Deus ex Entente Role-Play

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Post by JerriLeah7 on 18th January 2018, 5:04 pm

Deus ex Entente Role-Play Intro10
RPM: @JerriLeah7 RPH: @JulietHasAGun

Character Color Codes
b8f7ffNikolaus Meinrad Engelherz
0cafffFean (Fen) Thonav
009900Marisol Yorina
fbfc7eDonnie "Half-Dozen" Haull
ff9900Alwin Seal
a6151bBrooke Cascata
ff6699Saif Taozi
ff9999Sofia Taozi
4D4B4BNoire Lightsoul

Signature Dividers:

Aquarian Gloria
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Ag10

Air Jaunt Battalion
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Ajb10

The Artifice Precept
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Tap10

Cardinal Crowe Company
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Ccc10

Hollowstar Oathbound
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Ho10

The House of Repose
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Hr10

Noblesse Oblige
Deus ex Entente Role-Play No11

Purged (Any)
Deus ex Entente Role-Play P10

Shadowcast Diviners
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Sd10

Vox Libertalia Nyxeria
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Vln10

Last edited by JerriLeah7 on 20th February 2018, 8:16 pm; edited 4 times in total

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Post by JerriLeah7 on 18th January 2018, 9:01 pm

Deus ex Entente Role-Play Prolog11
Part I

There are gatehouses to the walls that surround the Kingdom of Transuria--a place of gold and marble, of wealth and equality.  There is no starvation or slavery here, not among this home that many of humankind would wish to call their home.  Transuria, itself, is the meaning of "paradise."  Each gatehouse would allow people to enter and travel through, but it was more than a gatehouse--they are bastions of hope and peace, keeping those that would harm humankind away from the most monstrous of creatures and kinfolk.  

Yet, now, the northern Gatehouse is deathly quiet and there is no light or life to be found, save for Tavrim, himself.  He has worked here, as a Gatehouse Guard, for the better part of his life and it has been, at its most, uneventful.  The worst drama ever brought to him was a border dispute between Kingdoms.  Yet, even these small, political and geographical incidents had solutions.  Simple solutions.

His breathing arduous, his armor damaged, his last weapon drawn within his hands, he barely stands over his comrades, all dead.  The floor is filled with their blood, slippery.  The smell of death permeates the gatehouse, accompanied with more than just Tavrim's grief at the loss of his friends and his coworkers.  Memories flooded through his mind, memories of the life spent with these individuals, the ones that fought so hard so that he could escape and give word.  Yet, he never could escape.  He never got a chance to warn any of the Kingdom of what is coming.

The black, twisted, and horned humanoid before him had swept in through the night, taking all that he loved and more with such swiftness that he knew not of what it could be.  Those deep, red eyes glowed, as did its throat and its innards, glaring in through its rib cage like a mystery that he was never meant to understand.

What was this thing?  What did it want?  Why did it attack them like this with no warning, no reason?  Why did his friends have to die and why must he face this creature alone?   They were good fighters--every single one of them, yet this thing took them down so quickly and suddenly.  Did he stand a chance?  Did it matter?  Was it not his duty to protect the Kingdom to his very last breath?  As it stands, he is the only remaining thing preventing an invasion...

This thought terrifies him, but it keeps him going as he strikes at the thing again and again with his long spear, jabbing with every  opportunity given him, screaming with rage and sorrow mixed together as he pushes against it, trying his damnedest to force this bony creature from his home.  From their home.  This battle went on for barely a few minutes, but it felt like hours--days, even.  Yet, it would not budge, and as it knocked his final weapon from his hands, breaking it in half and moving forward to press Tavrim down to his knees, it garbled out some twisted, human speech.

It said, "Do you understand?"

Tears had stung at his widened eyes as he gasped aloud, but the gasp was not from the realization that flooded through his mind.  Rather, he gasped as all effort, all hope, all tension and effect left his body.  He forced himself to breathe as he wept, looking at the thing above him while its face shifted widely into a grin, followed by its own deep, garbled laugh.  

He hears that dark laughter echo throughout the chamber, the home that was now a bloody crypt that he knew he would die in.  The realization that had flooded into his mind was something he had hidden from himself, mentally, as he had fought back with his determination and his desperation.  It is always that which one cannot mentally handle that defeats them, in the end.  Yet, he now knew that this thing never tried.

It came, it conquered--without effort, without trying.  The lives it took were easy to take, just as his would be simple to take.  It was trying to teach him one final lesson.
Hopelessness.  And now, he did not know of hope, closing his eyes as this black thing moved to strike him down.  Tavrim's last breath was released and he knew, just before his end, that his entire Kingdom would fall to what would eventually become known as the Inanis.

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Post by JerriLeah7 on 25th January 2018, 7:34 pm

Deus ex Entente Role-Play Prolog11
Part II

The Queen:
Deus ex Entente Role-Play The_queen_by_mariana_vieira-d46kgzs

The platform that lifted the queen of Transuria was circular in shape and covered by fine materials of excellent, royal design. She stood upon it with defiance, though she was not at the raised platform's center. Rather, there was a sword, a rather simple looking long sword that stood upon the platform's center from the tip of its blade. The hilt, held up by multiple chains that spread out to the edges of the circle's base, seemed magically enhanced--just as enhanced as the chains, themselves. The sword stood before her, glowing brilliantly with magic of its own and lighting up the Queen's face with its warm, yellow light.

The crowds below her had been scared, panicked, and battered. There was only a small population remaining--around five hundred of the high-born humans and a hundred or so of the low-born. They had escaped together, within the confines of a darker, deeper hidden dungeons beneath the greatest castle and fortification known to the Kingdom. The Queen stood tall, her shoulders eased and her head held high as she recalled the memory of her husband's face before he had put on his helmet, prepared to die as he kept the Inanis from entering too soon so that they may escape. They could hear the battle above in the distance, but she knew that by now, their King must be dead.

"I have brought to you," The Queen says finally, her voice magically enhanced to be heard by those within these dark, cramped chambers, "Ten warriors. My very remaining crowns guard--the very best of mine."

As she finished this, a few cheers were heard as some hope was renewed to the people. She looked back, over her shoulder as ten people stepped up from the shadows and stepped to the circle's side, to the right of their Queen as they looked up at her upon their introduction. It was then that the Queen looked at her daughter with a sadness that made her heart ache. Her very own little girl that was not so little anymore, volunteered to take the place among their guard and fight as they did for one last push for freedom and for life.

"My very own Phae," The Queen said, the crowd hushing again as her voice wavered with emotion, "Will give us our freedom. Our victory.
That is how certain I am of our survival."

The people quietly cheered again, careful not to become too loud so as to be heard by those Inanis that battled and conquered above. The magics made here made their chamber silent to those around them, but one could never be sure and the sinking fear within the people was obvious enough, as it was reflected through their Queen's eyes. She could not bring herself to show doubt. If she did, her people would have no hope in their final days and if they were going to die, they would die fighting. Of that much, she was certain.

Unfortunately, she could not wear armor around her torso--the essence crystal had seared through her flesh, fighting its way through her form and into visual capacity. Her power oozed from it, her flesh raw at its edges, both from the crystal's hard and ragged edges and at the way it sometimes rubbed against the edges of her plated armor. She was dressed for war, as best as she could be and, although she would not go with the Defiant...she would fight at her people's side and die with them. Die with honor.

"The Defiant will not die!" The Queen raised up her hand, "They will go and take back what has been taken from us all of these long years!"

They cheered--her lost, dying people, dirtied and damaged from war. She stepped from the sword and looked to her husband's dear friend expectantly. The old, bearded man walked up with confidence, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he approached the sword and braced himself for what could happen as he touched the blade's hilt. Upon contact, the chains vanished, the sword glowed, and he claimed it for his own.

Tears fell down the Queen's cheeks as she looked on, listening to the hopeful cheers of her people as they all waved the crowns guard off and away to battle, a battle that she feels and knows in her very heart that they will never return from. Her hand clenching tight to the spear in her hand, she watches her daughter leave with them, sacrificing what is left of her family to the Inanis with the hopes that, by some miracle, humankind will make it out of this war alive. Her knuckles turn white, shaking in anger as she vows to herself to give Inanis pain and to send them to the void that they create.

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Post by JerriLeah7 on 25th January 2018, 7:52 pm

Deus ex Entente Role-Play Prolog11
Part III

Ceallach stood upon the dirt floor within a dim room, patiently waiting with a stoic face and a false posture of relaxation. Her alertness was not apparent, but anyone who knew her knew better than to believe such foolish lack of perceptiveness within the realms of a possible confrontation. The armored plating mostly covered her arms and central torso, but chainmail covered the rest of her vulnerable places and this choice of dress demonstrated her expectations well enough. Her shoulders relaxed, her legs equally carrying her weight as she stood straight with her right, armored arm resting upon the hilt of the sword sheathed on her right side--a posture that hinted at battle, but also did not express hostility due to the difficulty it would be to shift from that pose into a battle ready pose with a quick movement. Of course, there was the great blade upon her back, but as of yet, it remained untouched.

The lantern light upon the wall at her right flickered and wavered, highlighting the blue contrast of war paint upon her face. The red pieces of cloth hung here and there from the armor, a bannerous decoration of sorts. Her navy blue shirt, however, faded into the darkness, very visible against the paint and the shine against her armor from the firelight. The lanterns did not swing from their chains from the ceilings, the dirt could not creak or moan as a wooden floor would, nor could it clatter with footsteps as loudly as stone. All was silent within the worn down, empty stable as Allach simply waited.

Deus ex Entente Role-Play Swordswoman_by_dropdeadcoheed-d9n60i3

The soft crunching of footfalls finally fell upon Allach's ears and she watched her opponent approach her with a gaze of distrust. She seemed to be alone, but she knew that she was not--they had both agreed to keep allies in the distant reaches, but not too far. The girl walked with her weapons sheathed, as well, and so Allach relaxed just slightly more, though her alertness did not lessen. The girl looks young--moving with agility and youth, as well as with strength. Covered in full plate armor, the girl's massive shield on her back belies at the muscles that are hidden behind those plates.

The soft, dark hair of reddish hue was highlighted from the lanterns that glow within the stable and her armor did not shine near as much from its light as Allach's did--rather, it was too dull, too muddy. There was red and black clothing, both of which were dark enough in hues to be dimmed out by the oncoming dimness of the light outside--sunset was nigh. She immediately moved to the small campfire pit that Allach had already made for her own comfort, reaching out to its warmth for comfort against the cold winds that rushed by against the small plates that left too many openings on her body for Allach's taste. No chain. No closure between the plates. Still, she had the shield...and the two daggers.

"Ifren," Ceallach greeted her softly, stoically. The firelight flickered against her back, the sparks rising up behind her back and giving the soft image of a red smoke rising from her, though this was not the case. Her blank expression that she gave in return added to that hint of intimidation and Ceallach was just not going to have this. They could both play that game and they could play it well--but who would win?

Deus ex Entente Role-Play Tanea_by_dropdeadcoheed-db1zwwd

"It's a new world," Ifren says, her voice sharp, business like--but cocky. The warmth of her breath clouded before her against the atmosphere's contrasting cold, the frost in her voice almost seeming to match the weather about them with ease. Her arms raise up, as if holding the imaginary world that she has in her mind before her to show to her opponent with pride. "This is the last time you'll be invited into it."

Allach laughs, "This world is the same as it always has been. Same rules, same progenitors, same
kaird purged strutting out into the wild and thinking that they are the shit when they manage to survive."

Ifren scowls, her eyes narrowing, "The Progenitors are irrelevant. We're coming up, Allach, and if we have to, we'll clean out this little prison of yours to make room for what is to come."

"We keep Iodenia safe, we fight for ourselves--Purged are our own Progenitors, Ifren." Allach says coldly, "We can pick sides, but this is us. You walk in, piss in our water, and expect us to drink. You naive, little girl. Make no mistake, I do live in a prison--one of my own creation and it is my religion. I live here. You're just a visitor. You are

Allach's eyes light up, her feet now taking a battle stance immediately as Ifren's shield straps are released from her shoulders and drops to the ground with a big, dull thud. Blades are drawn, magic flowing outwards from their bodies as Allach's mind wanders, her thoughts calculating just how much of a threat this new bitch is going to be. Her following has been growing, and she's been watching it happen with caution--but was her disdain and disinterest of Ifren before now too careless?

Ceallach touches the mark of the Purged upon her arm, a summoning or signal of sorts as it ignites upon her flesh and sears against her flesh. The grimace does not go unnoticed as she can hear screams in the distance--battle was beginning and Ifren was not one to wait. They charged at each other, a great sword swinging down upon a great shield with two different colors of lights blasting outwards from the strike as they both met with a metallic twang and the force of the magical attack and defense released another force--a small explosion that shook the northern edge of Iodenia along its border for miles around them.

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Post by JulietHasAGun on 17th March 2018, 7:35 pm

Deus ex Entente Role-Play SoItBegins

Hathe City, a town of progress, luxury, unity; and a meeting place for immortals.

These meetings encompassed some of the only times all of the Progenitors gathered in one place. They might disagree, argue, squabble, and loathe what each other stood for- but in these meetings, everyone, everyone made sure to be on their best behavior. Kovros made abundantly sure of that.

The room in which these 'meetings' took place was just as mystical and awe inspiring as one might imagine- as the deathless beings that made this table their gathering hub.

It was nonagonal, large, with a high, domed ceiling. Tapestries hung in nine slices, from the circular apex of the ceiling. These tapestries, of course, represented covenants. Their silken, yet heavy texture shone luxuriously in the atmospheric lighting of the room. 'Nobilesse Oblige', 'Hollowstar Oathbound', 'The House Of Repose', 'Shadowcast Diviners', and so forth, each had their covenant symbol displayed, a mark of alls equal stake upon this room; looming over alls heads- but more of a presence, and not an oppressor.

The walls were mainly covered by these tapestries, but flecks of it showed- stone, marble? No, magically resonant stone- requested, carved, and crafted by Vaelus for the implicit purpose of 'protecting' the room. Many had thought it was silly, but Kovros had given his go-ahead, so most dissenters were silenced. The stone looked to be volcanic rock to any untrained eye, but if any magi, or magical forced touched it, swelled within it, it would dance with the fiery colors of their magic- holding it, like a magical conduit.

The floors were stone, black, silvery, like walking on a stormcloud. When footsteps resonated on its surface, it sounded akin to if one was walking on crystal, light, sharp. It echoed throughout the room, dampened not by the tapestries above- pittering off lightly on its own.

Braziers lit the room- atmospheric lighting, magical lighting. They called it 'veilfire', magical flames that could not be put out by mere water. They had to be put out magically, lit magically, and maintained, as surprising as it may be to some, magically. The colors were interchangeable, based on the magi that lit it. But most often in this hall, they were lit in a prismatic effect of colors, matching each progenitor; or defaulting to a cool white, flecked with green.

The sole door to the room was a large, slate marble set of double doors that tipped almost to the ceiling. Few set foot in the room when a meeting was in place, and whatever ascendant accompanied their Progenitors to these meetings generally waited patiently outside. The handles were intricate and curved, but seldom few used them- like most things in this room, they possessed a touch of magic.

The most notable fixture of the room was the large, heavy table, circular, with nine chairs aligned around it. Each chair was numbered to match the Progenitor that sat there, silvery and white, their backs were tall, the seating was plush, and thickly upholstered, for comfort.

The table was smooth, slightly, bizarrely, warm to the touch, with no known name for the material it was crafted from- at least, no material accessible those who would wish to duplicate it. The outer ring was opalescent, white, easily touchable by those around it the secondary, middle ring, was darker, a black tortoise shell pattern; the inner most circle was the most striking.

The inner sphere of the table beheld prismatic, ever changing motes of light, dancing about in the sphere. They formed maps, figures, mimics of faces, anything that could come to mind. For now, it held a map of Iodenia, charting its borders, territories won and lost, in a crème, light yellow that illuminated most of the room.

The Progenitors, all patiently seated- though, some more patiently than others, had grown to reflect their interest in the affairs set before them.

Vaelus, who sat between Nyhara and Nyx, was, perhaps, the most poised of all of them. Sitting upright in his chair, legs crossed beneath the table- holding himself akin to a teacher, or a business man in an important meeting. His black suit showed not a single wrinkle, and the rings about his fingers, woven together, gleamed in shades of silver, amethyst, marble and lapis lazuli. His expression was calm, nuanced, distant yet engaged, his eyes were calm, his lips were set, his elbows rested casually upon his armrests as his hands met together before him. His feet, clad in silver tipped and heeled shoes, did not jiggle impatiently, nor move at all. He did not fiddle with his hair, run his fingers through it, it was perfectly styled, though not overly maintained, coifed back in an orderly but stylish fashion. He was the picture of poise, calm and restraint.

A seat down from him, Nyx was still patiently sitting; though maybe less so than the Progenitor before her. Her elbows shifted, from time to time; at one point, they were both on the table, her hands cupping her face as she rested it within their grasp, at another, her hands had rested on the rests of the chair, her head leaning back into the plush cushioning of the chair as her fingers idly fiddled with the long tresses of her hair. Now, her cheek sat in one hand as she leaned forward on the table, eyes, stormy, striking, keen and attentive. Despite her perhaps 'nervous' energy, Nyx's attention did not shift from the topic at hand. Well, outside of once or twice- when her gaze flickered to two of the men seated at the table. Shahaeyl, and to a different extent, Reinhold- the latter being a less rambunctious disturbance. But outside of a handful of side glances, mainly directed at the Patron of Chaos himself, she was wholly engrossed and attentive of the meeting. She had somewhat shed her overcloak, a large, sweeping black affair, trimmed with fur lining, though it still hung loosely on her shoulders. Her dress, too, was black, long, made of a luxuriously black material, soft, but heavy. It coiled around her neck, but bared some of the skin on her chest, enough to reveal her covenant symbol, and the fabric around her arms continued down to the middlemost of her finger. Her hair was loose, long, perfect to be nervously played with.

While Nyx and Vaelus might have been the image of poise and attentiveness, respectively. Shahaeyl and Polluexia were....not.

Hale, situated between Reinhold and Polluexia, had changed positions rather drastically, and often, before finally settling on one. Sprawled out across his chair, one foot resting on the armrest, the other resting on the table. One elbow rested upon his knee, the other draped on the armrest opposite his foot. Shahaeyl barely deigned to pay attention to the topic at hand- apparently he miraculously managed to offer insight from time to time, to the surprise of some. He also, occasionally deigned to make a slight joke of the subject, which the rest of the progenitors generally tried their best to ignore- if they weren't the kind to laugh at it. Vaelus occasionally found his sensibilities offended, but knew any protest on his part would be met by deaf, uncaring ears. Shahaeyl, clad in a dark, rich stormy grey suit, with a luxurious, dark purple overcoat, and mismatched buttons; waist in a coil of a brocade fabric- rings of mismatched colors, styles and sizes; all of which had tapped distractingly on the table at least once; certainly...stood out. Comparatively to most of the room. His hair was wild, his eyes were striking, and a impish smile never stopped tracing his lips. One learned to get used to him, even though it might take one about a thousand years.

Polluexia, to his side, was, while less overtly distracting, certainly as tactless as Hale- though not because of a dedication to mischief, or an uncaring demeanor. But rather, these meetings always tired her, as they forced her to sit down and listen as she was talked at for however long. She preferred the field, the sea, being out there doing something, rather than stuck in here listening. She sat, one leg crossed under her, the other pressed out against the table, occasionally stretching out, careening her chair back. Her arms were, generally, folded behind her head- though she occasionally reached out, leaning over, poking either her brother, leaning into him, whispering some rasceous, funny or lewd comment to try to mine some amusement out of him; or Hale, out of jovial, impish childishness. Unlike the other Progenitors she was rather...unkempt. Her black hair mostly braided back, tied up, free strands trundling down in her face, quickly replaced back behind her ear. Her shirt, a plain, white button up, was loose, unbuttoned, pulled up above her elbows, showing off her musculature rather well. Her pants, pulled up and cuffed at her knees were loose, dark brown, pants you'd see on any workman in Iodenia. The sash around her hips belied her Covenants sigil, and their colors, and baubles and charms hung off it like collected trophies. Her boots were dark brown, coming to the knee, though, at face value, falling apart and patched together. But that suited Polluexia just fine.

Phaedira, resolute, prim, in her seat between Nyx and Reinhold- mirrored the former more closely. Her posture was keen, proper, lady-like; as befitting of a lady of standing as Vaelus' posture suited a businessman. Her ankles crossed, her shoulders properly squared, her head never lulling lazily to one side or the next- her eyes akin to a bird of prey on the occasions she leaned over the table to get a better view at the map. Her clothing, as always; in all of its metallic glory, reflecting the light in every which way, and against the crème yellow of Kovros' influence, it along with her headgear, gave her the appearance of an angel of war. It was a long, loose, dress like shift, with a cape attacked to its shoulders that trailed down in the shame of two, asymmetrical wings. Unlike Nyx's, it bared little skin, the neckline revealing her collarbones and little more. Phaedira always made sure to move and check her appearance, generally, nary so much of a hair was out of place. She, perhaps, was the most usefully vocal, adding tidbits of strategy, plans, looking about the table to see if it would work with the parties necessary- her eyes falling to Kovros more often than not. The intensity and conviction within her gaze was lost to no one; and none, not even Hale, was keen to interrupt her.

Nyhara, on the opposite, situated between Kovros' seat, and Vaelus, was not so....keen. In fact, her face shamelessly and unabashedly proclaimed her utter and complete boredom with the situation. Her marred, scarred face did little to hide how utterly unimpressed she was with these proceedings. Yet, she sat, mostly silently. Crossing, uncrossing, and recrossing her legs- shifting from side to side. Her posture, proper, yet relaxed, a bit of a hang to it that spoke to a rogueishness that everyone in the room already knew about her. Despite her restlessness though she maintained a sense of respect; not sighing, nor interrupting Kovros, or any of the parties involved, as they spoke. However she did tap her fingers occasionally, not enough to earn her the eyes from Vaelus or Kovros- but enough to make her disdain for the situation known. Her red suit was prim and professional, as always; it was her signature, after all- a uniform, of sorts; and her cloak, an addition, was draped over the arm of the chair, not quite trundling to the ground, no, Nyhara would never stand for such slovenly care of her ensemble. Despite her 'respect' for the proceedings, despite the protests of many, she smoked. The charcoal mist crawling, reaching up into the air with every calm, cool puff; the cigarette held calmly, cooly between her fingers, every drag a silent grate upon Nyx and Vaelus' nerves.

Nyx, particularly, looked, to anyone familiar enough with her, ready to use her magic to snuff the flame; but a hand from Phaedira, calmly, upon her arm, coaxed her down, and back into a less angered state.

Reinhold, seated between, Phaedira and Hale; was perhaps the most....villainous, in appearance, to most of the Progenitors. He sat, properly, his legs crossed, his long, white, fur lined cloak draped dramatically cross the arms of his chair, slung loosely over his shoulder. In his lap sat his cat; tabby grey, with eyes matching his- his familiar, Sebas. His fingers scruffed along and pet its fur as it curled within his lap, purring as one of the Progenitors hands smoothed his fur, scratched the underside of his chin. The cat wiggled, nuzzling against its owners hand, causing Reinhold to occasionally cast down his eyes with a smile; continuing to pet him calmly, not wavering in his almost villainous composure. Outside of the mild distraction his familiar provided Reinhold was not really paying much attention at all to the proceedings; smirking at Shahaeyl's jokes- even laughing, though, not going so far as to earn a dire eye from Vaelus. He balanced his charm somewhat evenly with his manners, despite not managing to give much of a care about what Kovros was talking about. There was, however, one thing that did somewhat command his attention...Nyx. Staring at her occasionally with the expression one might expect from a love-lorn teenager, or a puppy; his generally sharp case softening to the dullest, smoothest of edges. A knife worn to fluff. His eyes traced her fingers, her figure, what skin he could see- for moments at a time he was stuck on her. On a rare occasion when their eyes met, he'd smile at her, before her eyes could dart away, and he'd cast his gaze back between Hale and Polluexia- two sources of rather abundant entertainment. Reinhold, himself, was dressed- as he always was for these occasions, immaculately. His black, finely made clothing was not only stainless, but fit him perfectly. His shirt was double breasted, the first few golden buttons undone, giving view to his neck, his collarbones, and an abundance of jewelry. Matching; unlike Hale's, in a cacophony of Orange Topaz and gold. Crescent moons, fangs, and a centerpiece, his very own favored symbol, the ankh. His boots, much like Vaelus', were black, tipped and heeled in gold, clicking occasionally against the floor. His hair, his clothes, his visage, were all immaculately maintained; as always. Image was important, after all, though, perhaps, it was maintained more for one person in particular.

Unlike Reinhold, Castor, surprisingly, was rather attentive...outside of his blatant refusal to sit properly in a chair. He straddled the back of it, facing the table; and had done away with the armrests all together, much to Vaelus' chagrin. He may have worked hard on these chairs, however, Castor was known rather famously for his blatant disregard for anything Vaelus stood for. So here, he perched, like a gargoyle, or some feral creature, listening with utmost attentiveness to what Kovros had to say. As he straddled the chair, his sister, true to herself, occasionally elbowed him, slapping his leg- goading his attention to something impish and mischievous, lewd or crass that her, or Hale, had gotten up to. Castor smiled, as he was known to do with his sister, and answered her quietly, as to not disrupt the man speaking. Between the talks of the war, and the egging of his sister, Castor, proved the most...emotive. Shifting from smiles to his sister, to borderline scowls about the war. His expression brightened like the sun, darkening like a stormcloud- and would have clapped into the rage of a hurricane had it not been her sister and her almost psychic perception of her brothers moods. When the topic came to losing or abandoning borders, outposts, Castor immediately sprung from his seat, the clatter of the chair bringing the conversation to a viable halt until Polluexia managed to tug him back down, calming him in a way that perplexed most at the table. Castor, unlike the rest of the table looked.....less than immaculate. His hair still wet, his robes freshly changed. Only at the behest of his sister did he even bother showering before the meeting; with her telling him he 'smelled like balls' and demanding he change and clean himself as she 'had to sit next to him for hours'. He had, however, skipped on combing- his sister had no leg to stand on to lecture him about that.

Finally, there was Kovros. Standing, pacing, behind his chair. He spoke of battle, of territory, of war and inanis; the name rolling off his tongue coated in hardened spite. He looked tired, a man who was dead on his feet. He had just come from battle; shedding his armor only because it's weight would wear him down even more. On occasion, he grasped the back of his chair, gesturing to the glimmering map held together by his magic. Updating his fellow immortals on the status of the fighting. He spoke; he did not dither over them like a chastising school teacher- he was tired, and they had done this dance for long enough for him to know they, at least, took this seriously. He had no glares for Hale, he had grown accustomed to his old friend; immune to him. He had no scolding for Nyhara, everyone knew how she was. He had no quips for Polluexia, she was a fighter, and he knew that, like him, she'd rather be out there doing rather than talking. However, he managed a few glares for Reinhold; and his puppy eyes at Nyx. 'Man up,' He thought, moving on quickly from his disdain. His clothing, despite being flung onto him, was well made, fine, but not pretentious or noble like Vaelus'. The fabric was high quality, and you could tell he had defaulted back to it for years; dark browns, accents of airy yellow. But what was most striking was his cape. Pinned shut with a clasp that mirrored the symbol of his covenant, it was a flume of a noble, royal, yet muted red, it billowed behind him and held as much to his status as a progenitor as it did as a Knight Errant. It was noble, loud, borderline heroic; and as he wore it one could almost envision him wearing it, standing about a scorched battlefield.

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Deus ex Entente Role-Play Empty Re: Deus ex Entente Role-Play

Post by JulietHasAGun on 17th March 2018, 7:47 pm

Kovros stood before the table, his hands placed at the back of the chair before him as he looked over the group with their usual behaviors and wondered what he would do to inspire them, this time. Keeping them interested in anything after all of these years was a feat in and of itself. Keeping himself inspired was even more so. It's been a long day. He's too tired to say anything inspiring today. So be it.

"I think that we can conclude the proceedings for today," Kovros says, "Unless there are objections?"

Vaelus, without missing a beat, lifts two of his fingers.

"I do believe I have something to add, Kovros. An 'objection', I suppose." Vaelus stands; his royal, peacock blue taking over Kovros' creme yellow on the center of the table as he traces his fingers long its surface. Now, it shows a rotating image of Hathe city, itself. "There is a matter about our relation to the mortals. The Council has some...concerns, that it would like us to adress. As the mediator, it has fallen to me to bring them to you.

Kovros sighs inwardly, wishing to be leaving, but understanding that if he "leaves it for next time," he won't wish to do it then, either. Better now, rather than to add to the list of things that they must do for the people. He cannot sit, though. His body is too weary from the fight and he knows that if he were to even consider sitting, he'd not wish to get up again. He looks about the room, making sure that no one protests--as they should know better than to do so, by now. At least vocally, anyway.

Then he nods, "Very well. Go ahead, Vaelus. We're listening."

Vaelus paces calmly, gesturing towards replica of the city. "First on their agenda of concerns are," Vaelus sighs briefly. "As it has been for the past few months, the Pravus,"

Polluexia, as well as a couple others, give audible noises of disapproval. "This again?" She mutters.

Vaelus understands their exhaspiration. It shouldn't still be an issue and yet, it is. "Apparently some of the low born are rather...heated about how those with money are enabled to, in their words, 'use and abuse magic to their whims'. When everyone else capable of using magic themselves must fight and die for that right; our covenants. They want us to 'deal' with the situation; and even though both I, and the council, have both agreed and been abundantly clear that we have made no plans to round up the Pravus and force them to war, they still demand some kind of response." He looks about the room. "So does anyone have any helpful," He looks at Hale tightly as he emphasises the word. "Insight into what could be done to quiet the civilians nerves and complaints?"

Nyhara shrugs, "Each coin that they waste keeping their magitek charged goes to a magi that needs to feed their families and fight in the war for us. So, they are wasting their money on tricks and gimmicks, but they are adding to the economy. They feed enchanters, magi, and smiths alike--what would they have us do? Upset that balance and allow others to go hungry? It's a frivolous luxury, but because they use and purchase it, they make such items available at a cheaper cost for our covenant members when they are injured and cannot afford to have limbs regrown. I've said it before, these fools help us, even though it is indirect and unintentional."

Nyx piped up, not keen to allow the situation to take such a cynical, jaded, and money focused turn. "We're not warlords, we've been tasked with keeping humanity safe, how much better would we be than bandits? Than Perimooras if we forced weapons into peoples hands and marched them out to die? Our Magi choose to fight, they choose to make a difference. Forcing people, civilians, into battle based on a rather...distasteful habit of magical pageantry would be tantamount to murder." She leaned forward towards the table, eyes keen, determined, sparks running through them like lightning in a stormcloud. "I'm sure we can all agree while some of us may find it distasteful, we're not ready to march them out to die."

"I'm with Nyxie, here," Polluexia butted in, gesturing openly with one hand. "Not to mention, we march a bunch of unwilling fighters out onto the field; how many will die? Our magi have to be able to rely on their brothers in arms to watch their backs- if we've forced half of them out there, they'll probably turn tail and abandon their teammates the moment things go south. It ain't right, and it ain't smart."

Hale wagged his finger in the air. "So, aside from the supposed 'ammorality' and depravity of it. It's stupid. And the mortals expect us to do it to make them feel better because they're too broke to afford magitech of their own? This sounds like a typical meeting," He mimicked a high, whiney voice mockingly, imitating the 'mortals' he spoke of. "'Nyoooh, progenitors, Danny from Hathe has a cookie and I don't. So outlaw cookies. What? You're not going to outlaw cookies? You're terrible dictators nyeh nyeh nyeh.' That's it, that's what this question sounds like. Move along, let the mortals be mad. The things they choose to be angry about these days are stupid. And not even entertaining stupid! The gall."

Castor scowls, "Tell them that we will happily settle their problem for them...after the Inanis have been removed from the equation. Until then, they will wait, like all other matters that result in war."

Vaelus blinks, slowly, had the man even been listening to him? "Castor, I understand you're very....adamant, about the Inanis. But we are fighting for the mortals, as well. We can't just ignore them until the Inanis are gone."

Hale leaned back in his chair. "Ooooooh, what's another few thousand years between mortals?"

This earned the man a momentary glare from Vaelus before his gaze flickered back to Kovros. "Thoughts, Kovros?" Him and Reinhold had been the only ones that hadn't spoken; but Vaelus knew Rein well enough to know he only bothered to offer opinions when he cared enough about the issue to have them.

Kovros sighs, "As always, the Progenitors are beacons of peace. The people will accept this and any attempts to start inner battles or wars due to their disagreements or our inaction will be stopped and severely punished in accordance with Iodenian Edicts. However...I propose one action that we can take to quell the cries at our feet.

I will select an Ascendant of mine that will create a sub-sect within my Covenant and other Covenants -- we will create an investigative taskforce that will look into substantiated claims and concerns between the Pravus and the lower class citizens. Any and all actions taken by the Pravus with their magictech that would go against our laws or edicts will be brought before Vaelus and they will be judged.

So long as the taskforce is convinced of wrong doing, investigations can be under way. So long as sufficient evidence is provided, Vaelus can be bothered with the case. Until then, these smaller issues need not interrupt the Inanis War."

Nyhara smirks, "We could them. It is a luxury and we could use the funds for the taskforce....or the war effort. Though, I would say to err on the side of a...small tax."

"Of course, Nyhara, you would find a way to make this about money." Nyx responds flatly, leaning back in her seat, fighting back the urge to glare a hole in the other womans head. Yes, the Pravus were...distasteful, spending money excessively. But Nyhara's warmongering, money hungry ways left a vile taste in her mouth.

Vaelus, cuts in, not wanting anything to come to fruition of this. "I suppose my main qualm here is that there are not individual cases of Pravus committing crimes, if there were, I assure you, I would already set my Ascendant on the case. However, the main problem people are having with the Pravus is their garish and distasteful waste of money. Money that they believe could be better spent helping people and helping fund the war effort than buying 'fancy new toys'. But, I digress. The consensus is that we don't draft innocent people into war." He looks to Kovros. "If you stand by your words, I can draft up a public statement for Kirst to put out by tomorrow morning, Kovros."

"Did'ja have anything else for us, Vael? Or are we done here?" Polluexia interjects, impatiently leaning forward.

Vaelus, once again, puts a hand on the table; this time, it formulates the shape of an orb, intricate, spinning, teeming with energy. The nexus of a star, radiating with the magical heat of a planets core.

"The Ues. The artifact I've been studying." Vaelus rights himself. "A highly classified research project that I trust will remain between us and these nine walls, yes?" Vaelus' words were not a threat, but a contract- and he rather detested being reneged.

"So? It's a ball. Go play magical soccer with it or something. Or are you fixating on it to compensate for something?" Polluexia snickered.

"Ah, yes, Vaelus. We are all quite familiar with how men like you simply love playing with your balls." Hale's double entendre was said in a toying, impish voice, smile clearly tracing his lips.

Vaelus' face was stony, his expression flat; the room was silent, outside of the thunderous noise of Polluexia low-fiving Hale, and a surprising snort from Nyx.

Vaelus closed his eyes. "As I was saying, my research with into the Ues. The artifact has been evidenced to have insight into the Inanis language; and, considering, despite the efforts and collaboration between myself and Reinhold in our project to coax language out of the purebreds, it is shown to be our best lead. However-" Vaelus opened his eyes once more, expression still placid, steely. "It is exceedingly difficult to research an artifact when it either kills anyone it touches, or drives them mad. With that, I implore all at this table for their...assistance. I understand that the nine of us all have different approaches, ideas- and perhaps my methodology is flawed. If any at this table have any insight or experiments they would like to attempt." Vaelus' eye fell upon Castor, flickering to Rein, then back. "My ears are open. After all, knowing your enemy is half the battle."

Reinhold thrums on the table with his two index fingers, "Haaaave you tried exploding it? Maybe if we just destroy it, it won't be a threat--and sometimes, destroying a threat is half the battle, too."

Castor almost growls, "Don't be foolish, boy."

Reinhold stands up, glaring at him, "You, of all of us, know that I'm no boy."

Nyhara giggles with disbelief, "Why don't you let me hold on to it and fiddle around, Vaelus? I could probably make some progress if I tinker with it, albeit carefully."

Nyx sights, resting her forehead in her fingers as she leans forward. "Can you two give it a rest, please. We're all thousands of years old, does it matter?"

Polluexia took a....different approach, puckering her lips. "Awwww, a few more quips and you two would be just like an old married couple." She punctuated her statement with kissy noises.

Hale barked out a laugh.

Vaelus looked as though he had lost hours of sleep in the past few minutes. "First of all, no, we are not blowing it up, Reinhold. It's a valuable asset. Second of all, Nyhara, I make an amendment to my statement. If any tinkering is done with the potentially lethal, enigmatic artifact with a penchant for driving people insane, it shall be done either in my labs or in my presence. Third of all, Castor, please make sure your comments, if they are offense, at least contribute to the discussion."

"Woah," Nyhara says, feigning offense, "Who said you're in charge of the orb thingy?"

Nothing else can be said before a sharp rapping is heard upon the door. It's the door keeper, no doubt. Only he could do that without being severely harmed. One simply didn't just get past the door keeper and the keeper didn't interrupt a meeting unless it was incredibly relevant. Reinhold's still standing, but now his eyes are widened with surprise, "It's Athalros and...another of mine. Fean."

He immediately moves toward the door to allow them entry, but stops himself. He then looks back to Kovros and Vaelus to make sure they approve. The others will get over it--after all, the keeper confirmed it's importance. These two, however....they always had the final say in meetings. Kovros simply nodded.

Vaelus starts, before looking up at the sharp rapping, as everyone did; his composure never breaking. His brow furrowed, he looks to Kovros, then to Rein.

Nyx is already on her feet, anxiously waiting for the go ahead for the door to be opened. If two magi interrupted a meeting, either the world had fallen to ashes while they had droned on, or something just as dire had occurred.

Polluexia jolted to her feet as well, but in her case, she was combat ready. Years of fighting and surprise ambushes had trained her already sharp edges to knifepoints.

Hale, merely looked around his chair, slouched lazily in it still, with a quirked eyebrow.

Vaelus spoke. "Open it."

At that, the doors creaked open; the magic from the room obeying the progenitors voice.

Athalros is waiting before the door keeper, who has stepped out of his way to allow entry. He is dressed as he usually is--fancily and barely at all. His bare chest was marred with dire wounds, deep scratches dug into his chest and luckily becoming more shallow as they moved downward to areas that would have penetrated his organs. Blood is splattered throughout his hair and upon his skin, but he walks inwards slowly, paying little attention to his wounds as he gestured for the woman behind him to follow. Fean.

Fean, a great tarp over her shoulder, turned away from the room and began to drag the corner of the tarp behind her. Someone tried to help her, yet again, but she didn't look at them, only snapping verbally as she fought back further tears, "Don't touch it! This is mine!"

Her possessiveness over the massive cargo that she dragged behind her explained the thoughtlessness of Athalros as he allowed her to do all of the work, dragging the great thing with all of her might as she quietly huffed and puffed with defiance and eventually dragged the great big thing into the room with success while leaving a line of blood in its path. The tarp was certainly bloodied, but this thing was far too large and shaped far too differently to carry one or multiple human bodies. What could it be? The marks upon Athalros' body hinted at something inhuman, something quite large in size.

It took great strength to come here without great reason and even more balls for anyone to enter here and dirty the place up with blood. Fean, too, was covered in the stuff, battled and bruised, damaged and worn, her armor and clothing tattered to the point where a sleeve was missing and a massive scratch matching the one on Athalros' chest had left a hole upon it, revealing the deep gash upon her naked back. She's crying, silently as she can, and Athalros beckons for Rein and Nyx to keep their distance from her with his gestures and his eyes.

Reinhold looks concerned, as any would when approached by one of their members in this state, but the girl says nothing as she turns to face the table of Progenitors with a surprising amount of anger in her eyes. She's never been before so many at once...she's never met most of them before in her life. And she's rarely spoken to so many powerful creatures like this, like she's about to. She's shaking, both from weakness and pain and fear. She's tired from fighting, but she's not ready to be touched.

Kovros looks upon the girl and he wishes to speak, truly, but this is Reinhold's child. None will know her as he does, none will be able to pick up her state through the connective sigil and shared soul shard. So he waits, allowing the boy to take point, to choose how to react as the girl known as "Fean" hesitated to speak, pushing back tears, wiping off her face, and struggling to even her breathing.

Finally, Reinhold moves a little bit closer, though she holds up her arms and hands to indicate that this is unwanted. Rein tries not to cry, himself. He can feel her turmoil, her loss. She is grieving and she has lost someone dear to her, but in a dark way that he does not understand. It has hardened her to her core, shifted part of who she is to the very point that she is ashamed of herself, ashamed to call herself a member of his Covenant. He wishes to reassure her, but he doesn't know what is wrong.

"I..." Fean tries, but she cannot muster the words.

"I was summoned by Fean," Athalros says, "Via the blessing. She had noticed that one of the pages--"

"I'll do it. I'll explain." Fean says bitterly, cutting him off. He crosses his arms, waiting.

Nyx falters, horrified, concerned, her hands urgently reaching out in anxiety, concern, flittering back like birds not knowing where to land. She is horrified, wide eyed; gazing at the mammoth, bloodied cargo- at Fean's barely veiled tears. She notes Athalros' expression, and, despite how badly she wants to wrap her arms around the girl, heal her, soothe her- it is better for her to remain distant.

Amidst her immediate concern, horror; she knew those marks- she'd known Rein, and his covenant, for long enough to wager a very keen guess.

She moved for Athalros', laying her hands upon him. "I've got you," She muttered soothingly, golden magic emanating from her hands; healing his wounds, but doing nothing to clean the blood.

She looked at Fean, her concerned gaze flickering to Reinhold, waiting for the girl to speak.

Behind them, Hale and Polluexia had stood up, Pol wide eyed, Hale looking more engaged and interested than he had the entire meeting. Vaelus had rushed forward, standing a few paces behind Reinhold, watching the scene before them unfold- his gaze flickered up, falling upon the gathered Ascendant, looking in through the doorway.

Aenewyn, Kovros' Ascendant, the one who had tried to help the poor girl with her burden, stood stalwart, on edge, at the ready, in full armor. Her intimidating helmet was tucked under her arm, and her eyes, full of concern, shone in the magic light.

Kirst, the Ascendant of Vaelus, looked on, face tense, brows furrowed, but composure still dauntless, a luxurious fur overcoat draped over her shoulders, and in dress far to expensive and fitting to be worn in battle. Her dark skin and short, curly black hair radiated in the light as she stood, flanked, by two of Vaelus' constructs.

Valhalla, the second closest to the doorway, looked on with an expression unlike that of his Progenitor, Nyx. He had started in Reinhold's covenant, known both Athalros and Fean. His spear was gripped tightly in his hand, and his black armor, gold plating, shone brightly against his dark skin.

Brien and Gil, Polluexia's, stood the furthest away, their forms barely discernible; their billowy shirts, and tousled hair available as only an outline; huddled close together, craning for a view of the action.

At the edge of the doorway sat Castor's ascendant, Kal, a dark figure, barely visible at the outskirts whose sharp eyes watched the situation with intensity, but her mouth belied no expression.

The closest was Glory; Reinhold's very own Ascendant- golden and shining in the light. Her armor polished to a radiant glow, her gilded cape flowing behind her as she stood behind the giant, bloody mound, her jaw tight, her eyes concerned. She wouldn't dare step foot into the room, and she wouldn't dare try to touch Fean's...cargo. But still, she looked on, lips pressed tightly together, eyes brimming with intensity and a keen....something, looking to her Progenitor for his next move.

Reinhold could sense no anger, no irritation from Athalros as he was interrupted. This much, alone, said much--so much that Reinhold immediately became uncomfortable. He realized the depth and gravity of this situation, whatever it must be. Whatever happened, it was more than traumatizing for Fean. It was severe to Athalros, as well.

"I keep books," Fean says, knowing that none of the other Progenitors would understand this as hers would. She holds up one of the texts at her side, opening up the pages to reveal thick writing in ink, flipping those pages with swiftness, but not too much, so that they could see. "I'm a summoner. These are my...promises."

She looks to them desperately, wanting them to understand what that word means in this case. She looks to Reinhold, lastly, knowing for certain that he would. Looking into his eyes, he can sense that understanding, knowing that he, too, holds the same kinds of contracts that she does. She pushes back the tears some more, looking back at her cargo.

"I had noticed one of the pages had gone black. I didn't understand," Fean says, "So I summoned with the blessing and I got Athalros."

Athalros shook his head, "Well, don't sound so displeased about it. I came, I helped, didn't I?"

Fean ignores him, "He waited and I summoned her--it was Yyamir, my friend. She-she's a dragon, a large one. Except that Yyamir wasn't herself at all."

Fean started to cry a little, moving to the tarp delicately as she folded open the material to reveal a bloodied, tattered wing, the wing of a great and powerful dragon that was blue and scaled but also black and twisted with veins all encompassing. The blue faded to black as the Inanis infection was revealed and Fean just cried, holding herself with her arms before her, "We had no choice. She isn't my friend anymore."

Reinhold's gaze darkened as he stepped forward to analyze the wing. No dragon or high-creature had ever been infected, not ever in the entire history of his life. Yet, here was proof of otherwise, just before him and he could barely belief it. His heart sank, the realization of what Fean had to do. She had to fight her own friend, violate her own promise and she blamed herself. He understood her feelings more fully and he looked upon her softly, "This isn't your fault, Fean. You had to defend yourself and the girl you made that promise with is gone. You did not break your word."

The entire room was....shocked, awed, horrified, as well. Vaelus, for his part, was stunned to silence. Polluexia's eyes were the size of saucers, her fighting stance now rigid in shock. One of Nyx's hands went to cover her mouth as her eyes widened, an airy 'no' barely quivered out of her lips. Hale had stood up, both his eyes now raised and it was he who finally cut the silence with his voice.

"Well, shit."

The words cut the room, and Hale sauntered forward, pacing around the wing, arms loosely crossed, finger scratching his chin.

Nyx, having healed Athalros of his wounds, set herself down towards the crying young woman. "Fean," She started, kneeling down beside the girl, hands slowly encompassing her as she looked the woman in the eyes; hers soft, tender, like her voice, soothing like a hug. "Let me help you." She said softly. "Please." The earnestness and compassion in her voice was palpable.

"Fean..." The word expelled from Glory's lips, coated in something akin to heartbreak, pity. The poor girl wanted to be strong, resilient; but there was no shame to be held in vulnerability. Valhalla had pulled up beside her, Glory raising a hand to his shoulder- a gesture of brotherhood. The two briefly looked at each other, then back at the scene before them.

Aen was wordless, staring at the scene in stalwart horror- She knew little about summons, but an infected- what- dragon? Especially that belonging to a summoner? Even she knew that was bad.

Kal was now fully in the doorway, alarm registering on her face, her back slightly bent, shoulders squared, like a curious woodland creature observing the body of a dead, fallen tree.

"What the fuck!?" The cry, emanating by the back of the room, was silenced, quickly by another.

"Be quiet, idiot!" The voice harshly whispered.

Kirst looked to Vaelus, who stared at Reinhold; whatever this was- they needed to figure out how the hell this happened- fast.

A brunette woman, one of the overseers of the doorway, presumably, was standing, tonelessly, with a face blanched and white, behind the crowd, hands cupped around her mouth.

Kovros looks to Reinhold, "How was Yyamir different from the other dragons?"

"She wasn't. Isn't." Reinhold says, shaking his head, "She's a dragon. Like all other grand creatures. How in the hell was she corrupted?!"

Nyx, when Fean nods, wraps her arms around the girl; her gold magic emenating from her hands, skin; filling the girl with the same blissful comfort that she had just used on Athalros. She pulled the girl into her, letting her cry, as her magic did its work. She looked up at Rein and Kovros; not engaging, merely stroking the girls hair, soothing her, letting her weep.

Vaelus walks up behind Reinhold, leaning down, muttering into his ear, out of Fean's earshot. "We need to study the body. Something must have happened- dragons have never risked infection before. We need to figure out what caused this."

"Did you kill her?" Reinhold asks Fean, hating to ask the question. "Is she--it fully dead?"

Athalros answers this one, "Oh, no. It's still alive. She and I couldn't take a dragon on our own. We just fucked the Inanis up. That's all we were capable of before escape. However...Fean could try summoning it again. That doesn't mean it will come,'s possible."

"Summon die?" Fean asks between tears, "Is that all you'd ask of me?"

"Hate to be the bearer of obvious news, little lady," Hale looks away from the wing, back to Fean with his usual cheeky bravado. "But your friend's already dead. Well, in all ways except physical. She's a zombie- her brains hashed, slashed, trashed, and probably infested from head to toe with Inanis fuckery."

"Shahaeyl-" Nyx warned, her eyes sparking with fury, her voice lowering to a growl.

"What? We're not going to lie to her, are we? Don't feel guilty summoning her, girlie. She's already dead. At least you might be able to give her some peace and dignity with the final one-two." Hale's eyes flickered back towards the wing. "Not like she could put up much of an aerial battle. With one wing and all. Or do you think they replaced it with a big, nasty, Inanis one? Hm." His 'hm' was light, airy, flippant.

Nyx, for her part, was steaming. Literally. It took all the restraint she had to not light his clothes on fire. "Shut. Up." She gave him a final warning, all he responded with was a glib, little, 'heh'.

"Sorry, lass." Polluexia had finally found her words, walking up regretfully to the situation. "It might be a mercy to kill her. Imagine if it were you it's....I'm sorry. I'm just....sorry." Her eyes were downcast, full of pity, laced in shame.

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Post by xenolion on 23rd March 2018, 8:52 pm

A few weeks ago… Marisol was in the blacksmith’s shop with her dad. She was working on a delicate wire wrap pendant while her dad was talking to a customer pickup up a sword. The bell above the door rings as the door opens. In steps in a new customer, one that Valerian has never seen before. By the way he is dressed it is obvious he has money. The gentleman comes up to the counter and introduces himself. He is looking for a dagger to be made to his exact specifications and has heard from others that this is the best place.

Dagger Specifications:
The blade of the dagger should be ten inches in length, curved to a point. The handle must be of comfortable make, softened Anwar hide. The hilt and base metal must be gold. With runic inscription I have duplicated below. The blade itself must have indentations, as to catch blood or other such liquids. The pattern must be ornate, but practical. I expect a gemstone eye at the end of the handle; but leave the choice of which up to your discretion. The metal of the blade must be opalescent; traditional metals will not do. I trust you will make something that exceeds my expectations.

Valerian looks at the description. “Looks like this is going to be a job for my girl, let me call her over.” He steps to the side. “Mari, front and center.”

She comes over. She is wearing her leather overalls and has a wire wrapped pendant in her hand. “This better be important Dad…” She cut off when she sees the man.

“We have a dagger to make for this young man. So ahead and describe it to us again.” Valerian tells him.

Marisol listens closely and looks at the diagram. “Total I would say it will take about a week total to make.” The customer agrees and hands over a good amount of coins along with delivery information.

Everything goes as normal with making the blade. When it is turned over to Marisol for the detailing, she gets ill. Which is odd for her. She is afraid of staying home, not wanting to get her mom sick. So she stays at the pub. Even ill, she still finishes the blade on time. She hands it over to her dad to deliver it though. He walks her back to the pub and tells her to get some rest.

** current time**
A couple of days pass before Marisol is feeling better. She heads home and is greeting by her frantic mom. “Oh, it is you Marisol dear. Valerian told me you were not feeling well. Have you seen him at all? He has not come home from delivering the dagger. It is beautiful.”

“What, that was days ago. He should have been able to deliver that by now. Let me check the shop. I will be right back.” Marisol hugs her mother and rubs her pregnant stomach.

“Please be careful dear. I will have some food waiting, you must be hungry.” Tommiah wrings her hand.

Marisol goes to the shop, but it is empty, not only that but the fires are cold. Something she has never experienced before. She enters the small office and begins to dig out the paperwork from the client. They are meticulous with their records. She finds the delivery information and copies it on another piece of paper. She decides right then that she will have to search for him. It is not like Dad to disappear, especially when Mom is pregnant. He is usually doting over her or her in the shop.

Tommiah looks at her expectantly when Marisol returns home. “I didn’t see him their either, but I found the client’s information. I will travel to Hathe to look for him. Don’t worry Mom, I will bring him home. Who knows he may have found something for the shop or for you and the babies.”

“That would be like him. I try not to worry, but it is odd for him to be gone for so long. Make sure you get some food first. Then you will have to tell the pub that you will be gone for a couple of days.” Tommiah reminds her. “Don’t worry about us, we can take care of ourselves.”

Marisol goes upstairs to her room. She gets changed into a nice dress. She packs an overnight bag, but is sure to bring her weapon for protection. It has been a while since she has been to Hathe City. She puts the client’s information in her purse along with enough money to teleport and some extra. Who knows she may find something she likes.

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Thank you leah
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Post by Luna on 24th March 2018, 4:11 pm

Information before RP started:
Aierus van Eoscarte is a member of the so-called "Pravus" that is not only well known among Hathe City for his extravagant imports, but also for his brutal honesty that he places into the faces of the "ignorant masses."  As someone with considerable wealth and power, as well as unique abilities that make him difficult to catch or keep up with, he often likes to personally deal with riots in the streets before magitech trader outposts, speaking out to lower-class citizens to remind them of their place.

This has not only placed Eoscarte in a place of notoriety, but also infamy.  He is not well liked, but he is well respected by others of his kind.  One of his many gifts of money and diplomacy is his ability to afford bodyguards, using a regular switch off cycle of people that he can trust on retainer that he pays more than quite well.  These bodyguards, of course, keep him quite safe, always, and since they are all magi, few have bothered an attempt on his life.

Unfortunately, such an attempt was made a day before the role-play's start and Alwin, who was currently on duty, was badly injured by another magi--a hired assassin of sorts.  The battle didn't end well for either party, but it did end with a promise--a sour, bitter promise against Alwin's life.  Although the assassin's name is not known, she had brilliant, green eyes and black, curled hair with a speed ability of some kind.  She had magic that increased the size of these shadowy-cast claws that had extended and cut him to pieces, but not before Alwin had frozen what was left of them and shattered them to pieces, almost shattering her, as well.

"I'll be back for you," She had promised him before she vanished, "Both of you."

Alwin received a bonus to his paycheck for his success in protecting his target while on duty, as well as an early leave so that he could successfully heal and recover.  Someone else protects the wealthy man at this time.

Alwin spat on the ground. Having worked under Aierus  had left a bad taste in his mouth. He was now injured and wanted to go back to his covenant but the doctor had recommended not traveling. He would never take another job from him again, even if the pay was good.

There were slashes all over his body and several would leave scars. He didn't get the woman's name but he remembered her face. Her face burned itself into his memory. He grinded his teeth together as the pain shot through him. He was going to make it back to the covenant whether it killed him or not. He would just take a teleport this time and get on with it. He could probably pay for it after the big bonus Aierus had given him.

His sore and tender body made its way over to the building that hosted the teleportation device. Once inside he asked the man at the counter how much it would be to go to Air Jaunt Battalion Convent.

"Sir if you're injured we recommend that you heal before traveling." the man said.

Alwin cursed and left to get himself a hotel room. He needed rest right now. If he had to wait a few days then so be it. He could see the doctor again before he left and then go back if needed. He slowly makes his way to the nearest inn.

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Post by MethosArchaic on 31st March 2018, 8:17 pm

[ATTN: Cardinal Crowe Company, Open]
[POV: Half-Dozen]

Donnie walked at a steady, comfortable pace as he passed past yet another group of people having a discussion outside a shop. The discussion wasn't important, this was the second group of what could be very loosely be called guards. Sometimes they would affectionately be called a Murder, but they could act at a moments notice if they thought trouble was brewing.

Normally most people tried not to pay attention to everyone and everything as they strolled into the Main Branch in Hathe but Donnie did. It was always important, as Donnie wasn't a universally liked member of the Company. Unlike many other guilds, the Cardinal Crowe Company was a bit more heavy in the in fighting just not always directly. For a group of brothers and sisters made up of competing business men and women (Donnie was using that term rather loosely) they contributed to the group first, but there was a fair amount of wiggle room for what was considered allowed. If it wasn't for his noncompetitive attitude, and his rounded set of skills then he might draw more ire then he already did. To many of the Crows he was an eyesore, but an eyesore that avoided getting on their radar and that was useful sometimes.

Entering into the main foyer of the Main Branch, he was let through with no real hassle except the noted tightening sound of a leather glove of the door man on the right whom Donnie was still placing. Since nothing came of it, Donnie had just looked at the man on the left whom didn't raise any complaints to him opening the door himself and going in.

Donnie wasn't yet in the Main Hall and by the large he avoided it except when he occasionally went to look at quests. Continuing on, he went to the receptionist and handed the man an envelope bearing a stamp of six cracked dice. "I'm here to make a delivery, a list of the contents as well as the client can be found within." Donnie said signaling the envelope before retrieving an iron bound case from within the rucksack strapped to his back and placing it on the counter.

The Receptionist was already looking over the contents of the envelope when Donnie had set the case on the counter. "We'll have to check the contents of the package Half-Dozen."

So it was going to be like that then? Fine. "I'd like a receipt of delivery, and I'd also like to know if any mail has come in for me Bertram." Donnie said having read the man's name off his name-tag. Donnie pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the case, while noticing that Bertram was looking past him to someone behind him. Turning it around, Donnie lifted the cover so Bertram could check the contents there, rather than take them out of sight.

Bertram once again read the letter of contents and then double checked that indeed there was two rods within as well as a replacement core for each of them "These will be checked for quality before being passed on to the client."

"Certainly." It wasn't any additional hassle on his part and Donnie was confident in his work. "About that letter of receipt." Donnie said not taking his hand off the case even as Bertram closed it and went to take it from him. Bertram attempted to take the case again, this time Donnie let him have it. "I know its a hassle but I really must insist."

Donnie knew that it was unlikely that Bertram was going to fuck him over, but that didn't stop him from covering his own ass if something did happen. Replacing the cores and rods was something Donnie could do, but he couldn't afford it. He might be able to make replacements but it wouldn't come cheap, not to mention he didn't have the time or the desire to piss off the client to not double down when it was a receptionist he didn't know firsthand.

So Donnie waited as he watched Bertram take the case to his superior, who glanced over the merchandise a second time before looking at Donnie. Noticing who was the maker he went so far as to check again for a Maker's mark, but Donnie never placed them on what he made as a common courtesy unless requested and paid extra. Content with his search, the Manager took the case from Bertram and disappeared out of sight with it. Bertram returned, gave him a receipt and told Donnie to have a
'Nice day.'

The receipt was genuine, the hand writing not particularly precise. Donnie took it and went to the postman to see if anything had come in for him. If not Donnie might look over the quest board to see what might be available. He was somewhat reluctant to do that as quests could drag him away from home and his boy. Old Lady Scrimshaw probably could watch the boy, he'd need to double check before Donnie went and made any promises.

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Post by JerriLeah7 on 8th April 2018, 9:57 pm

[ATTN: OPEN; Jile's Fried and Fired Open Air Resteraunt]

Carla plopped herself down in a chair and settled in, her legs crossing together off to one side of the stool and pointed slightly away from the table. Picking up the menu from it's stand in the middle of the table, she held it out to her companion. "Happy Birthday! It's my treat, so don't you want to order something?" Carla wiggled the menu out before her friend. "Order, Or-der, or-der." she chanted playfully as she rapped her fingers to give it a bit of a drum roll.

Brooke had been here with Carla before.  Luckily, the girl knew her tastes well enough to know that she wouldn't eat seafood and this was one of the few places that didn't have a tiny speck of the stuff.  This mattered to Brooke because, although one could simply "choose" not to order seafood at a tavern or bar, would could also still smell the seafood over at the next table.  That alone was enough to make her incredibly ill.

Carla is trying so very much to cheer her up but, to be perfectly honest, it isn't working.  She snatches the menu from the boisterous girl and gives it another look over as she struggles to emanate even the slightest bit of joy as she is painfully reminded of what today is.  She sighs, dropping the menu to the table and shaking her head as she rests chin upon hand upon elbow upon table with a restless expression on her face.

"I'd rather bloodshed of the masses, my friend.  That's how you spend your birthday--burning monsters alive."  Brooke finally says.

Carla watches as Brooke takes a seat across from her and pretends to mull over the menu only to give it up in the end. "Well if you didn't do such a good job yesterday, and Gil didn't make us take a break; forcing us to come back to the Hall to check in, -" Carla said a bit frustrated herself, and hoping to get Brooke to jump in. " -then you'd be shoulder deep in it right now, I'm sure." She grinned, "INNNNNStead you can order a couple steaks or something extra raw and tear into those." Striking on a sudden idea she jumped on it, "Just pretend they're Gil."

Brooke glared at her softly, but thanked her, anyway.  The thought counts, and well, at least someone gave enough of a shit to be here for her on this day, anyway.  Not that she gave anyone much choice...she didn't exactly spread news of when her birthday was, anyway.  She still doesn't know how Carla found out.  "Yeah, fine.  Get me those.  And booze."

"Sure!" Carla cheerfully said as she grabbed back the menu and plopped it back into it's clip. Raising from her chair she shot her hand into the air waving it to get Jiles' attention, "Oi! Jiles! Sear us a couple steaks, some fixins and an 'all you can drink' coma package!" When Jiles looked back her way wondering what was up, Carla just played along.

"We've got a thirst! Come on! Help us out." Jiles chuckled and rolled his eyes abit but scribbled their order on a paper that he stabbed on a pin. He said a few words, and Carla plopped down happily, "See, we're next up."

Brooke sat there, brooding.

"Nothing?" Carla said watching her friend looking off into the distance. "Fine, I'm telling everyone it's your birthday." She even started to rise from the chair.

Brooke started, grabbing at Carla's wrist as she darkly glares at her and whispers heavily, "Don't you dare, kaird.   What do you want from me, exactly?  Happy joy dances?  I don't think so."

With a smirk, Carla sat back down. "There! Finally."

After going through everything to get away from Gil and the Pier, she wanted her friend to unwind. "No family, no Gil breathing up your skirt, I figured you'd be overjoyed." Jiles Nephew set their drinks down, forcing Carla to pause long enough to say "Thanks." to the kid, before grabbing her mug handle. "See, booze. If that isn't worth a flicker of a smile, I don' know what does."

Taking a huge gulp, Brooke downs a sizeable portion of the booze before burping quietly and finally leaning back within her booth and almost relaxing.  She breathes a little more calmly as she takes stock of her surroundings.  Things are far more calm here.  "So, when can we go back out?  You aren't grounded, are you?"

Pleased that Brooke is finally putting down the tough girl act long enough to try to make at conversation, Carla sipped her drink enjoying the smell and feel of the foam against her lips. "Kinda sorta." Carla said a bit evasively, taking another sip of her drink while hoping that their food would arrive and knowing that Brooke was going to press with that look of hers.

There it was... Carla shifted a bit uncomfortably.

"I'm waiting for some present from my dead parents..." It came out a bit darker than she intended.

With one eyebrow raised, she paused.  Then, she blinked and paused again.  "I'd take a present from my folks any day...if they were dead.  Good on you, girl.  I hope it's money.  Lots and lots of money."

Carla snorted her foam and started coughing. Fuck, Brooke. Just ffuuuuck. Still fighting a bit of foam she replied trying to keep the conversation going, "Fuck, I've got to pay for this somehow don't I?"

Carla took another drink and set her mug down, "Seriously though, I'd rather have nothing to do with them, but what can I do? Nyx is sending - Ah thank you." Carla said when they settled the stone platter down with their steaks and veggies still sizzling away. Stabbing a bit of onion and mushroom on a fork she brought it up idly to her mouth as Mich (that was the nephew's name) walked off. "Can't exactly just tell Nyx's Ascendent to fuck off." she shoved the bite into her mouth. Finishing the train of thought around a mouth full of veggies she muttered, "So I gotta wait a couple days."

"Wait," Brooke replies, ignoring the steak, "Woah.  You mean to tell me that your folks' covenant waits shit tons of years to give you you parents shit for some unknown reason...and it's being hand delivered to you by an ascendant?!"

"I know, right? I don't get it either. As far as I am concerned my Mom's are all the family I need." When Brooke opened her mouth, Carla quickly popped a piece of steak in her mouth with a "Gotcha!"

"Don't give me that, I'm not the one letting their steak get cold." Emphasing the statement by starting in on her's.

After the food was pressed into her mouth, her mind went blank and her face went beet red as heat steamed from her body and the atmosphere wavered.  She shut her powers down immediately, stuttering before silenced by the girl who's irritating habits have no caused her to want to rage, "Boundaries, woman!  Boundaries!"

"K, K." Carla laughed at how red her friend got while also accepting Brooke's boundaries for the future. "No steak in the future, got it." Brooke had had such a cute face when she was embaressed, and if Carla was into girls like her Mom's then maybe she'd see if Brooke was too. Not feeling one way or the other in particular herself, Carla didn't worry about it. Brooke was now legal to do whatever, excuse me: whomever she wanted.

"So what sort of mission are you interested in next?" asked Carla as she speared some peppers along with a bite of steak and continued to devour her dinner.

Brooke grinned, "I wanna go and kill some shit.  That's all I care about.  Not like I can fight the Inanis.  I am too weak, too reckless, and I don't do well with unit authority.  We could go for some village guard duty for a night or so on the edges, though, if you're up for it.  Very little Inanis there."

"Of course you'd say that." Brooke always wanted to prove herself, battle for her was a one-two punch to blow off anger and frustration. Guard duty could get boring, and sometimes you would end up fighting criminals. Carla didn't particularly relish the thought of killing her fellow Iodinians, a bit of steak was nudged around her plate. Did Brooke propose going towards the frontier knowing about how she attracted Inanis? Probably not, she hadn't yet had to explain that particular magic of hers.

"You just want to bash hoodlum skulls don't you?" she said pushing past the darker thoughts with a cuckle and a smile. "That's so like you."

"Tch," Brooke replies, "A job's a job.  As long as we get it done.  You haven't suggested any preferences, yourself."

"Hmmm." Carla entertained the thought while tapping her fingers on the table, then with a dismissive smirk and grin she said, "It's your birthday after all, so it's up to you, teehee." After all Carla was down for just about any sort of mission. "Besides, you're the picky one. I'm fine with whatever."

"Maybe when you get a few more missions under your belt you can fight some Inanis. I'd tag along of course, can't have you dying on me just yet."

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Post by xenolion on 12th April 2018, 5:20 pm

Marisol goes to the pub and is greeted upon entering. She walks up to her ‘uncle’. “Hey Robert, I am going to be gone for a couple of days. I am going to Hathe to check on an order. Do you happen to know a Harri Bremmer III?”

Robert shrugs his shoulders. “Nope never heard of the guy, but just a second you may be in luck.” He looks around the pub. “Hey Zarrick, come here for a minute.” He waves at the young lord who is about to play his lute.

Marisol looks over and smiles as he approaches. Both herself and her father worked on pieces for him in the past. Plus she has seen him in the pub before. Their relationship is strictly professional though. “I am going to Hathe to check up on a delivery for Harri Bremmer III. Do know him at all?”

Zarrick thinks for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know too many people from Hathe, sorry I can’t help you. Are you going by yourself?”

“I am meeting my Dad there. I better get going or I will be stuck there longer. I will let you know when I get back.” Marisol picks up her bag and leaves the pub. Her next stop is the teleport station. It is not the first time she has teleported, but she does not do it often. Most of her customer are in Capatan and teleporting is not cheap. She pays her fee, closes her eyes, and waits to be teleported.

When she opens her eyes she is in the Hathe city teleportation office. She feels a nauseated, yet another reason she does not like teleportation, but does not get sick.

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Thank you leah
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Post by xenolion on 2nd June 2018, 11:08 pm

Permission given to double post.

Marisol opens her eyes and is in Hathe city. The teleport hub is a little busy. She looks down to confirm her bags are still there and to regain her senses. She opens her bag and finds the paper with the address on it. Then she walks out of the building. The sun is still high in the sky. She hopes to find her father and be back before night, but is prepared not to be.

Hathe City is a very busy place. She finds herself looking around at all the business. The people are dressed a little differently and seem to be in a hurry. Compared to his Capatan looks like a small village. She sighs and shakes her head. She can people watch later, now she has to find her father. First she has to find which direction to head.

The City of Hathe is a massive one; a place filled with pathways so travelled that they are almost always being fixed in some section or another. Luckily for those that teleport into Hathe, it's central--but not too central. Many of the middle class citizens have no trouble getting to where they need to go. The pavement circles around each teleportation zone are kept in high care--especially the expensive ones that rest on the richer sides of the city.

This teleportation zone, however, is a smaller, northern zone that is not only far more simplistic and cheap, but towards the business end of town. There are lots of stalls in the distance to the south of this zone, along with varied, scattered homes and smithies to the east and north. Despite the chaotic hustle and bustle of those that are moving about, the magi at the other end of the teleportation slate greets her with a polite smile and is ready to help re-balance her, should it be needed.

The teleportation mage had a tag with his name on his uniform--all official teleporters did. Alphaedon. He notices her displeasure at her surroundings, looking her up and down to find her strange attire quite adorable. She probably has no idea where she's going or where she is--one of the two. Or both.

Alphaedon tilts his head, "Lost, milady?"

Marisol’s gaze follows the voice. “Yes, kind sir.” She glances at him and sees his name tag. “I am hoping you can point me in the correct direct. I need to make a delivery to an address.” She shows him the piece of paper. “Do you know where it is or where I should be headed?”

Alphaedon's eyebrow raises, surprised. He looked to the girl and then back to the paper. However, the man learned long ago never to ask questions from those that are ported through their system. The results are usually either simply unkind or very violent. Instead, he nods his head and points to the west, "On this part of the business district. You'll find it around there--but I recommend on staying with the main roads only if you'll be travelling out that far, milady. Safe journeys."

Marisol watches his expression, noting his surprise. “Thank you for your assistance. If you don’t mind me asking, about how far is that away?” She is becoming more and more concerned about her dad.

"If you go by horse, I'd say an hour, but if you walk, not too much longer. Horse walk is much brisker, but it'll save ya some time." He replies sweetly.

Marisol nods at Alphaedon, normally she would have shaken his hand, but hers are full. “Thank you again Alphaedon, I hope you have a pleasant day.” She smiles and walks away. She heads west and walks through the business district. There is so much for her to glance at. Finally she reaches a stand. She buys some provisions for her walk. She doubts if she has enough for a horse, even just to rent. Stay on the main roads. She hopes her walk is safe, because she didn’t pack for a battle. Not that she is totally unarmed, only a fool travels that way.

Along her walk, Marisol found no troubles, though it wasn't long before a very small boy stopped short of almost walking into her as she rounded the corner onto the street of her destination. He blinked, stepping backwards to move out of her way, dirty and barely clothed. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, small voice, "Sorry."

She was happy to be making good time. She looks up at the street sign, seeing it to be the one she needs to be on. It is getting quieter as well as the business are being left behind. She rounds the corner, not paying attention and almost walks into a boy. She glances at him and sees that he was dirty. His poor clothing, she can almost hear her mother’s voice in her head. She kneels down to him. “Don’t worry, no harm done. Perhaps you can help me. I am looking for an address.” She pulls out the paper. “Do you know how far it is?”

The boy frowns, "That's the haunted place over there." He points down the street towards a darker building in the distance.

“Haunted?” Marisol raises her eyebrows. “Do you live around here? Have you seen anyone else heading toward the house recently? An older man with brown hair like mine, but shorter?”

The boy shakes his head, "I don't live here. I deliver tools. I see no one, sorry."

Marisol digs in her bag and pulls out an apple with a couple of copper pieces. She holds it out to the boy. “Thank you for your help and for your time. I hope I didn’t delay you too much.” She wishes she had more to give him. She waits for the boy to take the items.”

With wide eyes, the boy snatches up the items and takes a big bite of the apple. He happily nibbles it while garbling out a messy "thank you" before running off with a skip in his step.

Marisol stands and watches the boy for a moment. She then looks at the house the boy points out. “This is not looking good.” She sighs. She approaches the house. She looks at the other houses as she gets closer. She pictures the gentleman who bought the knife. This was not the neighborhood she was expecting. Soon she stands at the address. She looks at the house. There is something wrong. The house in front of her is in shambles. It is a skeleton of a house. Not only that but is appears to be scorched. She looks at her paper again. It is the right place. Her eyes examine the property around the house, looking for some evidence that her father was here. She wouldn’t blame him if he walked away, but then where is he?

She doesn’t see anything amiss. Maybe she should look a little closer. The scorch marks do look older than a couple of days. She smiles at the young boy’s imagination. Perhaps when she was his age, a building like this would make a good ‘haunted’ house too. She takes a few steps towards the dilapidated house. She stands in what is left of the doorway and looks around again. Her hand rests on what remains on the brick.

As she sets her hand on the brick she feels a cool brisk breeze blow past her. It causes her to jump slightly. She sighs heavily. It is obvious that the address is wrong, but it doesn’t explain what happened to her father. She takes another look around and turns around. As her back faces the door way she feels pressure on her shoulder. It feels as if a hand was there. She quickly spins around, “Dad…” but nothing is there. “This isn’t funny. If someone is there, please come out.” Nothing happens. Marisol shakes her head and begins to walk away. Maybe she can ask around and find out more about Harri Bremmer III back in town.

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Thank you leah
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Post by Vye on 12th June 2018, 7:09 pm

[Collab with Leah]

Outside of the small village of Ursaid, a young boy watches the outskirts of his little home with quiet patience. The tall bell that stood beside him was as old as the tiny, wooden and stone houses within Ursaid, but it was also more decorative by far, so it still contrasted in its glamour, even if that glamour was aged and rustic, dusty and partially covered. The book in his left hand is finished, closed with the pages no longer bent as they were before. All is quiet and swell and he likes it that way. In the distance, a figure approaches in the distance, though the boy cannot tell from here who it is.

Too much noise from the crickets around them for it to be Inanis. Whatever this creature may be, it is not unkind to the world as they are. He shows no alarm. It isn't until the figure is much closer, however, that he recognizes the person in the distance--for that is what it was. A person. A woman, to be more specific, that came and left from time to time, using Ursaid as a stopping place for a night's rest. Ursaid didn't mind the Purged, so long as they helped against the Inanis waves when they came.

And so the boy, with his sandy blonde hair and his hide, tattered shirt and shorts with wooden, uncomfortable sandals, remained seated within his spot upon the short, four foot tall wall of stone that was placed before the bell in a slanted, jagged fashion. Holes littered the wall here and there, dust strewn about. As the woman grew close, the boy stood next to the bell, leaning against the rods that lifted it high and looking all the shorter next to the fifteen foot high, thin structure. His thin body was but a mere five feet next to it.

The woman stood against the wind, her fiery, red hair pushed to the side as her icy, blue eyes stared coldly and refused to blink. She was beautiful, but hardened, battle worn, and covered in scars. The boy could see them scattered about her arms and neck, the areas left uncovered by her armor. She carried a bag in one hand and as he waited to say hello, she nodded her head to greet him silently in the farther distance. The boy nods back, smiling. Then, he throws up an arm to wave. The wave is returned, this arm covered by a glove that goes up to her elbow, and a steel plate of similar length is bolted onto it that is scratched up from use. As the wave enthusiastically gestures to him, he notices her shadow....

That same shadow that looks nothing like her. Great claws extended from the hand that waved and where her body should be was the body of a twisted, mysterious shape. Ominous, terrifying in form...and there, at its head, two red eyes briefly glowed and then vanished. The boy knew of this shadow and had seen it many times--but he knew it was just some kind of magic or hers or...a trick of the eyes. An illusion born of fear. Or perhaps, a haunting. One could never know, unless they asked, but he would never ask.

The day's hunt proved to be a bountiful one. A young, stray wolf had gotten caught in one of Saif's toothed traps, leaving a trail of blood all the way to its final resting place. The wolf weight heavily in the bag, and the fatal wound Saif had delivered caused the corpse to bleed out. Something of a convenience, but also a pain, as the bag reeked for the entire trip with the sanguine smell. Sweat stung Saif's eyes, but after wiping her brow for the 10th time, she stopped caring. However, a sense of relief overcame the weary purgee once she saw the old pitted bell outside the village she left.

A boy greeted Saif, his eyes full of youthful energy. Saif met him with a half smile and a nod, hoisting the bag higher up on her shoulder. The two waved to each other, and once Saif was within a few feet of the villager, she muttered a "Hey, kid." in a calm yet lazy manner. She let the bloody sack fall to the ground, arching her back to stretch. The bag hit the ground with a solid and wet thump. Saif yawned as she stretched, feeling the tension in her back dissipate.

"Hey," the boy replies with a joke, "It's Moro. Not 'kid.' Geez, the Purge must suck away your memories pretty good. Did you bring me anything good?"

A deep, amused laughter could be heard within Saif's mind, echoing throughout her soul. Moro's joke was obviously, deeply appreciated by her companion, though he said nothing.

"'Moro'? I coulda sworn it was 'moron'. Must be the Purge." Saif returned with a sly grin. She waited for the voice in her head to burst out laughing at her immaculate comeback. "Fresh meat." She gloated as she nodded to the lumpy sack. "It's the most 'good' we're gonna get for a while if things continue the way they are."

The kid laughed, as did the deep voice from within as the boy shook his head, "You got me on that one, you win. I'm glad you got some. Nothing for miles around, aside from bugs. I hope the deer and wolves will come back, soon."

The voice whispers lightly, "Ah, but ask the boy of his good news."

Saif paused for a second to contemplate the voice's suggestion. Ah, blast it. She thought to herself. "A birdie told me you have some news to share?" She planted into the ground the halberd on her other shoulder, before shifting some of her weight onto the hard wood staff.

Moro's eyes widen with shock, his hands moving sheepishly together as his fingers fiddled with each other before him. He rocked back on his heels as he leaned into the wall, swallowing hard against the dry air, "Wow. I uh...I didn't want to tell you until later. It was a surprise for dinner, but I heard Cordazsh talking earlier and overheard him. He mentioned getting pardoned from being Purged if he found the Oracle's stone. Think about it--you'd be allowed back to Hathe if you did it first! And nobody likes Cordazsh, he doesn't deserve a my opinion."

"Mmmm," The voice flickers with excitement, as though it had just taken a bite out of the most divine delicacy of a cool dessert after spending a day out in the sand and sun, "I do love a good race."

Saif's composure cracked before she threw her head back in laughter. "I always took Cord for an ass, but I didn't know he was a fool as well! Did he spend one too many hours huffing the mushrooms in the garden?"

The boy half-frowns, "I guess you're right. I mean, why would anyone ever be pardoned just for some kind of random artifact? They've never pardoned anyone before..."

He slumps, disappointed, "Anyway. You should get in. It'll be dark, soon."

Saif took a second to compose herself, getting out the last few giggles in her system. "What even is Oracle's stone, Draven?" She hoisted the sack over her shoulder once more, unaware of her slip of the tongue.

Moro looks at her confused, "Draven? It's Moro! Geez, lady, that's like the billionth time!"

Saif's eyes shifted to the left while her mouth hung open. "Uhhhhh yeah, my mistake. Whoops!" Saif smiled as she walked to her hut. Draven! What's an Oracle's stone?

Draven chuckles mischievously, "That is a good question. Yet, it isn't the right question."

Why did I think you'd give me a straight answer? I need a damn drink. Saif dropped the sack and her weapon to get a fire ready next to her hut. Okay....Where is the Oracle's stone? I can make Cord even more miserable by turning the thing in before him.

"Now that is the right question," Draven says with glee, "I would have to admit that it would be a long journey. Would you be up for it? Are you supplied enough? It would, of course, take the assistance of one other...who do you trust?"

Sitting on a chopped log, Seif gazed into the crackling fire. There's only one person I trust, but I can't drag her into my business. She's still got a chance to live the good life. Saif stoked the flame with some more wood, feeling a somberness grip her heart. What are the chances I could actually get 'unpurged'? I've never heard of such a thing happening before.

Draven simply says, "Doesn't hurt to try, now, does it?"

Saif pulled out the wolf, drawing her knife, and began preparing the carcass for cooking. During the process, she thought deeply about the journey would entail. She didn't even know where the damn mcguffin was. With the meat on the spittle, Saif crossed her arms in conflict. IF I can see my family again, then it's worth a shot. But if this stone doesn't get me unpurged, I'm gonna kick your ass.

"Excellent!" Comes the reply, "We'll begin at dawn. First, we'll find you an ally and then...then, we shall begin the hunt."

A hunt? Now you're talking my language. Saif sharpened her knife while the meat bubbled under the fire.

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Post by Vye on 18th June 2018, 6:31 pm

Sofia woke groggily under a table in an unfamiliar room. Her half-open eyes gazed around at her blurry surroundings. "W...wait...this isn't my room." She muttered out of her mouth encrusted with dried saliva. She tried drawing her hand up to her face, but she had hit the table's central leg in the motion. Sofia winced, the pain in her wrist waking her up. Moving more carefully, Sofia drew her hand closer and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She was certainly not in her bedroom. She was in an open room with toppled chairs and litter everywhere. Sofia brought herself to her knees, hitting her head on the table's underside. Swearing in pain, she crawled out from under the furniture and got a better look at her surroundings. As soon as her memory returned to her, it came with a headsplitting headache and a terrible stomach ache.

"Oh right, the birthday party." A faint scent of cooked eggs hung in the air. Sofia got to her feet, following the smell to the kitchen, which was equally trashed as open room she was in. The abdominal pain kept her hunched over and holding her stomach. She found a vaguely familiar man in the middle of eating some fried eggs and potatoes. A wave of guilt and embarrassment washed over her. Before she could come up with a way to greet herself, the man turned around.

"Morning." The man chuckled with amusement over Sofia's disheveled appearance.

"Morning..." Sofia tried standing more upright but her guts felt like they were in a knot. "Uh...great party!" She exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm.

"You certainly had a good time. You went absolutely crazy." The man retrieved a piece of cloth and dunked it in a basin of water before handing it to Sofia. "You've got a little, uh...drool on your face."

Sofia took the cloth with a shocked expression. Screaming internally, she smiled as if she didn't even notice. She wiped down her entire face with one hand, while the other sill gripped her stomach. "Thanks." she peeped as she returned the rag. If this got out to Valhalla, Sofia would get an earful, no doubt. Waking up hung over in the house of a covenant-mate who she didn't even know. Guaranteed lowest point in her life. And what did she do during the party? As Sofia tried recalling what happened, all she got was the first hour and then everything else was a hazy mess. "What time is it?"

"Should be sometime after 1. I don't know exactly."

"Oh." Sofia thought as much. "OH!" It then hit Sofia that she was going to spend the day studying one script Valhalla left her, and pretty much half the day is already gone. Sofia scurried to find her cloak and boots. She paced around the open room, shoving away trash and digging through furniture. The guy followed her into the room, looking concerned.

"Hey, did you need some water before you go? Maybe a baked potato?

Sofia wrapped her cloak around herself and jammed her feet into her boots. "I'm food-I mean, I'm good, thanks!" She hobbled toward the door, but the host interrupted once more.

"Oh! Before you go, you have to tell me what happened to your sister in that last hunt."

Sofia blinked confusedly. "Huh? Did I talk about my sister?"

"That was all you ever talked about! That and pretty much everything about Inanis. I didn't know there was so much to them."

"Oh....Uh...What did I say?"

"Well, you talked about how your sis used to hunt Inanis with a rag-tag group of covenant-holders. How she downed an Inanis bear with just a spike and a knife. You even showed off that symbol on your cloak."

Sofia's eyes squinted. She couldn't remember a thing, but everything the guy said about her sister held true. "I guess I did."

"So...what happened on that last hunt? You were talking about it even though the lights were out and everyone went home."

Man I was REALLY wasted. Sofia thought to herself. She stared at the ceiling as she tried to clear the clouds in her head. "The last hunt? Oh...that one didn't...go so well...Hey, how about we meet up later and I'll tell you then, okay? I'm sorry, I really gotta go." With that, Sofia bolted to the front door and went outside. "Thanks for the party!" She exclaimed before closing the door behind her. "Okay, now to just get home.." Several steps into her journey, Sofia felt a disturbance in the pit of her stomach. A disturbance telling of only one thing. She ran for the nearest secluded area before last night's booze made it's way back up her esophagus and out of her mouth.

Watching the eccentric girl run off, the guy made a stunning realization. He forgot to ask for her name.

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Post by Luna on 19th June 2018, 7:29 pm

Alwin was making his way through town. He finally see's an inn right beside a pub. Perfect; a meal and a place to stay. He could use a drink as well. He makes his way into the pub and looks around.

Marisol makes it back to the market district. She looks around at the businesses. She is looking for a pub knowing that someone will be able to help her there. She only hopes she doesn’t look too ragged. She’s been walking for about 2 hours total. She smiles finding a sign just down the street.

Alwin takes a seat at a table by himself. A server comes to take his order and he bats his eyes at her. “You're a pretty lady miss. Why should you waste your time in a place like this when you could be with a man like myself?” He asked. She rolled her eyes at him and he laughed. “I take it you've heard that one before. Ok fine. I'll take roast duck and a beer.” He said.

Marisol enters the pub. It appears to be busy, most of the tables are taken. Well that is a good sign, maybe someone has seen her father or knows Harri Bremmer III. She walks over to the bar and sits in the stool thankful for a chance to sit. She waits patiently for the tender to get to her.

As the owner of the Lower Hathe Pub, Yata is a mildly successful man--but he's also a tired one. Standing at five feet, four inches, he's raising his own height behind the bar by standing up on a box while lazily drying off some clean cups in order to fill them with more alcohol. His eyes are half open due to exhaustion and, despite the loud sounds coming from he kitchens in the back, he still manages to look as though he may fall asleep where he stands.

As Marisol approaches the bar and sits, he pours two cups with some ale and hands them out before moving over to her. She seems quite young for the general crowd, but maybe she'll draw in more younger lot. More customers, more money...perfectly fine if they aren't too young. Yata asks her, "What can I get for you, Miss?"

She looks up at the tender. Poor guy looks as tired as she feels. She smiles at him. “A pint of ale and some Shepard pie.

"Comin' right up," Yata replies. He walks away and out to the kitchen's door for a moment before returning to set up some ale for the girl. He's also asked to get some beer for a table up front, so he sets that up and hands it over to the girl working for him, Rinnae. Rinnae moves to deliver that while Yata passes Marisol her ale. As he does so, he smiles, but the smile quickly fades as his gaze shifts to the door.

Walker has entered the Pub, and although he always brings lots of money with him, he's never welcome. Yata doesn't like him at all, as he usually upsets other customers. Yata watches him approach the bar with cold eyes, waiting impatiently and glad to be standing up on his box. Walker's about six feet tall, give or take, so Yata would be doing a lot worse off without it--or at least, that's how Yata felt about it.

The six piercings in each ear, the five piercings on his face, and the incredible amount of tattoos and black clothing gave way to the walking epitome of cliche that this man was and the pubkeeper couldn't help but think that the man was overcompensating for something...for a lot. He was just trying too hard to be an asshole, was his guess.

Walker reached the bar and asked for some beer, looking Marisol up and down with obvious, analytic eyes that stated an interest of a certain, degrading type. Yata is ready to interject, should it become necessary. He hopes that Walker will say nothing, but his hopes are dashed when the thug opens his mouth. "Hey, sweetness. I can buy you another of those, if you're thirsty."

Alwin see's the young server coming back with his beer. He thanks her for it and then opens a tab for while he's at the pub. He sips on his beer and watches as a man walks in. Looks like trouble he thought to himself. He keeps his eyes trained on the man as he makes his way smoothly to the bar.

Marisol didn’t pay any attention to the other patrons until she hears on addressing her. She studies him briefly and sees the tender watching him too. “While I appreciate the offer, I just got this one, and it will take me a while to finish it.”

Walker grins, a brief wink following thereafter as he moves a little closer to his target while leaning up against the bar, "That's okay, sweetheart, I'll be here a while, too. I can wait."

She raises her eyebrows as he moves closer to her. She shakes her head. “Listen, I am only going to be here for a short time, and I am on a mission. I am just here to grab a bite to eat. Your time and money on someone else.”

Walker's smile drops as he looks unamused, his hand moving up to touch her hair and then downward to place his arm around her, "Maybe I can change your mind, Lady."

Alwin listens to the man talk to a woman he had set beside. No one should ever push their selves on anyone unless they want it. Alwin might like to flirt but even he knows when to stop. He stands up and starts to walk to the front where they are.

Marisol jerks away when the guy touches her hair. One of her hands grabs his wrist and she get out of her seat. She glares at him. “I don’t think you understand, so I will use small, simple words. I am not interested, go away.”

Yata glares, "Out, Walker. She said no, so get out."

Walker glares back, "Or you'll do what, shorty?"

"Or I'll get a Magi to fight my fight for me, because I'ma coward," Yata hautily growls back, his fists clenched.

Alwin winks at the barkeep and then looks at the man making a scene. “Listen, I don't know who you are sir, but if the woman said no then you should respect her enough to listen.”

Walker turned to Alwin with an expression of anger, but he saw the Covenant sigil on his neck and his words faltered. He looked to Yata and gave him a nasty look before he walked away and left the Pub while grumbling about being "strong armed." Yata sighs with relief, "Thanks, man. Your drink is on the house."

”Thank you, kind sir. I knew he looked like trouble from the moment he walked in.” Alwin said. He turned to face Marisol. “I hope you are well, miss. I hope he didn't hurt you in any way.”

Soon enough the tender and another patron jump in. She is confused by the jerk calling him short. “Thanks so much gentlemen, I apologize if I caused any trouble.” She looks at the patron. “No harm at all. You scared him off quickly. He must not like majis.” She sits back down and looks at the tender. “I hope you can help me.” She opens her bag and finds a photograph. “Have you seen this guy recently? Or have you heard of Harri Bremmer III?”

Yata takes the pic from her and looks at it carefully. He scowls, shaking his head, but he calls over the server and asks her. She also shakes her head and then the photo is handed back to Marisol with a frown of regret, "Sorry, Miss. 'fraid not. Haven't heard of any Bremmers, either."

Marisol sighs and places the picture back in her bag. She slumps and takes a sip of her ale. A man just doesn’t disappear in thin air. She looks at the patron. “Are you a regular patron here? I have not been to Hathe City for a long time.”

Alwin notices the picture as the lady shows it to the barkeeper. “Can't say I've seen him either. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you. No, I'm not a normal patron to the pub here. You see I'm from Air Jaunt Battalion Covenant. I make armor there and I also am a body guard. I just finished a job so I thought I would come here and then go to the inn across the street.” he explained. “Is there anyway I can help you?”

Marisol smiles at the other man. "Oh you are a blacksmith? My father is a blacksmith. I grew up in his shop and work aside him. I am more of a jewelry maker now though. I am looking fo my father. We finished up a dagger and he was supposed to deliver it. It's been too long and he hasn't come home yet. Is the inn nice? I need a place to stay the night."

“Personally I can't say. Never stayed there to be honest.” Alwin said. He looks at the barkeeper. “Can you tell us anything about the inn next door? It seemed like a nice place but if the pretty miss is going to stay there as well, it should be a great place to stay. Can't have her staying in just any old inn now, can we? By the way, my name is Alwin, Alwin Seal at your service.”

Yata nods, "My sister owns that Inn. I'm biased, but it rocks. Covenant members get a pretty big discount if they sign to agree to help protect the place and guests if anything shady happens overnight when they sleep there...and yeah, Miss Marisol, if you really wanna find your old man, the best places to go are covenant hearths. You can post up quests for their members to go and find them and as long as you add a good reward, they you'll get a healthy amount of people to help you out."

“Thank you barkeep for that tidbit of information. I don't mind offering my services for a discount. And I'm sorry if I upset you Miss Marisol.” Alwin said. “I'm certain at the covenant you would be able to get someone to help you. They will travel with you and also keep you safe.”

"I hope it does not come down to that. I didn't bring much money. If I don't find him in a day or two, I will get the covenants involved. Maybe I can offer a weapon of the person's choosing, some jewelry, or my mom can make some clothing for the takers. Thank you so much gentlemen." Marisol bites her lip. "Let me settle here and I will go check in across the street."

Yata smiles widely, "Of course. Come back any time, milady."

He steps down off of the block before putting their dishes away. He'd gotten so carried away in all the going ons that he hadn't even realized that the cook had brought them their requested food and that it was already eaten. Time flies fast when you're freaked out over a hug. Then, he returns, collects the money from each of them, and sends them on their way.

”At least let me walk you across to the inn. That is also where I am heading.” Alwin said as he stood up. He walked with Marisol to the door of the pub.

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Post by LightningFang on 5th July 2018, 5:27 pm

[ATTN: OPEN; Alwin and Marisol]

Noire entered the building, papers in hand. She walked into the Air Jaunt Battalion building. She walked briskly and somewhat quietly. Keeping her head down and avoiding eye contact with other people of the covenant. She makes her way towards the building in the center of the coven. Keeping her low profile, she walks towards the receptionist. "H-hi, I uh, have an application to turn in." Noire hands the papers over to the receptionist.

The receptionist takes them. "Thank you turning in the application. Have a nice day." The receptionist goes through them making sure that all questions have been answered and that they are signed in the proper places. Once that has been done she files them for an ascendant to look at later. "Come back tomorrow at around noon for your trial." She then smiled at Noire.

Noire nods her head, turns and starts to walkout. While doing she thinks back on the application. On some of the things she wrote. One question that had been on the application was why she had wanted to join. She answered that with how she wanted to become stronger to protect her sister, she had also put down that she wanted to protect the people of the city. Though not entirely true, it wasn’t wrong either Another question was "would you die to protect the people who live in the city?". She answered that with a yes. There was a question about what weapons she was trained in. Which was short swords and daggers.

They had also wanted to know her physical capabilities. In her case it was her reflexes and speed. She had to learn to be fast during her time on the streets, and trained herself accordingly.

During her time thinking she didn’t realize that she had left the building. She started on the path leading out of the Air Jaunt Battalion. Trying to go without talking to anyone. Once out she and into the main part of the city, she started searching buildings nearby. At least around the buildings, looking for a place that was hidden and somewhat comfortable. She knew she couldn’t be picky about where she was going to stay the night. It wasn’t that dark out, but knowing where she would stay beforehand would be nice.

She starts to walk around the city. She knew of a few inns that she could go to. There was a few that were a good distance away. She didn’t know the area to well around here, so she decided to walk to one of the further away inns. She travelled head lowered slightly, eyes up and alert. She didn’t want to cause trouble for anyone, nor did she want to get into trouble.

She reached an inn that was close by, not to far of a walk either. Upon starting to enter, she notices two people heading for the same inn. One male, while the other was female. The male appeared to be tall. At least taller than the female, and likely herself as well. She was guessing around 6’, 6’1”. He had armor on, and she almost missed the sigil on the left side of his neck. He was apart of the Air Jaunt Battalion, the same covenant she was trying to join. He also had brown hair, she wasn’t able to see his face due to the direction he was facing.

The female on the other hand, was probably around 5’6” or 5’5”. She seemed to be around Noire’s own height. From where she was looking she wasn’t able to see if the other woman had any sigils. With chestnut hair and a moderate build, and a pretty dress. Noire couldn’t help, but look down at her cloths, ragged and worn. Holes and patches, the patches not being very well done. Noire was by far no seamstress. When she looked back up at the other woman she could see her pale blue eyes. They weren’t staring at her, but she probably could be seen by her.

Noire quickly headed into the inn, she went to the front counter and asked for a room. The woman at the front desk seemed skeptical of Noire. Being unsure that she had the money to actually pay for a room. Noire did have the money for it though, just barely though. She would only have enough for a room and maybe lunch and perhaps dinner for food.
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Post by xenolion on 18th August 2018, 11:42 am

Marisol walks with Alwin to the inn, her mind on her father. They enter and she looks around. Yata was right, it is a clean place. She hopefully will not have to involve the Covenants with the search. It would not hurt to find out where they are. She walks to the counter, not noticing the other woman looking at her. “I would like to rent a room for at least a couple of days. Your brother highly recommended the place. Oh and have you seen this man around recently?” She shows the innkeeper her father’s picture.

Noire turned around and started walking towards the stairs. At least until the two people from outside started talking. She looked to at the picture while it was turning, only getting a glimpse of the man in the picture. Noire didn’t remember seeing the man in the picture. She turns back around and starts counting the money she had left. Making sure of how much she had, as well as to see if she had enough for food later. Once Noire was finished counting, which only took a few seconds for how little she had. She put the money she had back into a pocket of her clothing.

Noire nervously turned to face the guy from the Air Jaunt Battalion. “E-Excuse me, sir.” Noire stammered trying to get his attention.

Alvin turned around to see a woman facing him and Marisol. He smiled at her and bowed his head. "Good evening young maiden. Please don't act nervous around me. You have nothing to fear. What can I help you with this evening?" He asked. "My name is Alwin Seal; pray tell me what such name a beautiful lady must have?"

Noire looking at the man named Alwin, turned her head away and blushed slightly. No one had ever really thought that she was beautiful. At least from what she knew. Noire recomposed herself, turning her head back around to face Alwin. She relaxed a little more, becoming a little less nervous.

“My name is Noire LightsouI. I-I was wondering what your trial was like. For when you tried to get into the Air Jaunt Battalion.” Noire responded, unsure if she really wanted an answer. She didn’t know if knowing more about the trial would help her out at all. Since the trial would be a fight. A test of strength and skill in the battle field.

Marisol sighs when the innkeeper tells her that she has not seen the man. She also tells the innkeeper about needing the room. It seems Alwin has found another pretty face to keep him occupied. She starts asking the other people around if they have seen her father.

Alwin raised his eyebrow at the lady. "The pleasure is mine Miss Lightsoul. I should ask though, why is someone as pretty as you wanting to join Air Jaunt Battalion? Not that I'm against it. You might have your butt handed to you on a platter. It was a hard battle. I faced one of their best in combat. She was a tough one as I recall. I almost lost to her but I managed to win the battle with a little luck. "

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Thank you leah
Deus ex Entente Role-Play Turtle11
Member:  Leah7, Aernith OC:  Mori Harubana Uteke Merrick  Anime:  Lance from Voltron,  Cheetara from Thundercats  Video Game: Jade Curtiss from Tales of the Abyss, Auron from Final Fantasy X, Quistis Trepe from Final Fantasy VIII,  Jin Uzuki from Xenosaga, Keats from Folklore.

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