only be useful in specific circumstances against people. This disadvantage, however, would not be a big problem if the enemy consists of civilians and criminals without substantial firepower.
The reason they flourished in Japan was only due to the way people reacted to the outbreak. There, people were less prone to anarchy and competition, and instead turned to cooperation (mostly) to survive. This allowed the military and society at large there to concentrate on the real enemy, and adapt accordingly.
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Jack shrugged his shoulders and asked for his whiskey back. If someone else was paying he was sure as hell going to oblige. Grabbing the small glass he sipped at it and grimaced again, the lovely taste of piss filled his mouth. Sighing he looked the man over. He actually had no idea who this was, he had only heard the name from the Peacekeeper. However it was only fair that you knew your drinking buddies name.
"Name's Jack. Brit, born and bred, what about you fella? I heard Matt from those blue-tops, but where you from? It seems like we have all kinds around here. First you got the locals who turn up, me in fact as well, and then those from out of the state. Then. Well. Blue tops from out of the country arrive and apparently we all have to worship the ground they stand on and respect their bullying ways."
Jack winked smugly before taking another sip from his cup, he offered it up to connect with Matt's glass, he was always a fan of knocking glasses.
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Name: Jack Sullam
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Description: Jack is a well-built man, standing at 5 foot 11 inches he is not very tall though. His shoulders very broad and his stomach and chest are flat, not toned though. He also has prominent muscles on his arms and legs but not to the point of being incredibly strong. Naturally he is stronger than he is quick and it shows in the way he stands and walks. His skin itself is quite dry and his hands and legs are covered in small scars and calluses. On his head Jack has closely shaved black stubble which he cuts himself with the large clip folder knife he carries on his belt. His beard he has allowed to grow out and falls prominently for a good 4 or 5 inches off of his face, well defined jawline and chin. Again he uses his knife to keep the black facial hair in check as well. His face is also broad, like his shoulders, and holds deeply set green eyes, a slightly large and misshapen nose that holds the scars of a number of breaks. His lips are quite thin and are a light pink.
Biography: Jack is actually a Brit born and bred, born in East London he grew up on an estate, having been kicked out of school, and spent his time in small time looting and small time mugging. Before he could be caught for any of his ‘minor offenses’ he was sent to America by his parents, where he then lived with distant relatives. Whilst the family tried to set him straight Jack continued to ditch his school and mess around. When final grades came around Jack was less than surprised that he had not one passing grade. He took up an apprenticeship as a handyman with a friend’s dad. It was a dead end job with a dead end pay. By the time Jack was 25 he had a small apartment, a decent TV and some camping gear. Jack was almost looking for an excuse to break free from his boring hole of a life. He couldn't hold down a relationship and worked for some of the worst families in the Florida area. Eventually slipping into slight alcoholism. The only thing keeping Jack from abandoning his life now was the fun he had camping. He wasn't an outdoors nut but enjoyed the time he spent outdoors, alone and in the calm. After the outbreak Jack found it terrifying and then, oddly, calming. He decided to go camping as his escaping of the hordes and violence. For a time he was happy, but despite his enjoyment of being alone, he started to go a little stir crazy on his own. That was when he made his way to the Refugee camp.
Pre-Infection Career: Jack was a handyman, or jack of all trades, and so has a number of maintenance skills. However he is certainly no expert, so don't ask him to perform open heart surgery.
Other: Jack wears skinny blue jeans, mustard Timberland boots, a checked cotton shirt and a slightly large leather bomber jacket. He also has a large rucksack full of equipment, such as a Zippo lighter, most of a carton of cigarettes, a full bottle Jack Daniels, a couple of tins of beans, a spare pairs of jeans, a spare shirt and a pair of wellington boots. He also has a canvas tent however he donated that to the camp to help others.
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The man offered a toast of sorts, Matt obliged. The glasses clanked and the two drank. "Where am I from? Up north I guess. I guess it really doesn't matter that this point because most of my family is gone. If not all of them" Matthew said, but he suddenly changed his demeanor to try and get the self-pity and sadness away. "Brit eh? What brings you to this neck of the woods?" Matthew asked.
Finding out new things about people was always an interesting situation to get into. Matthew found, before the Z's took over the working world, that he loved interacting with new people, as long as they were friendly, and often tried to make new friends and acquaintances. At this point, with all that was going on in the world, having more friends was not a bad idea. But on the other hand, it could be. New friends meant that you cared about people. Whether it be in a friendly fashion or something more. The more you cared the more you were likely to be hurt in the end. The Z's were persistent beings, they usually got what they wanted. Their only drive was to eat, humans was to survive. The Z's usually won.
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Name:
Matthew "Matt" Clarke
Age:
28
Gender:
Male
Ethnicity:
Caucasian
Description:
Matthew Clarke is not an imposing man. He is not six foot something feet tall or a few hundred pounds, he is slightly above average but it is almost unnoticeable. The height at which Matthew stands at is five foot eleven inches and he weighs around one hundred seventy pounds. His build before the outbreak was slightly husky, but not overweight, and it hardly showed. There was some musculature on his body but he was not a frequent gym user, nor had he planned on it. All in all, Matthew was in decent shape. And then the apocalypse hit. After spending two years on the road, or at least the majority of two years, he has thinned out some. A decent amount of muscle has also been built upon the foundation that was laid previous to the infection. Matthew is now leaner than he was and is proud of it, despite the circumstances.
Matthew's head is covered by a thick layer of brown hair. In the past he would have kept his hair trimmed very close to the head, but lately he has not been able to find a good barber. Matthew has trimmed his own hair over the course of two years and has developed a slight talent for it, though he would never tell a soul. Matthew's hair is short, but thick, and he never allows it to go below his eyes. He also tries to keep the sides thinner but the top flows together with the sides perfectly. Matthew has deep, piercing, blue eyes that rest in his skull. His jawline and his upper lip are covered by another thick layer of hair, this set of hair is cleaned up more professionally, a talent he developed in his teenage years.
When it comes to clothing, Matthew still tries to maintain some kind of class in his outfits, and a level of professionalism. That being said, his clothes are noticeably stained and rugged, but they are done so in an almost elegant way. Matthew carried, and still possesses, a large backpack that traveled with him throughout the two years after the outbreak. Inside the backpack he would carry two pairs of jeans, one dark blue and the other almost black. The backpack would also contain two white T-shirts and two button up long sleeved shirts. The first shirt was white with a blue checkered pattern and the second was a darker, navy blue. On his person Matthew would wear another pair of dark blue jeans with a black button up shirt and a thick, black, wool coat over it, if the weather required. Matthew used to wear dress shoes and sneakers, but he has taken to wearing more useful and durable work boots, they are lightly tanned.
Biography:
Matthew was born in the city of Saint Paul, Minnesota. At the time his mother was an unemployed twenty year old who was living with her boyfriend, a full-time, twenty one year old, postal service worker. A mostly healthy baby, his mother was happy to name him after her father, Matthew's grandfather. After spending a month and a half in the hospital (the mother had some medical complications but pulled through), the Clarke family was able to leave the hospital. The three of them lived in a downtown apartment, only a few blocks from some bad neighborhoods but that was not a problem seeing as Matt's father worked in the post office and not on the streets. For three years the trio lived happily in downtown Saint Paul. Then things changed. Matt's father started getting into another woman, and eventually he was caught cheating by Matt's mother. After that, they split. Though Matt's mother was his mother, they had different last names.
After his father split for another woman, Matt and his mother moved into a quiet townhouse in a quiet suburb. They lived further away from downtown and further away from Matt's father. Since she was now a single mother, Matt's mother needed to find a job. She began working in the dental field, as a receptionist. This, though menial and tedious, was a good starting job and an efficient way for her to pay for her and her child. On top of work, she began attending a community college.
While Matt's mother worked and went to school, Matt did his best to stay out of trouble. Throughout his first eight years of schooling, he was a B student who rarely got into any trouble. Then his father reappeared into his life. The man tried to have a relationship with his son but at that point it was too far gone. Matthew would not even give his father the time of day. This lead to anger and other emotions being built up. These emotions spilled out when he started getting into fights his Freshman and Sophomore years of High School. Those two years were turbulent for him and his mother. Matthew started smoking pot with his friends, but he did a good job of hiding it from his mother. By his Junior year, Matthew had matured slightly and had made a conscious decision to change his life. Matthew stopped his drug use and made new friends. These friends would influence him in a positive way and help push him into college. In his senior year of High School, Matthew met Beth. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and everything else that he had ever wanted. They meshed together perfectly. They were High School sweethearts and almost instantly knew they were destined to marry.
College was an easy time for Matthew. He was not that rich, and his grades were not the best, so he had to attend Community College. For two years he worked his ass off to get good grades and save money so that he could attend the University of Minnesota and get a degree in Veterinary Medicine. His plan worked and Matthew graduated by the age of 24. For a year and a half he worked at a local PetCo, just making ends meet. Finally, at the age of 26, just 7 months before the world fell into Hell, he got a job at a Clinic.
When the world was ravaged Matthew lost the only two people that meant something to him. First his girlfriend caught the virus and died in a hospital, she may or may not have returned to life. Then, while trying to get his mother to safety, Matthew had to watch her die. Since then he has been on the run, trying to escape from his past. Leaving Minnesota was the logical choice since all of his memories and pain was there. Matthew decided, since he spent two weeks in Florida and loved it, that he would travel there. Now he finds himself in the refugee camp.
Pre-Infection Career:
Before the outbreak, Matthew worked as a Veterinary Technician at a Minnesota Veterinary Clinic just outside of the downtown metro. After college he had worked at a local PetCo while trying to find a job. That took a year and a half, as such, he was only a beginner at his craft, though he had a talent for it. Matthew on more than one occasion has had to operate on a living person, as well as some animals, since the outbreak.
Other:
None.
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Tanya nodded at Captain Ishida she did drink coffee often whenever she had it, when Ishida mentioned missing her and her sister's appointment for the month she rubbed her head slightly. "I totally forgot, I've just been working so much that it must have slipped my mind." Tanya answered as she went to take the can off of the stove and onto the counter. Alexis looked up at Ishida and smiled at him before putting the book face down on the built in table so she wouldn't lose her place. "It just keeps my occupied." Alexis answered looking over towards her sister for a moment she forgot about the appointment as well.
"We can do it tonight, might as well get it done sooner then later. Just let us eat real quick, your more then welcome to join us as well." Tanya said looking towards Alexis who agreed to as well though Tanya never liked going to the doctors when she was growing up with the zombies outside she couldn't risk getting sick either and leave her sister to fend to herself. "Thank you Captain Ishida." Alexis smiled as she looked towards the can of beans.
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Name: Tanya Roberts
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Biography: Born in a small family Tanya grew up in the city of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, both of her parents owned a high end restaurant down by the waterfront in the city. She also has a younger sister who she is very close to Tanya had a rather average high school life, she was never popular or put in with the outcasts. Tanya was apart of her high school choir which was where she eventually fell in love with music, and started to sing in clubs and other places. When she finished high school Tanya got a job at her parents restaurant, she enjoyed working with her coworkers and also enjoyed talking with her regular customers.
When the disease finally started to sweep through, Tanya heard word that her father had fallen ill somehow. Tanya and her sister Alexis visited their father every day, when he fell into a coma they started to get worried. When word came back that he came out of the coma Tanya her mother and sister quickly went to see him, but when they did the hospital was in chaos. When the police told them that they weren't allowed to go in they turned back to head back home, Tanya and her family spent the next few months going from camp to camp at one camp Tanya's mother ended up getting bit by someone who was infected. Doing the only humane thing Tanya ended up killing her mother still do this day she is still haunted by it, protecting the only family she has left Tanya headed further south hearing that there was a safe zone just outside of Orlando.
Pre-Infection Career(s): During the day Tanya used to work as a waitress at a high end restaurant, the pay was always good enough for her to live stably on her own with, she was well liked by her coworkers. Usually on her days off or at night Tanya would be singing in bars and other clubs around Pittsburgh.
Other:
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Most people started to get back to their games and drinks, but some stayed staring at the man. He looked around, not moving his head, only his eyes, to look at all the people. He appeared to be studying the people. After finishing his drink, he pulled up his hood, covering his face, and started to leave. Someone stopped him before he could make it out the door...
(any guests or people in the Bar-n go ahead if you want and role-play that you stopped me on the way out, I may be willing to do shady work or lessen the power of the Japanese. I might just get supplies, or whatever is needed.)
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Name:
Matthew "Matt" Clarke
Age:
28
Gender:
Male
Ethnicity:
Caucasian
Description:
Matthew Clarke is not an imposing man. He is not six foot something feet tall or a few hundred pounds, he is slightly above average but it is almost unnoticeable. The height at which Matthew stands at is five foot eleven inches and he weighs around one hundred seventy pounds. His build before the outbreak was slightly husky, but not overweight, and it hardly showed. There was some musculature on his body but he was not a frequent gym user, nor had he planned on it. All in all, Matthew was in decent shape. And then the apocalypse hit. After spending two years on the road, or at least the majority of two years, he has thinned out some. A decent amount of muscle has also been built upon the foundation that was laid previous to the infection. Matthew is now leaner than he was and is proud of it, despite the circumstances.
Matthew's head is covered by a thick layer of brown hair. In the past he would have kept his hair trimmed very close to the head, but lately he has not been able to find a good barber. Matthew has trimmed his own hair over the course of two years and has developed a slight talent for it, though he would never tell a soul. Matthew's hair is short, but thick, and he never allows it to go below his eyes. He also tries to keep the sides thinner but the top flows together with the sides perfectly. Matthew has deep, piercing, blue eyes that rest in his skull. His jawline and his upper lip are covered by another thick layer of hair, this set of hair is cleaned up more professionally, a talent he developed in his teenage years.
When it comes to clothing, Matthew still tries to maintain some kind of class in his outfits, and a level of professionalism. That being said, his clothes are noticeably stained and rugged, but they are done so in an almost elegant way. Matthew carried, and still possesses, a large backpack that traveled with him throughout the two years after the outbreak. Inside the backpack he would carry two pairs of jeans, one dark blue and the other almost black. The backpack would also contain two white T-shirts and two button up long sleeved shirts. The first shirt was white with a blue checkered pattern and the second was a darker, navy blue. On his person Matthew would wear another pair of dark blue jeans with a black button up shirt and a thick, black, wool coat over it, if the weather required. Matthew used to wear dress shoes and sneakers, but he has taken to wearing more useful and durable work boots, they are lightly tanned.
Biography:
Matthew was born in the city of Saint Paul, Minnesota. At the time his mother was an unemployed twenty year old who was living with her boyfriend, a full-time, twenty one year old, postal service worker. A mostly healthy baby, his mother was happy to name him after her father, Matthew's grandfather. After spending a month and a half in the hospital (the mother had some medical complications but pulled through), the Clarke family was able to leave the hospital. The three of them lived in a downtown apartment, only a few blocks from some bad neighborhoods but that was not a problem seeing as Matt's father worked in the post office and not on the streets. For three years the trio lived happily in downtown Saint Paul. Then things changed. Matt's father started getting into another woman, and eventually he was caught cheating by Matt's mother. After that, they split. Though Matt's mother was his mother, they had different last names.
After his father split for another woman, Matt and his mother moved into a quiet townhouse in a quiet suburb. They lived further away from downtown and further away from Matt's father. Since she was now a single mother, Matt's mother needed to find a job. She began working in the dental field, as a receptionist. This, though menial and tedious, was a good starting job and an efficient way for her to pay for her and her child. On top of work, she began attending a community college.
While Matt's mother worked and went to school, Matt did his best to stay out of trouble. Throughout his first eight years of schooling, he was a B student who rarely got into any trouble. Then his father reappeared into his life. The man tried to have a relationship with his son but at that point it was too far gone. Matthew would not even give his father the time of day. This lead to anger and other emotions being built up. These emotions spilled out when he started getting into fights his Freshman and Sophomore years of High School. Those two years were turbulent for him and his mother. Matthew started smoking pot with his friends, but he did a good job of hiding it from his mother. By his Junior year, Matthew had matured slightly and had made a conscious decision to change his life. Matthew stopped his drug use and made new friends. These friends would influence him in a positive way and help push him into college. In his senior year of High School, Matthew met Beth. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and everything else that he had ever wanted. They meshed together perfectly. They were High School sweethearts and almost instantly knew they were destined to marry.
College was an easy time for Matthew. He was not that rich, and his grades were not the best, so he had to attend Community College. For two years he worked his ass off to get good grades and save money so that he could attend the University of Minnesota and get a degree in Veterinary Medicine. His plan worked and Matthew graduated by the age of 24. For a year and a half he worked at a local PetCo, just making ends meet. Finally, at the age of 26, just 7 months before the world fell into Hell, he got a job at a Clinic.
When the world was ravaged Matthew lost the only two people that meant something to him. First his girlfriend caught the virus and died in a hospital, she may or may not have returned to life. Then, while trying to get his mother to safety, Matthew had to watch her die. Since then he has been on the run, trying to escape from his past. Leaving Minnesota was the logical choice since all of his memories and pain was there. Matthew decided, since he spent two weeks in Florida and loved it, that he would travel there. Now he finds himself in the refugee camp.
Pre-Infection Career:
Before the outbreak, Matthew worked as a Veterinary Technician at a Minnesota Veterinary Clinic just outside of the downtown metro. After college he had worked at a local PetCo while trying to find a job. That took a year and a half, as such, he was only a beginner at his craft, though he had a talent for it. Matthew on more than one occasion has had to operate on a living person, as well as some animals, since the outbreak.
Other:
None.
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Jack had immediately taken a liking to Matt. The guy seemed honest, hard working and like he was just trying to make his way in life. Whilst the foremost was not always a boon these days, the rest were respectable enough. Sipping at his drink Jack almost laughed at the question too his origins. Hell, if he had a choice he would still be back home.
"Grew up in London. School was shit so I just bummed around, making some money from a number of less than legal vemtures and eventually my parents got tired of it. Family booked me a flight and sent me to live with my Aunt over this side of the pond. Course I didn't change toi much." Jack winked and then downed the remainder of his drink.
"Anyways, thanks for the drink Matty boy. I shall return the favour someday. Until then keep yourself well." Jack got up, patted Matt on the bag and half walked, half stumbled, towards the exit. He hadn't noticed the Scavenger come in and so was thoroughly surprised as he collided with the blonde haired man. Reversing suddenly Jack spluttered out a curse.
"Fucking hell! Watch where your going." Jack then noticed the gun. "Jesus christ, it is not my night, guard or blue top? 'Cus those are the only two groups allowed guns out in the open here." Of course many others had firearms and Jack had his eye on a nice pistol. But on thw black market they were incredibly expensive and more of a pipe dream for most.
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Name: Jack Sullam
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Description: Jack is a well-built man, standing at 5 foot 11 inches he is not very tall though. His shoulders very broad and his stomach and chest are flat, not toned though. He also has prominent muscles on his arms and legs but not to the point of being incredibly strong. Naturally he is stronger than he is quick and it shows in the way he stands and walks. His skin itself is quite dry and his hands and legs are covered in small scars and calluses. On his head Jack has closely shaved black stubble which he cuts himself with the large clip folder knife he carries on his belt. His beard he has allowed to grow out and falls prominently for a good 4 or 5 inches off of his face, well defined jawline and chin. Again he uses his knife to keep the black facial hair in check as well. His face is also broad, like his shoulders, and holds deeply set green eyes, a slightly large and misshapen nose that holds the scars of a number of breaks. His lips are quite thin and are a light pink.
Biography: Jack is actually a Brit born and bred, born in East London he grew up on an estate, having been kicked out of school, and spent his time in small time looting and small time mugging. Before he could be caught for any of his ‘minor offenses’ he was sent to America by his parents, where he then lived with distant relatives. Whilst the family tried to set him straight Jack continued to ditch his school and mess around. When final grades came around Jack was less than surprised that he had not one passing grade. He took up an apprenticeship as a handyman with a friend’s dad. It was a dead end job with a dead end pay. By the time Jack was 25 he had a small apartment, a decent TV and some camping gear. Jack was almost looking for an excuse to break free from his boring hole of a life. He couldn't hold down a relationship and worked for some of the worst families in the Florida area. Eventually slipping into slight alcoholism. The only thing keeping Jack from abandoning his life now was the fun he had camping. He wasn't an outdoors nut but enjoyed the time he spent outdoors, alone and in the calm. After the outbreak Jack found it terrifying and then, oddly, calming. He decided to go camping as his escaping of the hordes and violence. For a time he was happy, but despite his enjoyment of being alone, he started to go a little stir crazy on his own. That was when he made his way to the Refugee camp.
Pre-Infection Career: Jack was a handyman, or jack of all trades, and so has a number of maintenance skills. However he is certainly no expert, so don't ask him to perform open heart surgery.
Other: Jack wears skinny blue jeans, mustard Timberland boots, a checked cotton shirt and a slightly large leather bomber jacket. He also has a large rucksack full of equipment, such as a Zippo lighter, most of a carton of cigarettes, a full bottle Jack Daniels, a couple of tins of beans, a spare pairs of jeans, a spare shirt and a pair of wellington boots. He also has a canvas tent however he donated that to the camp to help others.
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