Name:
- Given: Diamond Frost
- Underworld nicknames: Gräfin von Hafen, la signora del porto, Drunken Huntress
- Nickname given by police: The Hat
Age: 56
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Affiliation: The Drunken Huntress bar; The Bowler Hat crime ring
Voice: Shirley Manson
Theme: Youtube

Weapon: Whatever she makes with her semblance, but always melee. She has a thing for a cane, but will not shy away from any weapon, from a shiv to a sword. Diamond is also not half bad with her fists, feet, or even teeth. she hardly ever fights herself though, having hitmen for job in her employ.

Perhaps her greatest weapon though is her mind that can come up with other means of defeating an enemy - and did so as she brought her crime ring to the top of Vale's underworld. Sometimes her enemies were found poisoned, an uncomfortable person on the council came home only to find his wife beaten bloody as a warning or she simply bribed them.

Semblance: Shadowforge - Diamond can take shadows around her and shape them into a physical objects, the mass of which is limited to that of the weight of the objects that cast them, and the density to that of steel. Their mechanical properties are pretty amazing though, being hard to bend or break. She can control the objects mentally and thus use them as projectiles, but as soon as the object leaves physical contact with the object that casts it, it becomes much more taxing for Diamond to keep the object from dissipating into its usual form. If multiple sources of light are present, she can create multiple objects out of the semi-shadows. Being shadow in nature, the weak spot of her semblance is bright light that can melt the shadow away. Diamond’s range limit is 300 meters, afterwards it becomes too taxing to keep the objects forged.

Personality:
In one word, Diamond is a bitch. She has nearly no moral blocks and will happily relieve you of money you didn’t guard it well enough. Pickpocketing was actually the reason she wound up in Juvy for some time. She doesn't believe in the concept of friendship, seeing it as too fleeing form of allegiance. She considers those around her a family and treats them as such, expecting the same in return.

She is a criminal, but she makes sure to keep her class, only resorting to violence if it's absolutely necessary. She prefers to use wit and charm instead, such as putting the situation of an interrogated person in a bad light before offering them an exit strategy if they cooperate rather than torturing them for it. That said, if you manage to break through her considerable patience, she will put you through the meat grinder if she has to to achieve her goals.

Having spent years as the head of the most successful crime ring in one of the kingdoms, Diamond can be a bit arrogant and she likes to gloat, but has every reason to.



History:
During a particularly nasty winter, a child was born to an uncaring mother who barely had enough mercy to leave the girl on the doorstep of the first house far enough. As it so happened a rather poor elderly woman lived there and upon finding the crying newborn took her in. She gave the girl the name Diamond due to her blue eyes.

Unfortunately, five years later Diamond’s adoptive mother died, leaving the girl to fend for herself on the streets. A crafty little thing, she quickly found out that instead of begging for the food, it was easier to simply take it when no one was looking.

Living in poverty, the girl has had enough after two more years. Growing stronger, nimbler and bolder, Diamond started rifling the pockets of unsuspecting passer-bys. It didn’t take long for the gang whose territory she was on to threaten her into joining. Having nothing to lose and all to gain, Diamond was happy to accept.

In the next few years, Diamond slowly but steadily became great at her craft, rising through the gang’s ranks nicely. It all came to an abrupt end however when another gang made a move on their territory. During the fight nearly all of the members of her gang were killed. Diamond herself escaped only because when she was threatened, her semblance manifested and gave her the edge she needed to make her escape. Afterwards, she went solo again.

After honing her skills for several more years and nearly getting caught a few times, Diamond made a reputation for herself in the underworld. Finally, she got contracted to pull an art heist for the first time. She started working as a hired gun, taking items of opportunity for herself along her jobs. For the next year, she lived quite the luxurious life and amassed significant wealth for her age.

Growing careless, Diamond got caught by an undercover cop while pickpocketing for change. Having nothing on her other than the pickpocketing, her sentence was just a year in juvenile detention.

Coming face to face with several less than pleasant experiences and generally starting to understand that when she barely survived Althesian Juvy, she would die in an Althesian prison, Diamond started working her hide off to make something of herself, moving to Vale and paying herself a crash course to drastically improve her combat abilities.

A year later, she barely made it into Beacon Beacon academy, which was a turning point in her life, albeit not the one she was hoping for. Diamond intended on becoming a successful huntress, but instead the academy become the recruiting ground for her future crime ring. With talented people like that, they were certain to reach far in the underworld.

She bought an old bar in the docks area of Vale that served as the front for her operations and to launder the dirty money ever since. With her initial recruits being scumbags like Cardin Winchester, she had an easy time driving the street gangs out of the docks or absorbing them into her own organization. As her territory and crew grew, she could afford to start advertising her bar, not only gaining more cash in revenue but also using it to make contacts and as another recruiting spot. Through that, she eventually for all purposes took control of the docks, including owning a shipping business AND having the union boss on her paycheck.

That got her noticed by other criminal organizations working in Vale and soon enough the woman in her 30s found herself fighting a very real war. She managed to climb on top of the heap, but not without suffering losses, and not just from within her organization. Her deepest regret to this day is having to dispose of her former team at Beacon, who eventually caught wind of her activities despite her efforts.

The war ended with her takedown of Roman Torchwich two years later, the last fight Diamond fought personally as her age and mostly smoking two cigars a day caught up with her. Roman's hat still decorates the wall behind the bar of the Drunken Huntress as a trophy. She was left with more than a half of Vale under her influence, which reached even into the lower ranks of the police, although she didn't dare to try and get involved with the higher-ups, the army or the hunters.

During the period afterwards, she ceased her territorial expansion as not to create a conflict with the branches of crime rings from other kingdoms and instead expanded her business, adding distributing drugs, running brothels and smuggling weapons into her empire on top of the stealing and now very occasional violent crimes.

Despite all that, she remembered her own struggles and donated generously to orphanages and took care of abandoned children, making sure to keep at least a sliver of humanity in her.

Trivia:

• She is left handed.
• The hat hardly ever leaves the head.
• She smokes and drinks whisky. A lot. Like, Churchill level.

Name:
Estellise Sidos Heurassein Nuit.
The Little Conqueror.

Age:
21

Gender:
Female

Race:
Faunus (Crow)

Estelle features the eyes of a Crow and once had small black wings which have since been removed.

Weapon:




Semblance:

Après Moi, La Déluge (After me, the flood):

Estelle's semblance is a powerful one, giving her control over the weight of objects she is in direct physical contact with as long as she has direct physical contact with said object. This includes her own body as well as her clothes. As a senior student, Estelle has a very highly tuned degree of control over her semblance. By using this semblance it can give Estelle the appearance of having incredible strength and agility. She is able to momentarily increase the weight of an object drastically, for example a blade mid swing. Or can decrease the weight of something just the same, say a vehicle blocking her path. For most things she touches, this wouldn't help her in combat. As no one can swing a blade that weighs a ton.

However as long as Estelle is able to channel her aura around an object she is able to swing it as if it weighed only a single pound. This however has various limitations and drawbacks. The first drawback is that by utilizing Estelle's aura on her blade, making it usable and also weigh an immense amount of weight to others who happen to touch it, she puts herself at risk. A hunter or huntresses best defense is their aura and without it, they leave themselves wide open for an attack. This can become especially troublesome in an organized match as it would appear Estelle is draining her own strength in order to combat her opponent, this is why it is vytal vital that Estelle end matches of this fashion quickly.

Estelle became able to completely shatter individuals under their own weight at a distance the more she slaughtered. It seemed the blood of her victims was strengthening her semblance. She can kill about fifteen people at a time like this. She tends to utilize this not only to dispose of enemies but as an intimidation factor more than anything.

The second limitation comes from Estelle's own energy. Aura is not limitless and while it is being channeled around Estelle's blade it is seeping away. This requires Estelle to pick and choose when to use her semblance instead of using it all the time.

The third and perhaps most important limitation comes from the speed at which Estelle can properly cover an object in her aura. To channel Estelle's sword in aura, it takes all of three seconds past the point in time it has been unsheathed. However a larger object, like the car used in an earlier example, could take anywhere from one minute to five depending on the size of the vehicle. The longer it takes for Estelle to utilize her semblance the longer she is available for counterattack.

Personality:

From an outsider, looking into Estellise’s life one see’s a marvelous tale, a young girl with incredible beauty and talent that far surpass everyone else. But Estellise was not an only child, she had a sister named Bianca. She is currently buried in their family’s backyard. Estellise’s family is adored by all who don’t know them well. By those that do, they are feared and despised. Estellise permeates a certain lustfulness, though to the unconditioned this may come across as a sexual element. It is however a bloodlust far deeper than any river or ocean. She craves the kill, she uses her semblance to bypass an opponent’s Aura and snap spines at her mere touch. She attempts to mask this bloodlust by outwardly being melancholic, lethargic, and even distant. But her only thoughts are on her next kill.

Appearance:



History:

Estellise was born into a family of very powerful and very wealthy Faunus. Her mother hand wings, her father had wings, even her younger sister born a few years later would be born with wings. Estellise was born with wings, though this wasn’t something many people knew. They were slightly malformed, the wings of a crow. Under her mother and father’s tutelage she was tutored in how to use these wings to fly, but it was to no avail. The Nuit family is one that isn’t known for failures in Mistral, thusly when it was determined Estellise wouldn’t be able to fly. Her mother removed them. She was still groomed as an heiress, the dead husk of a girl that once called herself Estelle. However, all wasn’t lost. She found a new purpose in life in protecting her baby sister. Bianca was a sweet little thing, an adorable happy little girl. But the life of a Faunus wasn’t an uncomplicated one. There were those that would pick fights with Bianca, simply for those devious wings. Those elusive wings that Estellise was robbed of. Estellise found herself shirking duties and responsibilities in order to protect her younger sister to take care of her.

One day, arriving home Estellise was told Bianca was put in a school, far away. It was for the best, she had been told. The ruse didn’t last long, as it was apparently only Estellise’s mother who wanted to kill Bianca in order to raise her remaining daughter to be a true Heiress to the Nuit name. When Estellise found out that her sister was, in fact not put into a school, she was furious. She stormed into her mother’s chambers demanding an answer. She was not pleased with the results she was given. ‘It was necessary, you had to focus on your status as heiress, and you couldn’t let yourself be dragged down by that wretch.’ Such a waste of last words. The rest of the world was told that a grimm had snuck into their home, killed their mother. But it was hard to cover up what looked like an implosion. Collapsing under her own weight. It was the second time Estellise found herself tainted by the bloodlust that now envelops her very soul. However she would never escape what she felt when she snapped her mother’s spine. Euphoria, pure ecstasy.

With her mother dead and sister dead, Estellise turned her anger upon the world. She found her abilities growing rapidly the more lives she ended. By the time she had set her sights upon the whole of Mistral, she no longer needed physical contact to crush someone under their own measly weight. It was around this time that Estellise began harnessing a cult-like following. Faunus who heard her story and fought for her injustices. They would perish in droves during and between battles, but for whatever reason, Estellise still found herself healthy and on the battlefield the next morning. She just wouldn’t die.

「Name」: Lucas Schwarz

「Age」: 17

「Gender」: Male

「Race」: Human

「Affiliation」: Every pariah, every exile, every person cast off by society.

「Weapon」: A seemingly endless supply of Semblance-created Flatheaded Screws, each about the size of the average arming sword but seemingly lighter than their size would suggest with the ease and accuracy with which he tosses them. They can be used as Melee weapons as well, with rather standard steel-esque toughness and durability, making them a good choice for blocking or parrying. When puncturing an opponent, they surprisingly do next to no physical damage, despite being quite capable of fully impaling someone. Instead, they conduct the semblance, detailed below.

Possibly capable of manifesting different weapons through his semblance's workings, such as a sword, a hammer, or a spear, but he defaults to the screws.

「Semblance」: 「Imaginary Numbers」 - The semblance is said to be a reflection of the soul of its wielder. Their hopes, their goals, their dreams, their virtues, and indeed their vices. And as a young man filled to the brim with vices and the intent to spread them, the effects of「Imaginary Numbers」come as no surprise. Manifesting the aforementioned screws through his imagination (we think) as both weapon and conduit, when they strike someone they target not the body, but the opponent's heart. And no matter who his opponent may be, from a Signal initiate to a grizzled veteran of 40 years in the Hunting World, they will forcefully make the fight on equal terms. Body, technique, talent, intellect, heart, determination, health: all will fall to match Schwarz. They will know his misfortune. They will know the pain they and others have inflicted upon him. Under trial by combat, so often used to decide wrong and right in the world, both good and bad will finally be given the equal and fair shake they deserve. Has the passive effect of surrounding him with a dark and gloomy aura. His force of will causing reality to bend over backwards for him is not a permanent effect, though, and each screw typically lasts roughly seven and a half minutes.

「Personality」: Lucas's personality is, on the surface, that of someone who has been beaten by life to the point that he has simply stopped caring. He always seems cheerful and innocent, speaking with a friendly, trying-to-sound-cool-esque voice even as he reminds you 「This isn't my fault」before trying to drive a screw through your heart. He makes no attempt to understand others, ignoring their feelings altogether unless he honestly feels like taking stock of them. He will have no qualms if he were to beat you mercilessly, even kill you, with the grin of a child who is just playing a game. He tosses lies into the air as if it were simply breathing, he'll shamelessly declare his perverted ideals right to a woman's face, even discussing the topics at length, with no regard to the other party's objections. A loser to the core, he simply has nothing left to give.

That is, until he is met with failure at his goal of dragging the strong down to weakness. The most painful times, where his inability to win even counters his ability to make the other person suffer as he does, to change their damnably idealistic and heroic selves, to show the weakness or fear every person has; those are the times where Schwarz's facade falls apart. Where his bitterness, his anger, the chip on his shoulder all show plainly upon his face. The obstruction of his sense of justice, his personal, twisted form of justice, still to this day strikes the young man to the core, redoubling his determination to kick your legs out from under you, even as that vicious scowl fades back into a wide-eyed grin.

「Appearance」:

A young man of below-average height and below-average (read: kind of skinny) build, Schwarz's face is dominated by a stepford grin and wide, too-innocent gray eyes. His inky black hair is perpetually unkempt, washed but never combed or brushed or anything that would give it your bog-standard "I pay more than half a second of attention to my hair" look. His skin is an almost sickly pale, and is mostly covered up by an unremarkably black school uniform. Not even his kicks are fly. An effective aura of complete undesirability cloaks him, to the point where those around him subconsciously try to ignore him as much as possible. Unfortunately for them, Luke very rarely lets himself be ignored. Forcing himself into whatever group he chooses, his presence instead usually unsettles his company, especially compounded with his dissonant cheer and calmness in the face of his powers and situation.

「History」: A young man born into a family of heroes and heroes-in-making, and fell brutally short of the mark. His mother a Huntress, his father a police officer, the normal young boy found within himself a strong sense of justice from the outset, carrying it with him in spite of strangely sub par performances in school and life, defined by barely scraping by. In a world populated by the talented, the smart, the hard-working, the beautiful, and successful, he found himself as none of those things: in comparison, he was practically a born loser. The pressure continued to mount as he grew older, seeing the disparity between his own life, and even those of his younger sisters, who by the time he was but ten had already learned to gang up on him whenever they got into their familial squabbles, and always found ways to pin the blame upon him.

A champion of falling short of the mark, school was a cruel and miserable place as well. Always reminded that he was the one who failed the test that only he didn't know was coming, that he was the one small and weak enough to be shoved into a locker, that he was the one rejected by the pretty cheerleader, that he was the one sitting alone at the cafeteria with no food in front of him, lunch money lost to a stiff breeze, that he was the one who was beaten up by the tougher, angrier, members of the student body for having no lunch money to give.

Then one day, he learned to smile. Through all the pain, torment, and misery, he learned to smile. It was an unremarkable event: one of the nerdy and acerbic (yet cute in spite of it) girls in the class calling a meeting after school to discuss the notion of foul play during one of the many math exams he'd failed. Something about answers being distributed during the study session prior that the teacher had held, accounting for everyone attending getting 20% higher scores than those who didn't, yadda yadda yadda. After an uneventful and fruitless trying of countless methods of determining a possible culprit, they eventually called it to a vote. "Who thinks who did the dirty deed?" To his and her surprise, the fingers were, in vast majority, aimed at her herself. Why? "She was being annoying, she was wasting our time, she's the only one that cares about this crap anyway." The mob's resentment had turned its pursuit of justice into one of condemnation, seeking the least likable person who could plausibly be a culprit (he had neither gone to the session nor passed the test) and branding them with the guilt. He learned that it wasn't simply him that suffered under the system: it was everyone who failed to have those perfect, likable qualities. He learned that he had a crusade to go on, and that his sense of justice stood directly opposite against that of the world.

A man who has been hurt a thousand and one ways knows a thousand and one ways to hurt, and he resolutely made it his life goal to bring that pain to those who so readily inflict it. He wants those seen as admirable, the heroic, the smart, the pretty, and successful to crash and burn, to fall to his level, and taste what it means to be like him, someone who is craven, who is dumb, who is nasty, who is a failure. He wants to cut down those who stand tall, to kick the pedestal those who are beloved are placed upon out from under them, bring the good to the domain of the bad, where they can stand on equal footing. There are so many champions of "right" and so few of "wrong" in the world, and he now sees his place as filling that vacant niche. In short, he wants to destroy the concepts that only the likable are good and of worth, he wants to prove himself better than the Main Characters!

Name: Oswald Connolly, 'The Mutineer'

Age: 47

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Affiliation: Valean Anarchist Coalition

Weapon: The Darkblades, three daggers crafted from the Trepination Blade. One suppressed handgun, and one lightweight, collapsible rifle. Suppressed, of course.

Semblance: Closer- Oswald can instantly close the distance between himself and another living creature (Grimm or no) within fifty feet of him, moving from wherever he is to about four feet from his target.

Personality: Jaded by years of witnessing suffering and death, Oswald has become the personification of The Grizzled Veteran. Having seen combat for over thirty years now, and having spent maybe two of those years resting, Oswald is the strategist, linchpin, and secret weapon of the VAC. He's quick to suppress dissent with explanations of his motivations, and believes firmly that the ends justify the means, especially in a society like the one they exist in. Despite this, he's not pure evil: he doesn't tolerate random attacks on civilians, and the VAC has been known to provide medical services to wounded soldiers, though they're often held as Prisoners of War afterward.

Appearance: Oswald slimmed down after his Beacon years, dropping to around 180 pounds of lean, wiry muscle. His scars multiplied, leaving his face lined with ugly blemishes that served to improve his intimidation factor. On assassinations, he chose to don a new set of attire: near-black pants, similarly colored shirt and coat, as well as a full-head mask designed to obscure his flesh. His hands covered by dark gloves, his weapons camouflaged to avoid reflections against the moon, and his feet concealed by soft shoes, Oswald is near-impossible to spot in the shadows, unless one has the natural advantages of a Faunus.

In his role as leader of the VAC, Oswald dons a kerchief that covers the lower half of his face, showing only several of the scars across his face. His clothes are simple but powerful: a tattered brown coat, black pants, and a gray undershirt stained with blood, his feet clad in a pair of brown work boots.

History: The Mutineer was born out of a realization that racism, corruption and nepotism had grown to uncontrollable levels within the Kingdoms. Missions with the Schnee Dust Company, both as a student of Beacon and as an independent Huntsman, eventually broke the pseudo-communist's goodwill towards his fellow man. He'd been bribed, insulted and challenged one too many times by the employees of the infamous Dust supplier's employees more than he could take. On a solo mission, a Schnee Dust executive offered him a small fortune to cover up the typical abuses by their employees, but instead of declining and having the man arrested, Oswald drove his sword through the man's chest, killing him within moments.

Swearing to destroy the SDC and the evil that allowed it to blossom, Oswald disappeared off the radar, reforging his weapons and armor into a set of equipment better suited for assassination. A sword became a trio of daggers, sheathed on multiple points of Oswald's body, his shield and metallic armors became some of the raw materials used for a handgun, and he created a lightweight, collapsible rifle from scratch. His old cloak, forsaken despite its sentimental value, kept its place in Oswald's heart as a small crimson patch sewn into his night gear.

The Mutineer began with simple assassinations. Moving within the shadows, Oswald was able to eliminate swathes of Schnee guards without detection, despite his past as a meatshield. His Semblance was of disturbingly great use, as it allowed him to traverse distances instantly that others would have to risk detection to cross. Soon, his kill counts rose into the double-digits, and Schnee Dust got suspicious. Guard presence tripled, only for entire stations to go dark with a warning scrawled in blood the next day: "More bodies will result in more corpses. Not that you'd care."

Hundreds of Schnee Dust employees resigned in the wake of this revelation. To some, the money wasn't worth their lives. To others, the hazard pay simply wasn't high enough. White Fang leaders stood astonished that their territory had been usurped. Desertion among the ranks grew, as a new criminal enterprise sprang from the ashes: The Valean Anarchist Coalition. Rather than a nebulous goal of equality for Faunus, the VAC stood for something much simpler: the destruction of the Kingdoms. The addition of malcontent Huntsmen and Huntresses among their ranks didn't hurt the efforts, either.

Oswald's vision of a new society convinced some, while anger and resentment convinced others that the status quo was wrong. Those who wondered about the future beyond the VAC's ultimate goals were given a cryptic but simple answer: "We rebuild." In truth, Oswald wasn't exactly sure of what he planned to do after destroying the Kingdoms. Would he return home and raze that place to the ground as well? Had they suffered the corruption that the rest of the world had? Regardless, the plans continued. Deaths skyrocketed as membership rose, and the Valean Council called upon Mistral, Vacuo and Atlas to assist them in declaring martial law.

Theme: I Don't Want To Be Here Anymore

Name: Benjamin Lloyd

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Affiliation: Roundtable Order

Weapon:

Joyous Guard: At first glance, an immense teardrop shield emblazoned with Ben’s personal symbol. The shield can take an incredible beating without showing any signs of damage, to such an extent that nothing has yet dented it. Joyous Guard is rather heavy, but Ben swings it around as though it were nothing. The shield can be held in the hand, or mounted on his forearm. Once activated, it can transform into an immense, two handed sword with firearm barrels on the crossguard to aid in its swings.

The Guard’s final form is a massive twin-barreled cannon, mountable on the forearm or carried by hand. Its munitions are sufficient to level most targets with a few shots, and their destructive capabilities are further augmented by the capability to add Dust. Its recoil is sufficient enough to require either a brace of the use of Dolorous Guard to keep it steady.

Joyous Guard also contains several Aura batteries, modeled after the ones originally used in his tonfa, to give him additional Aura reserves when needed.

His original weapons, Artorius and Lawnlot, are incorporated into Joyous Guard. Their blades help form its edge, and its shotguns add additional recoil boosting to its swings. In a moment of dire need, both could be separated once more from the cohesive whole. A reminder of what once was, and what might have been.

His off hand, when Joyous Guard is in its shield form, is usually occupied by whatever weapon is easy to hand.

Semblance:

Deinamig:

Dolorous Guard: With the radical shift in his personality, so too did his semblance. Deinamig, which once drew its power solely from within, evolved to reflect his view of the world. Dolorous Guard still draws its strength from Benjamin’s Aura, boosting the speed and strength of his muscles, but Ben is no longer the sole deciding factor. Dolorous Guard becomes proportionally more powerful as the number of Ben’s opponents grow. Against one person, it will draw from Ben’s strength alone. Against two his power doubles. Against three it triples, and so forth. The worse the odds, the stronger he becomes.

His strength is such, in fact, that most weapons cannot hold up to the stresses he puts upon them. The average weapon will break after only a few battles, while a more durable one might last longer. Since Ben’s strength is limited only by his own Aura and the number of his foes, there is no telling what strains his tools will be put under.

With Benjamin’s all-or-nothing attitude, Dolorous Guard rapidly turns him into a juggernaut on the battlefield.

Personality: Benjamin is a friendly guy. His teachers, once upon a time, might have called him lazy or slothful. He was always intelligent, but his work ethic seemed to be lacking. After his failure in Beacon’s entrance exam, all of that has burned away. Ben is driven, giving nothing less than one hundred percent in everything he does. He believes in his ideals almost zealously, and will fight with every fiber of his being in their defense. Among the people, among even his enemies, he is the model of professionalism and civility. The sort of man that would give the shirt off his own back if someone needed it more. Always ready with a joke or a smile.

But the flipside is darker. When the peaceful option fails, when every chance for a nonviolent resolution has been exhausted, he will destroy you. Your influence. Your defenses. Your weapons. You. As much as is necessary to ensure that you will never threaten his people again. He will lead the charge from the front, and not let up until any threat you posed is dust in the wind. He has a particular hatred for elitism and arrogance, with a passion that borders on personal. He faces any who choose to oppose him with every breath. If those you affiliate with have chosen war, the entire organization will be dismantled with the same brutal efficiency as any fight.

But for all his fairness, a well of rage flows in Ben's heart. As lofty as his ideals have become, he can't shake off their source. The resentment that still burns deep in his heart, resentment at Beacon, Hunters, his own failure... His noble goals grew from wrathful roots. These roots are hidden, buried deep, but all it takes is the right trigger to bring them to the surface. Any foe that hits the wrong nerve does not live to regret their mistake.

No better friend, no worse enemy.

Appearance:


Ben hasn’t changed much from the day he washed out of Beacon. A little taller, a little more toned, and his hair’s definitely gotten longer… But he’s still recognizable. What changed is the way he carries himself. Tall with an almost noble bearing, his posture has none of the laziness that once pervaded his demeanor. Each step is controlled and purposeful, and his expression holds an intense clarity of purpose.

Despite it all, he still looks… Friendly. Behind the revolutionary is a man who believes what he is doing is right, and genuinely cares about those who follow him. On the battlefield, he shows few signs of enjoyment. When he fights Grimm, he fights to defend mankind. When he fights his fellow man, he fights because there is no alternative.

Killing Grimm is satisfying. Fighting, sometimes killing, those who believe in their own cause is an unfortunate necessity.

History: Benjamin Lloyd was the son of a weaponsmith in a small town in the northeast of Vale called Redwood. His family, once, was a long line of warriors. Huntsmen and Huntresses, protectors of the Kingdom. Somewhere down the line tragedy struck, and the Lloyds turned their back on their profession and turned to being smiths. They settled in Redwood, and just… Never left. Generation after generation lived in the same town, inheriting the same shop, and working the same job. Ben wanted nothing more than to break that cycle. He knew he could do more, and he knew his entire family could do more, than that. He could turn his back on his family’s passivity and make a difference. He learned the weaponsmithing trade so he could fashion his own weapons, but he never lost sight of his end goal.

Not that his father approved. Finally, when he was a teenager, the matter came out in the open with a long, drawn out argument. His father was dead set against the idea, but he finally gave Ben an ultimatum; if Ben could get himself accepted to Beacon, he had his father’s blessing. If he failed he would come back to Redwood and continue training to take over the shop. It was a deal Ben took in a heartbeat. Every spare moment for the next few years was devoted to crafting his tools, honing his skills, and becoming knowledgeable enough to excel. Endless hours poured into the pursuit of one goal.

And finally, his chance came. His application to Beacon was accepted. He was there, ready to take the entrance exam, and break free from his family’s endless cycle. Equipment well-tended, well-supplied, and the task was (on paper) simple. It wouldn’t be easy, but he knew he had the skills and the knowledge to do it. His Semblance was even an added Ace up the sleeve, a trump card in case he needed it. His unwillingness to use it ended his career before it ever started. By refusing to use Deinamig at a crucial time, he failed the entrance exam.

He was headed home before he could even process what happened. A few days later, after he was already on the train, he found out that three of his fellow washouts had shown exceptional valor in dealing with a Grimm attack and been offered a chance to attend Beacon. The fact barely registered. Ben was despondent, completely devastated. Back in the workshop almost before he’d left, confined to the same cycle he was so certain he had broken. So he threw himself into the work he hated, channeling his smoldering resentment into his work. Churning out weapon after weapon for every would-be Hunter or Huntress that came through the door, knowing that many of them wouldn’t ever achieve their dream. His work, his workshop, his own village became a veritable Purgatory. Nothing ever changed while his resentment grew, and grew, and grew.

Until Grimm managed to overrun Redwood’s walls, demolishing the semblance of normalcy he had created. The police, though well-equipped, were not Hunters. They had little experience dealing with Grimm, and their efforts to stop the creatures bordered on futile. The shattered peace, if only for a moment, reawakened Ben’s resolve. His will to do something more. Artorius and Lawnslot saw use one more time, shaking off their dust to slay the beasts invading Ben’s home. The fight was brief, but brutal in its efficiency. Ben had learned from his failure. When he fought, nothing was held back. The small pack was destroyed with devastating, systematic precision. But the opportunity was brief. Once the Grimm were gone, his weapons returned to their place on the shelf, and he prepared to return to the drudgery of his day to day life.

Not before, however, he offered to train the town’s police in more effective anti-Grimm tactics. After all, they had the tools. They just needed the training. The sheriff accepted, so for the next few months he took time out of each day to meet with the town’s (small) police force and instruct them not only in anti-Grimm tactics, but teach them to use their weapons effectively. Rather than the overwhelming apathy his life had been filled with, he found that his drive had been reawakened. He approached even his own work with renewed vigor. Grimm broke through again, but this time the police could repel them. Curiously, more customers started coming through his door. Average citizens looking for something to defend themselves with, and many of them wanted the training to use them.

Before long he was selling not just the weapons, but training. Word spread, and his business kept swelling. People had grown fearful after the breach in Vale, and with that fear came more and more Grimm being drawn to the Kingdom’s people. And slowly Ben started to think. When he wanted to be a Hunter, there had only ever been one option; he needed to attend Beacon. And attending Beacon was no small feat. One school for all of Vale, and it accepted only the best. Produced only the best. With no real military, Vale’s defenses consisted only of those graduates. Atlas saw to its people’s safety with a real army, one that sought not only to protect civilians, but its soldiers as well.

Vale’s defenses were so poor that the Atlesian military had needed to help put a stop to the breach. And with the Grimm attacks on the rise, that prestigious elite wasn’t enough to protect the people. Their own fears attracted the Grimm, and the more the Grimm attacked, the more they feared. Every living thing had an Aura. A way to protect themselves. So why was that power, that power and the training to use it, confined to so few? Confined to that small, elite class of Hunters and Huntresses?

There was no reason. It was senseless, needless, and worst of all, arrogant. So Ben extended an offer. Anyone who came to his shop in Redwood could buy a weapon, and he would train them to defend themselves. Anyone who brought their own weapon would be trained free of charge, with no obligation. He outfitted Redwood’s police force with Huntsman-quality weapons, and ensured they knew how to use them. And before long, the people poured in. People from all over Vale. Small-town police and citizens, even residents of the city of Vale, all looking for a way to hold their own. More students and orders than Ben could handle by himself. So his father joined him in the shop once more, helping him create orders as they came. His former students began to train the new ones, and they all began to pass on the word.

A year later, villages were forming their own militias with equipment on par with Beacon’s graduates. And still they came, all with one desire; to take control of their own defense. Ben’s profession soon became a platform, a way to speak his ideals to the world. And the world listened. His students were loyal. His ideals, of a world free from the elitist system that created Hunters and Huntresses, became their ideals. Why rely on heros to protect them when they could protect themselves?

It was a movement that started small. Redwood was first, with its police turned into an efficient force for defense. The neighboring villages followed their lead, using their training to fend off the increased Grimm attacks. Slowly it started to spread from Vale’s northeastern corner, one person at a time.

And when the White Fang attacked a village, it wasn’t for the Huntsmen that they called. It was for Redwood. And Benjamin Lloyd answered. Three of his most loyal supporters went with him to the village the White Fang had taken up residence in, and marched into the lion’s den. He went in to talk, to convince them to depart the village and leave it be. They weren’t in a talking mood.

The four walked back out only when that branch of the White Fang had been so thoroughly destroyed that they would never threaten another village. After that day, the movement truly took hold. It was no longer just an ideal. It was a banner to rally around, a banner carried by their leader. Everyone who followed his ideals recognized Benjamin as their leader. The Roundtable Order, a sign that all were equal within its ranks. Loyalty was earned, not expected. He was their leader not by right, but by force of will.

Their villages were under the Order’s protection, not Vale’s Huntsmen. Vale’s system was rejected in favor of their own, local defenders. And in the places they held sway, Hunstmen were not looked upon as heroes. They held no superiority in the eyes of the people, only a pedigree with all the trappings of the system they rejected. They were still welcome within the northeast of Vale, but the people’s reaction was not the same.

The Order maintained defended the people and maintained peace, but it was not soft. If a peaceful solution could be found, it was taken. Any threat to the people’s safety that could not be talked down was eliminated, with methods as severe as the situation required to ensure they would not be a threat again. Grimm, White Fang, criminals, members of each have fallen before them one time or another. After the White Fang's first incursion, Ben personally lead the Order to systematically root out and destroy the organization. Any White Fang cell within their sphere of influence was demolished. Sometimes they surrendered. Most of the time they were crushed with brutal, overwhelming force. It was during this time that the Order adopted some of their less... Savory practices. Grimm masks hang outside the Order's villages. One for every White Fang operatives killed. Their weapons are smashed, and impaled in the ground beneath them.

Once the option to surrender had been declined, there would be no survivors.

The Order has only existed a relatively short time, but its influence has spread like wildfire. And spread far enough that Vale government considers it a threat, unauthorized and beyond their control. Two teams of Hunters were dispatched to Redwood to Redwood to take the Order's leaders in alive. They were permitted into the village to meet with Ben and his lieutenants, under a banner of peaceful intent. Until their intentions turned out to be much less than peaceful, and the two teams refused to leave without a fight.

Maybe they thought they had the fight well in hand. Their enemy was a Beacon washout and his students, and they were all trained fighters. Quick, easy fight. Their assumptions were proven wrong the instant Benjamin put their leader through the wall. The fight was quick, visceral, and brutally efficient. Two Huntsmen died, and a third later died of their injuries. The remainder... The most diplomatic option was to let them go. Take their fallen and return home. Some of the Order wanted them dead instead.

Benjamin took the balanced option. Their weapons were taken, their supplies were taken, and they were dropped in the deepest part of the woods to find their way back. A week later, two made their way back to Vale. Search parties are still seeking the remainder of their teams.

So they, in turn, have sent a group of Beacon’s Huntsmen to bring in the Order’s leadership. A group spearheaded by third-year Team ALNT, Sangue Naga, Trad Oak, and Lorena Negasi, led by Amaranth Desire.

Team Alliant.

Name: Jack Orpheus, "Midnight Storm", "Azure Death", "Blue Lightning", "13th Hermes"
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Human

Affiliation: The Caduceus (Leader)

Weapon:
Twin daggers - They have no name, but the lack of mechanical or really special capabilities is what makes him stand out... Besides the other tools he has. The blades simply channel aura better, allowing him to cut deeper, and have a blue glow when it happens. Otherwise, there is largely nothing special about them.

Lightning Pins - He's learned to carry a near endless amount, he can dash to and from these pins.

Dust Infused Coat - His coat can leave behind after-images of him, which at times can make it disorienting to fight him. With his new aura though, you can no longer ignore the after-images.

Semblance: "Midnight Lightning" - His semblance his unchanged, allowing him to zip from place to place in an instant, or imbue his attacks with extra power. Though having honed this over years of killing and variety of opponents, it has far more power than the original. His blades are said to be able to slice through steel like butter if imbued, and he has several moves that deal damage with just dashing.

• Lightning Rod - Jack is able to dash consecutively between multiple points. After years of use, he no longer needs reference points.
• Assassinate - Jack will dash around the opponent in seemingly random directions before body-smashing them with the accumulated momentum. He can do this while. This is a follow-up of Lightning Rod.
• Raigeki - This is an entry move, and can obliterate clusters of enemies in an instant. He'll come down from above seemingly out of nowhere, and blast his surrounding position with the lightning. The way the lightning works is that it doesn't shock like standard lightning, but comes out like cutting blades with concussive force.
• Railgun - A secondary version of Assassinate, where rather than accumulating momentum, he charges from one position. This has far higher range, and more power, making this a move he can use to dispatch an opponent before they can even react.

Unique Aura, Caduceus - Jack has found a way to put his aura into the dust after-images from his coat, allowing him to manifest those after-images, allowing him to essentially double his attacking speed. He can now induce these fighting after-images without his coat. It was named Caduceus due to the twin snakes on the symbol, and how this aura ability manifests his after image, like fighting two, rather than one.

Personality: Jack is far more quiet in this time line. He somehow retains the ability to joke, and doesn't appear to take everything super seriously, but if actions spoke louder than words, then he easily drains all his chatter out with a performance that shows little to no mercy... Or does show mercy with swift death. "Even the lion puts their all into hunting a rabbit", so to speak, and it is a mindset that has brought him far. He has a fondness for food still, and prefers to go out and procure his own, because he knows first hand how easy it is to poison someone. He dislikes... Most things now, especially anything that gets in his way. On the other hand, he often feels empty, even though he has caused the Caduceus to go into their most bloody and most profitable era simultaneously, he doesn't seem to have ambition, and it feels like he seeks some kind of ambition or meaning amongst all this. As he would admit, the deaths of those corrupt do not seem to satisfy him, it's only a matter of time until he turns his blade to the innocent in his madness.

History: Without his friends to cool his head, the death of his mentor drives him to revenge, and a much darker path. Inheriting his coat, and following the way his mentor also tread, a path his mentor did not want for him, but when it was done, there was no turning back, and he was hunted and hounded by the organization that his mentor had come from, Caduceus, which was an organization of assassins. Jack managed to elude them for a time, but being carried only by his powerful assasination semblance, he was eventually caught, and made into one of them. Jack with his incredible Semblance quickly gained infamy in the underworld as a master assassin, renowned for being able to assassinate multiple targets in almost an instant. He earned the codename "Midnight Storm", but was also called many other things such as the "Blue Lightning", and the "Azure Death".

He would eventually complete his revenge and destroy as well as take over the assassin organization, making him the youngest leader of the organization in their long history, and with his ascension becomes known as the 13th "Hermes", the 'name' of every head leader of the organization. Knowing only the pain of loss and the burn of revenge, the organization would enter their most bloody period since their participation in the Great War. It was a clean sweep of the corrupt, with little regard for the innocent and the vacuums of power that would occur, causing countless more conflicts to rise in the forms of power struggles. While not being the direct force that threatens the world, turns into the very root cause for every conflict that takes place.

Naturally, with more conflicts, more and more factions employ their services, this also turns out to be the organization's most profitable era to date. Even then though, he appears to have more ambition than many had originally though. In reality, he's looking for some kind of meaning to what he does, and even in all of this, he feels only an emptiness, and isn't sure as to why, so he seeks an answer for that.

Breakdown: In Jack's backstory, there is a pivotal event where his mentor dies. He inherits the jacket and wears it from then onwards. What he does from then on is what defines him. Does he hunt doggedly for the organization his mentor had originally come from, whom had killed him? Or does he move on with his life and fulfill his mentor's wishes? The normal timeline Jack would fulfill his mentor's wishes, and live an uncorrupted life, something he could not have. For Jack to hunt the organization Caduceus would mean to follow his mentor's blood-stained path.

Name: Gratia Carosa Mindaro

Age: Late-teens to mid-twenties

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Affiliation: N/A

Weapon: Much like her approach to living through her pathetic dregs of an unlife, Gratia Carosa Mindaro is highly eclectic in her use of armaments, resorting to any tool possible to ensure that the maximum amount of damage is dealt to her enemies. She is not in any way an artist or defender, and her most common weapons reflect this: a set of simple rusty bagh naka, providing her with the ability to slowly rip away warm flesh with ease and violently tear apart at the pink muscle in a more personal environment, where she can see and understand the splatters of blood, the signs of men in pain and their screams with no other obstacle; a steel butcher's knife, dull and stained from constant use in a slaughterhouse, made for cutting deep into chilly-white bone with only the barest hints of resistance; a carbon-reinforced, wooden mace, lightly splintered from years upon years of crushing apart skulls, shattering apart everything in its way to pulp the brain; and a silvery revolver, loaded with ice dust in order to deliver freezing strikes to the bloodstream, turning the crimson liquid into solid shards that pierce the veins and into the tissue. Yet if she needs to create embolisms with empty syringes in a hospital, or brutally slice apart limbs with sharpened chicken wire on a farm, then that is what she will do. They are a means of to an end where she can feel again.

Speciality: Close quarters, where the primality of the fight is at its greatest, where two animals can rip apart at each other, spilling blood, snapping bones ... that is where Gratia Carosa Mindaro excels. Her durability is almost peerless, and her inability to feel pain, nerves long burnt away, makes it so that she can function with a clear mind no matter how deeply an enemy cuts her, how hard a thick hand slams her head against a brick wall. She is a juggernaut, an unfaltering, implacable monster that fights like a wild beast, a berserker who seeks to bring swathes upon swathes of enemies down to Hell with her.

Semblance: Calix Infractus - Trapped in a body that cannot feel, where her own soul seems so distant and cold, it is through her Semblance that Gratia Carosa Mindaro can understand the energies that seep through all other living creatures. She is capable of playing with and manipulating the auras of others to her will, and has mastered a number of ways to do so through years upon years of experimentation. At its most basic, however, her power passively drains at the souls of every other living creature in her vicinity, improving her physical abilities at a slow, but exponential rate. From there, she has learnt to disrupt the very Semblances of others as well, driving their powers wild and out of control by redirecting her own outwards. In its active state, she can also permanently imprint herself onto the souls of others by pushing her own aura into them on physical contact, forever giving her the ability to track her enemies wherever they go.

Personality: Solemn and serious. Impassive and quiet. Venomous and insulting. Arrogant and condescending. Mere facades, mere attempts to pretend to be something that she cannot (will never) be. The woman known as Gratia Carosa Mindaro cannot truly feel. She cannot truly empathise. She cannot truly comprehend emotion. A nobody. A soulless, unliving thing wearing the skin of a Mistralese girl. Yet she wants, she desires, she lusts ... for the ability to understand, to fill that incomplete void within with knowledge, to reinforce her worth and superiority. So she pretends, pretends to be the ever-irritated stoic, pretends to be the overbearing asshole, pretends to be the quiet, professional worker. She pretends and she seems like she is. That she is a human, when she knows ... and embraces ... the fact that she is a monster. A monster that embodies the very evils of all humanity.

How does one know existence? How does one know that they are a human or a creature or a monster made flesh? She can no longer feel that she is. Her skin's nerves, burnt out, gone, can no longer receive the world's input. She is dull to the world. Dull. It is nothing to her. Then is she nothing to it? So she imprints herself upon it. Forces it to submit to her. Her superiority. Her existence. Her will. Her crimson blood still flows through her veins. The sickly darkness oozing from the neck of the naked little boy she rapidly grinds upon no longer does. She is superior. She still lives. She has dominated him, took away his will, took away everything. Her existence is affirmed by him. The wordless screams of a tear-stricken mother pound her ears. The feeling of fear, the unadulterated emotion. She brought it into this world. She did. Her existence is affirmed by it. The convulsing responding officer, paralyzed by poisoned wounds, frozen by his partner's unconsenting service below him. She has forced him to struggle. She holds power. Her existence is greater. Affirmed.

Lifeblood, draining away before her eyes and onto her cold, unfeeling hands. It's on her. She exists.

Soldiers running from the monster that pursues them. Their cries. Their anger. Their fear of her, of her false, false words and her impossible laughter. Or her hands, stained with wounds. They hate her. They are terrified. Their minds know her. She exists.

Homes burnt to ashes. The burning flames, cold and blue and hot, run up her arms. She cannot feel it. She cannot understand the pain. But it is there. It burns at her skin. She exists.

Gratia Carosa Mindaro is the animal of the killing fields. She is the ruthless butcher of the innocent. She steals the ability of those to choose their own fate.

Fraud.

Thief.

She destroys livelihoods.

Kidnapper.

Rapist.

Murderer.

She destroys lives.

A sinner amongst sinners.

It lets her pretend she can feel.

Appearance:


Six feet. Tall and imposing. Athletic and intimidating, towering any other woman, strong enough to crush a man. Short, dulled brown hair. It frames her pale face; well-defined, cherubic, a sense of eerie beauty that brings only death. Reserved smiles and scowls, lips creased into pondering lines. They never reach her eyes. Her dead, amber eyes. Cold, unfeeling, accentuated by long, sharp lashes. Her gazes are impossible, dead, resigned. Soulless like their owner. A beautiful woman harbouring the heart of a dead monster.

A woolen turtleneck, jet-black and frayed. Jeans; hard, enduring, once-brown, stained and stained and stained until that nothing, nothing, can wash it out. She smells of blood. Of the lives and the sex she's taken, stolen, ripped from others. She smells of it, coppery, metallic, heavy and festering, raw and acrid. Pungent. A walking slaughterhouse in what should be a butcher's garb. Her black boots heavy, crushing, loud footsteps a reminder of her presence. Of her danger. Her stance. Her posture. Her straightened back. Her slow and methodical movement. The rustling of her clothes. She knows it. And it affirms she exists.

Naked. Scarred. Burnt. Yet she no longer feels their pain. She cannot. Not a single nerve, not a single receptor. Her touch is gone. Dulled to near nonexistence. Her wounds. Those many, many wounds. They are testament to it. Stitches upon her shoulder. Wire cuts between her bosom. Needle marks around her toned stomach. A horror story. That's who she is. A woman with wounds and wounds and the inability to feel them. Her back has been carved apart many times. A terrible mess of skin and muscle.

Her clothes, horrifying as they are, hide it all.

But she still is.

History: Mistral. Empire of the Winds. Land of the Invincible Sun. Harsh and dry summers, sweltering heat under a bright, bright sun. Humid and cold winters, damp, insect-prone, unforgiving. And yet mankind fought it, unrelentingly, stubbornly. They conquered the Grimm. They imposed their will upon the weather. They dug in deeply and crafted a mighty city that sought to rival the heavens. A shining, glorious city. And at the very bottom, the docks. The ghettos. The slums. Too far from the city proper. To far from the fertile farmlands. Gratia Carosa Mindaro was born here. The first daughter of a alm-less metalworker and his wife.

No money. No support. None at all. This was her life. Her life and her family's. And it was torn down. An unlucky roll of the die. A single occurrence of divine malice. The entire family died in the green fire that engulfed their home. The lightning struck too quickly. They were instantly gone. Except her. The unfeeling, uncaring little girl trapped under the fallen rafters, electricity and smoke and fire eroding away at the protection of her soul, eroding away at the skin and nerves that allowed her touch. Maybe she should have died. She didn't. The pain, the heat, the torture of the disaster ... it didn't kill her. And she awoke to a dull, dull world. A world that seemed so distant, non-existent.

She felt she was the anomaly. She felt as if she wasn't. She felt inferior. An illusion. A false creature in a world that was false to her. Unliving.

Gratia Carosa Mindaro refused to be that.

She forced herself upon the world. She pretended to be who she needed to be. She needed to feel. She wanted to feel. So she took the life of an innocent old gravekeeper maintaining her family's charred remains and it seemed as if she had truly, truly felt emotion at his death. At his pain. At his suffering.

So she kept going.

She fought. She killed. She raped. She stole.

She couldn't feel it again. But she pretended she could. It did nothing but she continued down her path.

A little girl barely into her teens and her aura had been awakened. She devoured at the lifeblood of others, at their auras, at their souls. She couldn't feel from them. But she kept fighting, she kept killing, and she began to grow into her abilities, into her monstrous unlife.

A girl just past puberty, and her cruelty had surpassed the Devil. A destroyer of lives, murdering families, breaking in their lovers, stealing their fortunes. She couldn't feel anything from it. But she kept bathing in the blood, she kept drinking her targets dry, she kept acting as the monster she was.

A girl on the cusp of womanhood, and she was little more than a beast without a leash. A creature that should be caged. A threat that needed to be contained. She still couldn't feel. Couldn't at all. So she worked; she enforced the judgement of the mafia, she held violence inches away from the heads of kidnapped children, she assaulted anybody she was pointed at. She placed herself upon a leash. A monster pretending to be almost reasonable.

She still couldn't feel.

She kills and rapes and steals and she keeps on going.

She toys with people. She ruins people. She takes everything from them.

She doesn't remember how long she's been doing so anymore.

All that matters to her is that she is Gratia Carosa Mindaro.

And she demands the world recognise she exists.

Name: Trad Oak. The Corrupt Protector

Age: 35

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Affiliation: Vigilante

Weapon: Tyrfing. Much like its mythical counterpart, Trad only wields Tyrfing with the intent to kill. The weapon itself is a Darth Maul style double sword comprised of two long swords hooked together at the hilt. The hilt, once a shining gold, has become tarnished and worn from battle but the blades are still just as sharp. If range becomes an issue it can switch into a double barreled LMG able to equip dust for different ammo types. Sheer fire power alone is formidable, as it can fire 10,000 rounds per minute.

Semblance: Overload. Trad can turn the protective power of his aura into a devastating attack by overcharging its energy and sending it outward in a destructive explosion. The size will vary depending on his aura’s current state, the less damage done to him the more powerful it is. While he has yet to use it at full power, it’s assumed the force is the equivalent of a hydrogen bomb.

Doing this effectively destroys his aura, however, Trad physically is left virtually unscathed while anything caught in the blast radius will be vaporized or damaged heavily making it an effective last resort.

Personality: Cold and silent. Trad has no need for words. All he hears from others are excuses, and his sword does all the talking for him. Nothing will get in his way for justice and will go through any means to bring his swift judgement to those who are guilty in his eyes. He works alone and lives alone and prefers to keep it that way.

Trad is a master swords man able to use Tyrfing with great ease and combat multiple opponents at once. He often uses the direct approach when dealing with enemies as he finds them watching their impending judgment coming can instill the most fear in their hearts. He doesn't know the meaning of the word mercy. Once you are on his list it is only a matter of time before you meet the end you brought upon yourself.

Appearance: Standing around 5’ 9”, Trad isn’t the tallest or biggest, but he can keep a firm stance. His hair is dark blonde/light brown and is around shoulder length. His eyes are piercing emerald with dark rings around them from his sleepless nights. His beard is unkempt and has grown to about chest level. Trad wears a full set of dark green plate armor, scratched and dented from many conflicts. His symbol is displayed on the breastplate, but it has been clearly distorted. Tyrfing hangs on his back when not in use.

History:
The Oaks were a simple but close family. Trad’s father was a carpenter who owned a small shop selling various wooden décor. Instead of hiring employees, the shop was all family run by his mother, younger sister, and himself. It wasn’t a hard job, but it left little time to socialize with anyone else. His only real friend was his sister Natur. While Trad was often quiet and shy, Natur was quite the opposite. She was surprisingly out going and wasn’t afraid to stand up to any authority even her parents. She would often get him to sneak away from work when it was slow and roam the town together.

On one day, however, they found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. While simply walking by, a large dust shop was attacked by the white fang. Having gotten tip minutes before the police arrived shortly and attempted to secure the area. Unfortunately, the white fang decided to go out guns blazing and fire fight ensued. Trying to escape the bullet storm Trad grabbed Natur and tried to run for the nearest cover. He was in such a panic to get to safety, he never felt her let go.

When the dust had settled and the remaining white fang surrendered, Trad immediately searched for Natur, hoping to find her hidden somewhere safe. Instead, he found her a pool of blood. This moment sparked a fire of vengeance in Trad’s heart. How could the white fang be so cruel as to carelessly gun down a young girl? How was it the police could get there in time but still be too late to save his sister? He didn’t care. In that moment he knew he would never let something like this happen again, and thus his mission to protect the innocent began. By eliminating the guilty.

He started at the bottom, taking on street gangs and lower class criminals. Slowly he moved up tier by tier until his name was feared by many criminal organizations, and also much of the public. This didn’t stop him though, the evil of this world needed to be destroyed no matter what the cost. After a run in with a corrupt law official, Trad gained a list of names that were key in the white fang, the group that had taken away his sister. He didn’t hesitate in finding and eliminating every person on that list, crippling the terrorist group heavily.

It was at this point a rising politician began protesting the actions of Trad, calling him a mass murderer who himself needed to be brought to justice. He began pushing for the creation of a task force to hunt and bring down Trad. Trad couldn’t let this happen. This man now posed a threat to everything Trad had done, someone who would allow evil to rise again. That in itself was a crime and thus Trad sought out and murdered the politician in cold blood. Any support Trad had was now gone, but he was able to continue his work.

But what if other like him were to rise? They had to be stopped, for the good of the world. His mined had become warped and twisted as he continued to enforce his own demented sense of justice. Lawyers who defended criminals, prominent figures who opposed Trad’s actions, all of them were threats who needed to be eliminated. Trad knew he could never stop until all he preserved as “evil” were eliminated, and in many ways, everyone but he was.

Name: Abel Fulgurate

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Affiliation: The Brothers Grimm

Weapon: The wilderness did not afford Abel the luxury of power forges, custom metals, ammunition, or dust, and he lacked the mechanical ingenuity to coax success out of what providence failed. Fortunately, Abel did not crave sophisticated technology for his purposes, for any piece of metal sufficiently thin and tempered by whetstone held the power to shear through flesh, suffuse the mind with agony, and cut loose from history the idea that hope ever existed. When off on the hunt, Abel's weapon of choice is the simple but effective partisan. Little more than a blade on a stick, the partisan's long, swordlike blade can be manually detached from the haft and wielded as a longsword, which Abel's size and strength renders even more fearsome than its longer-ranged alter ego.

Abel's weapon of choice, however, barely scrapes the surface. He also carries two knives, one thick-bladed and the other curved, and when using his partisan's sword form also wields in his off-hand the first fancy weapon he acquired: a new-age revolver called Peace. The gun's unique design, using buckshot cartridges rather than magnum bullets, meant that after acquiring it Abel could just full the chambers with whatever tiny pieces of metal he finds lying around and blast away without much detriment to performance.

Semblance: “Insider” Abel's aura pulses a slate blue, the color of a sick man's tongue, flowing through him to the beat of his heart. It touches every fiber of his being, polluting them all with its coarse energy, but doesn't stop there. It is the fate and misfortune of humans to imagine themselves, perhaps wishfully, in control of their own being, but it is all an illusion for the sake of peace of mind. In truth, Abel is no more in control, but like the philosopher he has the edge on the masses of the ignorant. The power residing literally within Abel allows him to influence the inner workings of living things. As long as his enemy has an aura his can connect to, their insides are his to command. Heart rate, brain activity, muscle soreness, fatigue, pain, lung capacity, various glands—all are his as much as theirs. With Insider, Abel can debilitate his enemies and empower himself and his ally. Of course, there are limits to what Abel can do to an active combatant, but against entropy, doom, and demise, is not all anyone can do attempt to resist?

Personality: The heart that beats within Abel Fulgurate is not a cold one. Certainly, the man is detached from humanity, cut off from the realm of emotions considered normal, but he is not unfeeling. Naturally, Abel fosters within him a depressingly complete knowledge of the inevitability of death and the futility of existence, though this does not hinder him. Rather, the things inside Abel burn hot. His hatred pumps through his veins, a burning poison, and fear runs rampant within the crevices of his brain. His very skin carries a tinge of the envy that clogs his arteries, and when his tears flow, he weeps with sorrow powerful enough to drive those less resilient than he to suicide. Despite these toxins, however, Abel does not allow himself to collapse, envenomed, and fade away. Another drug stuck on permanent loop through his guts is pride, for all that he is, and the prickling of pride forces him to continue. Abel knows full well that he is doomed, he and all the world, but he will not let that knowledge defeat him.

If others will not embrace what's coming, he cares not. If they cling to idiotic ideas of heroism, though, or imagine themselves to be villains greater than the world itself...he is all too eager to tear that nonsense from the bosoms of heroes and villains, showing them in their final moments that there is no rebellion against the world of Grimm. To kill is not to murder; to kill is to reward the heroes and villains with an early death, far more kind than the one The End had in store. Abel's goal is not purposeless, meaningless slaughter, but the methodical and discriminate elimination of those who thought they wielded power. The End is the fate of all humans, and in the Brothers Grimm, The End lived, and would never be denied.

Appearance: Like his twin brother, Abel is tall—six feet, eleven inches, in fact. Between that lofty height and the inhospitable earth is 280 pounds of muscle, an intense and waiting power capable of crushing bones with kicks and splitting skulls with the cleaving swings of a longsword. His skin is in places tanned and pale, due no doubt to a remarkable consistency in clothing choice. Black jeans, dark brown hide boots, a ragged undershirt, and a black duster are his usual attire, though on top he commonly wears whatever pieces of armor will stay on him and protect him. Most often he wears a hood, a bandanna over his mouth and nose, and thick gloves with the trigger fingers cut off. On the back of his duster is a giant, faded red frowny face, painted on and fearsome.

Beneath the hood are Abel's eyes, a constant storm of emotion most commonly mistaken for fury. They are neither distant nor dead, but passionate, far too passionate. Compared to the rest of this towering brute, his eyes seem very interesting indeed, a maelstrom of feeling strong enough to sweep up anyone foolish enough to try and stand their ground.

History: That night, not one brother fell from the wall, but two. When the long lucky streak of the Fulgurate line of guardians finally drew to an abrupt close on the day of the Grimm insurgence, Abel and Kane both plummeted from the kingdom of Vale's bastion edge, down, down, down into the wilderness. Both lost something valuable after hitting the ground, but for neither was it his life. When Abel and Kane dragged themselves from the blood-drenched ground, listening to the crackle of their fractured bones and the shrieks of Grimm in existence, feeling their innards sloshing around within them, no beautiful or wondrous thing in all of existence could have quieted their despair. But their broken souls, sparking dimly amid the howling dark, prevented death from claiming them that day. Light shone around them, fitful but assertive, a dull blue and a dull green. While Kane's semblance, born of a resentful and selfish soul, shrouded them in concealing fog, Abel's own power shifted and mended their insides, until the brothers crawled their way from the underworld's door.

They killed for food. Wielding sticks and stones, they slaughtered the forest animals and ate them so that they could survive. When the Grimm attacked, they killed them, too. Always the boys had been big, but a life in the wilderness brought out their inner strength. They had nothing, no home, no supplies, no idea where home was and no way to get there, but they had one another. When they finally came upon a village months later, they dared to hope that their sojourn in the wild was at its end, but far stronger were the negative emotions broiling inside them. The pack of Grimm ever on their heels turned toward the village and destroyed it completely, leaving behind only salvage and confirmation that despair, hate, fear, and death were all that awaited mankind.

The years passed. Over time, Kane and Abel grew powerful, finding and crafting weapons to suit their terrifying combat skills and becoming masters of their semblances. No being who opposed them, man or beast, could triumph against the merciless duo. Of course the brothers found civilization again, but they felt only pity for it. One day, they came into contact with a team of four fighters from Vale patrolling the edges of the kingdom: a red-haired klutz, a glaive-wielding snake, and a candid soldier. This quadruplet took the brothers for evildoers, and attempted to take them into custody. Instead, the soil took in their blood over the course of weeks while their bodies decayed and wasted away. The pistol of the soldier Abel took for himself, but Kane, already in possession of a shortbow, a longbow, and dozens of handcrafted arrows, did not plunder anything. The encounter got the brothers thinking, however. No individual better embodied blatant and moronic defiance of The End, that dark and bloody apocalypse that rested in humanity's future, than those who fancied themselves heroes. Taking on the moniker Brothers Grimm, Kane and Abel became the first hunters of Hunters, specializing in taking down for good warriors armed with fancy, transforming weapons and formidable semblances. The combination of spear and arrow, messing with insides and masking from sight, strength and tenacity, Kane and Abel...it triumphed every time. Perhaps not the first time, but never did the brothers fail to learn, adapt, and come back for more until the rebel lay among maggots. The body count rose, and the Brothers Grimm turned their sights to villains as well, from assassins to anarchists to serial killers to supercriminals. Whenever fog rolls over a city or town, and the night is silent but for the heavy tramp of matching boots, none but the most oblivious of hunters and the most monstrous of psychopaths can help but shiver and wonder if their fairy tale is about is about to come to The End.

"Ashes to Ashes a death begets another it matters not justice is blind only when it serves its purpose I believe that I am the equalizer ridding the world of the illness that is humanity."

「Name」: Cian Kuze

「Age」: 17

「Gender」: female

「Race」: Human

「Affiliation」: Herself

「Weapon」: Forbidden Light - A wrist mounted device that has four different uses. One carries a small dispenser of a mist like substance. The second acts like a grappling hook, the Third is a standard gun feature and finally the fourth is a large spike should things get messy.

Maria the Ripper - A set of six knives that are often used in conjunction with "forbidden light" each knife is sharp and used for quick and clean kills. Should a prolonged fight happen each is capable of channeling dust through the blade for a variety of effects. These ranges from ice, Wind, fire, and earth. Ice is used to slow down a opponent through the use of frost. Wind dust can create small vacuum blades, fire can burn the enemy and finally is used to blind the enemy.

「Semblance」: 「Misty night」 - The semblance is a glimpse of a persons ideals and soul. Mist construction is a rather odd one whith it Cian is able to fool the five senses and make a person believe up is down and left is right. The mist is something that confuses and traps all that are caught within it. Her semblance takes the form of a deep mist she can release and once caught in it the senses are the first to go. If you manage to survive long enough than thats when the fear strikes haunting and driving the mind insane with figures that aren't there.

「Personality」: Cian can come across as cold and unfeeling rather this is the exact opposite. She cares that they don't suffer as she had it annoys, frustrates, angers her. She lacks the understanding of others in fact she cares less that others may have suffered the same it's not enough. Calm, cool, and collected, constantly maintaining an aura of stoicism and fearlessness. Cian cares little for the well-being of those around her, and is unflinching in her pursuit of power; however, in spite of her cold and ruthlessness demeanor she does care somewhat for others killing those that are troubling others when she catches them. Though inside she has great anger and hatred for white fang. and humanity in general. This is lead to a very unstable personality which is often the case of her reason to squash all hints of her emotion and feelings to make sure she doesn't have to worry again.

「Appearance」:

A young woman of average height. She has a light build and is obvious she cares little about her looks. Her hair is barely kept and nothing about her standard appearance reveals anything true about her. She hides herself in a large ratty cloak where only her face is showing.

「History」: Let me tell you of tale one that has no happy ending. As a child she grew up not really knowing the love of a true family. At age six her parents was killed by the White Fang and it was till hours later that any form of authority arrived to late to really be of much help. After the death of her parents she was later taken in by her Aunt and uncle who quickly shared the same fate when they refused the white fang something. By now Cian was apathetic and knew one thing that the white fang was allowed to do what it does because of one reason they had power. Might it seemed controlled everything and without it you can protect anyone yourself included. Than for the third time she was taken in this time by cousins who cared little for her and treated her with little care or respect. This was the breaking point for Cian it was clear that no one wanted her and if people did care for they died. It was simple to her than young mind that she needed to become strong. To make sure this never happened again. Despite not caring about her much she was sent to school and taught how to fight and most of all how to survive. It was clear to that her current "guardians" was little more than wastes of space weeds that needed to dealt with. So one night she did so taking her cousins wrist mounted weapon she killed them both. There was little fanfare and little grieving at their loss. It was clear that not only was faunus at the fault but rather the entirety of humanity. She left learning from whatever quick footed thief or heartless killer she could fine. She also tricked and manipulated a retired hunter to unlock her aura and teach her about how it worked and how to manipulate it.

She learned what was needed and how things was done. Either through observation or through someone teaching her she learned the ins and outs of thievery to points on a body where once hit can lead to death or paralysis. She learned and she grew taking on odd jobs and long term assignments here and there ranging from tracking freights of shipments to assassination. It mattered little to her it was obvious that there was no family for her. She cared not who she killed in those misty alleyways she was doing the world a favor little by little she was ridding it of the illness that was humanity.

Cian hunted and with precise strikes left a message that would strike fear in their hearts. First she only targeted Faunus after all they were the cause the start they were the reasons behind the death of her family. Eventually though she thought about it while getting rid of the illness was one method there was more than just the faunus. They were a part yes they played a role in the death of her family but they weren't the only one. Humans played a role as well they were also the reasons behind her families death turning a blind eye when it served their purpose. That wouldn't due no it wouldn't so quickly her modus apperandi changed no longer did she only hunt a single part now she hunted all of humanity. She would show them one by one she would rid the world of the plague that was humanity.

“It is a pain for me to end the existence of the children of men."

Name: Lucina Dei

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Affiliation: Gods' Domain

Weapon: Iudicmesse

Semblance: Manu Aeon

Lucina semblance is a divine gift from god that allows her to manipulate the forces of cosmic energy. From whether raising army of cosmic begins to smiting foes with a beam of energy, this power comes from god much like all else. She has the ability to perform miracles, precognition of man’s dreams to knowing of person karma simply by look. It is divine to the point that her stare can kill anyone not strong enough to resist her aura.

Personality:

Death and suffering is what forged her to be the Avatar of Retribution she is. A being of stoicism, she masks her emotion. She sees death and suffering prevalent in a world but caused and believes in the retribution against evil. Of course even the life she was born into, the even that had befallen her, she has a “heart of gold” always willing to assist those in needs. Her personality at her age resembles any well matured women in which she is kind, caring, sociable, and loving.

Appearance:

After the Death of her Family

First Day at Haven

Junior Year at Haven

18 - 24

The Messiah of Retribution

History (Non-Canon):

And god cried as he saw his children killed, deceived, manipulate each other for their own personal gain. He cried for the kind, the innocent, pure at the death from the hands of darkness, empowered by his own children.

Anger, he felt that and thus from his flesh, his soul he had begotten a perfect child to the world, a female that would remind them that so if they continue on their path, she will judge them.

She will sit upon throne, commanding an army of endless beings from his domain to exact retribution upon the wicked for their crimes. The worst of will be judged in front of her throne besides her siblings, each transgression spoken before their execution.

Not one will be spared but for those who believe in her, will not perish but have everlasting life in a cleansed world, bounded together in harmony. No disease, no hunger, no sorrow, only eternal peace.

She will be their queen, under the divine will of her father.

- Scrolls of Dimare

She was a miracle. For one unassuming couple they had lived life of destitute sorrow in dilapidated district in an industrial city known in Mistral. The daughter of a lowly security guard for MDI Robotics and a prostitute in the cities’ whore house, they never expected a child after failing many times. Lucina was raised by them she was cherished as their gift despite the hardships she had. An outcast at school, bullied for her parents’ reputation for being nothing in the world she proved herself for her high intelligence, a quality her parents cherished.

Lucina passing of her parents was quick, her sorrow unending as she saw it with her eyes, as they got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time, her heart shattered into a million tears as she saw their blood spill at the hands of the White Fang. Lucina was placed into a slum orphanage, all alone, and sought retribution against them but against the entire wicked for causing suffering in the world. The only way she could survive alone was through her father’s gift, a pure mechanical sword known as Iudicemesse during his days as a hunter.

Thus she grasped Iudicemesse and took on a name, Adrasteia and would exact retribution over the wicked. The immoral, the evil, the corrupt would find themselves dwindle by her hand as she vowed to end the existence of corrupt men and women so others would not feel the pain she experienced. Adrasteia became a feared name within the city and had attracted national headlines within Mistral. She would become complete when she ended the lives of the white fang associates that ended her family.

Lucina continued living in an orphanage, refusing to be adopted for she was independent, she did not need a family. She attended Haven at the age of fourteen and graduating the 1st in her class. Her life was normal for these years yet she saw death, immorality, evil corruption once more, inspiring her to become Adrasteia once more. Retribution was required against the corrupt, and being stronger than before, the name Adrasteia incited fear within the hearts of humanity.

On her 25th birthday a tattoo that symbolized advent formed behind her neck to which she realized it was connected with an ancient religion. Thus she sought this once powerful religion, becoming a disciple of their teachings but not revealing it. She discovered what her tattoo symbolized, the Daughter of God, Avatar of Retribution, Empress of the Infinite Army, the Herald of Apocalypse
Was this truly her? She never thought of herself upon this level, just a righteous hunter who wanted sought retribution against evil-doers. So, she prayed to god,

O hear me Sovereign of Creation, the Lord of the Universe, the Father of Man, the scion of him. Am I truly what I am, am I what the tattoo of your faith symbolize. Please I beg of you, to answer my prayer for I am pondering about my true destiny in the world.

And thus in a brief flash, god appeared in front her, divine, pure, powerful, his presence was so strong that it overwhelmed her to the point she could not move. God spoke of her, imparting her destiny as what the tattoo symbolized, bringing to his domain, his second world to meet the divine people to where she came from.

Thus Lucina sought out her destiny, with the powers of her true father bestowed upon her, she became the Messiah of her father’s religion, she preached the words of god, and performed miracles resurrecting a religion that was near-death, hoping to prevent the retribution she has to if the people did not heed her teachings. Her power, influence grew in the world to the point she was seen as an enemy to the state and many other organizations.

She was crucified by the authority, lashed, tortured, a beautiful, refined goddess had been scourged by her own people… Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. And when she died, ground of the world quaked violently, the sky turned into steel and a symbol in red appeared, XIII. The world quietly ignored but wondered…

--

And on the thirteenth day, the sky will turn red, the sun will blacken while the souls of the true believers shall uplift up into the heavens, to be in gods domain as she came down with infinite beings to cleanse the world man had failed to uphold in purity.
Upon this day lies a futile path of the end. Death awaits all when retribution comes to you. The heroes and foes will be extinguished in her light, slain by her infinite army.

And when the sky and sun clears the faithful shall return to world of heaven under her divine rule from her father.

Always remember: Be careful what you wish for, for reality is often less nightmarish than our dreams.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear, those who fail are lacking in worth. And if I can’t trust you to be a handy person, then perhaps I shouldn’t trust you with hands.”



Name: Napoli Fiordilatte Mozarre Casumarzu

“Masked Devil of the Twin Sabers”

Age: Late teens to early twenties.

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Affiliation: Mozarre true allegiance is solely to himself, however over the years he has ingratiated himself into many criminal organizations across the world of Remnant. These organizations range from large reaching Mafia families to small street dwelling gangs, if they served Mozarre a purpose than he found reason to insert himself in their good graces. In addition, he frequently hires out lone criminals and assassins via hidden letters and messages. Ultimately, Mozarre desires to one day consolidate a larger organization all under his own banner. In doing so, Mozarre believes that he will be able to crush the Hunters once and for all.

Weapon:




Mercutio and Arsene, two elegant blades that gleam in any light, be it from the moon or the raging fires of war, the silver blades shine with magnificence. Fairly long, the possess a slight curve, most pronounced at the end of the blade. The blade is also lined with beautiful contours, from which infused dust can be emitted, emanating ferocious fire or glorious lightning. Each stroke, each brilliant thrust, shows the majesty of the Fiordilatte name.

In addition, Mercutio and Arsene each possess secondary forms as SMGs. With a large extended clip, these guns are capable of firing round after round with remarkable speed, making them more than adept at handling large swarms of Grimm or humans. In addition, during his time in Redwood, Mozarre had a new form built for the two blades. By putting them together, he is able to create a long tactical shotgun capable of eviscerating anything that gets too close. Like the SMGs, this shotgun is also capable of using dust infused rounds. This final combined form has been dubbed Scapino.

Semblance: Riposte Mandoble - Originally, Mozarre’s semblance focused entirely on redirection, allowing Mozarre to use his aura to guide objects. For instance he could curve the path his own bullets thereby enabling otherwise impossible shots, or curve the flight paths of opponent’s bullets. In doing so, he created numerous number of near misses on his own person. However Mozarre was not limited to just bullets, and was capable of causing swords and other weapons to just barely miss him by the use of his semblance. However the larger the object, the more aura it ate up, thus forcing Mozarre to rely primarily on his own dodging abilities. Thereby Mozarre’s old semblance functioned solely as an extension of his standard dodging abilities.

It was after his rebirth that Mozarre unlocked new, more powerful aspects of his semblance. Rather than drain his aura, his semblance became one with it, constantly in a state of flux that he could manipulate. In addition to his original powers, which have now received a hefty buff, Mozarre’s semblance manifests in his Aura as a dominion of absolute control. While Napoli served to dodge attacks, Mozarre embraces his right place. For instance, a hand that touches him, thus entering his Aura, could be instantly shattered leaving forth nothing but bloody goop. Another option is infusing his aura with razor like compressed wind, tearing asunder anything that nears him. In addition, he can manipulate his aura outward, allowing him to cut through anything he sees leaving behind nothing but bloody carcasses. These cuts are even capable of cutting through falsities like dust and other semblance attacks. It is not uncommon to see Mozarre using this ability to carve warnings and messages into walls and trees around him. In addition Mozarre’s control has grown so fine, that he can perform delicate insertions and cuts to tear apart anything that he desires.

Personality: To Mozarre, life is a game, a game that society is losing. After having lost so much already, Mozarre hates the concept of losing even more. Coupled with his rather vindictive persona, Mozarre desires to punish society for its failures. The failures that cost him his family deserve a punishment, and he is more than willing to carry it out. This often manifests in a cruel, manipulative, sadistic approach towards others. He will openly mock, humiliate and even torture those that have failed. His end game is to ultimately cull the weak and make society strong enough to win the game, but having a scapegoat to punish and crucify along the way brings him a sense of peace that has even more value.

That said, on the outside Mozarre is quite malleable. He is just as quick to throw forth a witty joke as he is to punish a dissenter. It is weakness and failure that he abhors, but he quite clearly understands the need for manipulation and control to get anywhere. If that requires him to throw forth a joke or bow his head to appease the strong, he will do it, as long as he can achieve his end game he is satisfied. For that is all Mozarre is now, a hollow vessel filled with a singular purpose, one twisted with hatred and malice. The only enduring trait that can be consistently seen is an enduring silence when angry or alone, a silence that is both unnerving and engulfing. A silence that threatens to consume everything.

Yet despite his own malleability, Mozarre abhors falsities, seeing his own as simply a necessary sacrifice for his revenge. For in this corrupt and ugly world, the falsities permeate through are yet another blemish on a heavily marred surface. Those who hide behind fickle ideals and worthless construct, deserve as much punishment as those fraught with failure, as falsities beget hypocrisy and illustrate a fall sense of strength. The falseness that tarnishes this world is nothing more than a barricade others hide behind in their desperate attempt to hide their weakness and remain “good” and “pure.” Mozarre, for all his own hypocrisies, wants to cut down that wall and reveal the bitter reality outside. In his twisted fight for revenge, showing the world how weak it really is, how much of a failure society truly is. When the wall comes crashing down, everyone will lay amongst the ashes of the Fiordilatte family.

For behind all the charades, behind all the bold almost noble claims, everything comes second to Mozarre’s twisted desire for revenge. If he has to he is more than willing to throw aside any attempts to make the Hunters stronger, embrace falsities, betray the strong. For at the end of the day all Mozarre truly desire is someone to burn for his revenge. The world can rot, hell can freeze over, God can die, but someone must be held accountable for the destruction of his family. Someone must pay for the sins of this world, the hunters and their academies being the obvious target. But they are all but one part of a twisted world that deserves to burn, and whoever it is that ends up paying, they need to suffer.

They must be broken, shattered and burnt. For regardless of how much pain Mozarre must suffer up till that point. They sinners must all die.

And it will be a slow and arduous death.

Appearance:


Mozarre’s most distinguishing feature is the perpetual half mask that adorns his face. Gunmetal, almost black in colour, the metallic mask serves a purpose beyond obscuring his identity. It hides the extensive burns running down the left side of his body. Indeed, the primary reason for the mask is to remain unblemished in the eyes of the world, but more importantly to avoid painful reminders of his own failures.

Still, he hasn’t completely abandoned the past, whenever he is faced with doubt, Mozarre makes sure to direct his attention to either the small pendant around his neck, a silver medallion emblazoned with the name Napoli Fiordilatte over his family crest, or the intricate tattoo reading Fiordilatte on his left shoulder. A tattoo, Mozarre made sure was inscribed on top of the burns, so that he might feel the physical pain of moving forward.

In terms of physicality, at just over 6 feet, Mozarre looms over many would-be assailants and carries himself with upright yet somber posture. His lips seem to alternate from a drab scowl, to a sadistic smile, to a calculating and malicious grin. Messy blonde hair curls and falls across his face, contrasting the rest of his outfits: dark clothing with light armour comprised of the same material as his mask. His swords generally rest on opposite sides of his waist.

History: Mozarre Casumarzu was not born a monster. Well, he wasn’t born a complete monster. On the contraire, he was born Napoli Fiordilatte, the legitimate heir to the wealthy and prosperous Fiordilatte family. Heads of a massive trade conglomerate centralized in Mistral, the Fiordilatte family drew its strength from both new and old money. As the heir, Napoli was groomed to be a refined gentlemen, one with proficient in both mind and body. A strong intellectual backing with a strong martial prowess created the ideal Fiordilatte head.

Thus Napoli was trained by the finest tutors around, prestigious Hunters and Huntresses, esteemed academics, wealthy merchants, if they could be bought by money, Napoli would receive their training. In addition, Napoli’s own father personal groomed him to understand his place in the world, helping him understand how high his stature was compared to the lowly bastards serving as serfs in the household. That since it was the job of the Fiordilattes to properly lead the bastards and ensure economic tranquility, they of course maintained full control over all those beneath them.

While he may not have been as heavy handed as his father, Napoli had few qualms in carrying out this commandment. Making sure to adequately punish those that stepped out of line, and ensure a continued prosperity in the household. An unforeseen side effect however, was the growing ill will festering in the household. This all came to a breaking point, when the Grimm, having been drawn by the negativity, attacked.

The ensuing chaos saw Napoli thrown into real combat for the first time in his life. Suddenly his techniques with a rapier, designed for honorable duels against humans, were worthless. Staving off the sheer number of Grimm required tools designed for cutting and slicing, not the piercing his rapier provided him. Yet despite the hopelessness of the situation, Napoli was forced to fight on, even without formal training as a Hunter, sheer grit and determination carried him through the battle. Even if he wasn’t able to save anyone else, he was determined to save himself.

It was during this battle, that Napoli stumbled across his two erstwhile companions: Arsene and Mercutio. The two sabers were locked away in a family vault, a vault no longer secure when the Grimm broke in. The blood of their last wielder, Napoli’s father, still pooled around the hilts. It appeared his father had took shelter in the vault while the family guards gave their lives. It was a shelter that had proven short lived, for when the Grimm broke in, those sabers were of little use in the hands of an unskilled wielder.

Napoli however, intended to be different, utilizing the family heirlooms to their full effect, cutting through swathes of Grimm in a desperate attempt for freedom. For the Grimm, incapable of higher thought, had made one crucial mistake in their attack. To a surrounded enemy, you must leave a way of escape. For when forced to flee, even a cornered rat can use its fangs. And Napoli, had found new fangs in the rubble.

For the first time in his life, the young heir would taste blood, blood he himself had spilt onto the battlefield. Through the chaos, all his surroundings faded and he found himself cutting not just through the Grimm, but through his past, his present, and even his future. The path he was now carving out was one soaked in blood, a path there was no turning back from. Napoli Fiordilatte was about to die.

And then, it all came crashing down.

In the midst of his onslaught, the supports, having caught fire far earlier, finally gave way.

The next moment, Napoli Fiordilatte had been buried under the flames along with the rest of his family and the surviving Grimm.

When a crew of Hunters finally arrived on the scene, they only found corpse after corpse, and the body they pulled from the rubble, was no longer Napoli Fiordilatte. That boy, that heir to so much fortune, died long ago. Now there was nothing more than a vessel with a single, flaming question ignited by the burns all along his left side:

“Where had they been?”

“Where had the Hunters been, when they needed them most?”

It was a question that plagued the lad for the coming months as he sat on the hospital bed, his few remaining funds dwindling away from the expenses and the resulting collapse of his family’s conglomerate.

On that fateful day, the day they needed them most, the Hunters had failed to arrive.

Their failure, cost the Fiordilattes everything.

As he sat on that bed, he could feel Mercutio and Arsene beckoning, calling for their master to spill blood once more. Napoli Fiordilatte may have died, but a new man was coming into existence, a man that saw the world and its many, many failures for what they were. A man borne from an everlasting desire for revenge. A man that was determined to cull the world of its weaklings. A man honorbound to shatter the chains of their subjugation. A man destined to destroy the complacency left in Remnant after the Great War. For when the symbol of strength had proven itself a failure, a new world order was necessary, one that could ensure humanity’s victory in the game of life.

On that day, Mozarre Casumarzu came into being.

Upon leaving the hospital Mozarre used what few remaining contacts he had to completely erase all traces Napoli Fiordilatte’s survival. Mozarre ensured that in the eyes of the world, the Fiordilattes had been completely wiped out that day. Afterall, Mozarre did not want to besmirch his family’s good name on his bloody quest for vengeance. If he was going to ensure the destruction of all weakness in the Hunters, he would have to get bloody, and that was not a place for a Fiordilatte.

For the first year, Mozarre trained. He learned the art of war and adapted his martial prowess to his new blades. He learned to dismantle and reassemble them with his eyes closed, and he learned to decapitate an Ursa with a single blow. He learned the movements of Grimm, and weaknesses of Humans. He learned the nature of Aura and the strength of his semblance. Perhaps most importantly, he learned to bend others to his will. A silver tongue honed for economic deals was just as useful in the Mistrali Underworld.

As a result of his training, rumors soon began to surface about a Masked Devil slaughtering Grimm throughout the land. Rumors, that Mozarre made sure to cultivate, for a key part in carrying out his revenge was teaching the world how weak the current generation of Hunters had become. How docile all of Remnant had become during its cultivation of weakness. If a single man could destroy the Grimm, then why did the Hunters fail so often.

The answer, of course, was because they were weak.

As the rumors continued to spread, Mozarre began taking on jobs to hunt Grimm for local villages that could ill wait for Hunters to arrive. Using this money, he began funding his own agenda, and even purchased an upgrade in Redwood for Mercutio and Arsene. This upgrade was named Scapino.

Similarly he began investing money into multiple hideouts throughout Remnant, began cultivating contacts within the criminal underground. Particularly with the many Mistrali Mafia families, many of which were more than eager to hire a skilled swordsman to eradicate any “pests” that may have popped up in their line of work. Needless to say Mozarre had no qualms in taking on these requests, killing someone still furthered his agenda of bringing this world to it’s knees. The more successful the criminal families grew, the more the weak suffered. The more powerful their legions, the more deadly they were to the hunters that tried to intervene. Through crime, and the spreading of chaos, Mozarre’s twisted revenge was coming to fruition. The unsuccessful, the liars, the coddled and the weak, were suffering under his hands.

It was a wonderful feeling.

The next year Mozarre stepped up his game after having accrued significant financial savings during his work. First of all, Mozarre began using his underworld contacts to acquire information on capable assassins and hired guns willing to work unsavoury jobs with the utmost discretion. Similarly, he began distributing rumors in the underworld, about a new power willing to handsomely reward those who achieved success. In these rumours, the validity of hidden letters and messages became apparent.

In addition, at this point, Mozarre was rather high ranking in many of the organizations he had infiltrated, and began to set plans of consolidation years down the line. Of course, this would only become his game when Mozarre revealed himself to the world. However, for that inevitable day, Mozarre continued to seek out other parties potentially willing to align themselves to his “cause.” It didn’t matter whether they were in Mistral or Vacuo, if they were strong and successful, Mozarre would be willing to add to him his banner.

In the years to come, as Mozarre prepared for this day, he began to assemble a coalition of his own. Under his employ were freelancers, mercenaries and all manner of criminals. The sole criteria was that they didn’t fail, for anyone who botched a single mission or showed even a small sign of weakness was killed. Of course, very few of those in his employ have ever seen Mozarre, as the man still operates entirely from the shadows, leaving hidden letter and messages for those who know what to look for. As he works to break down the Hunters, Mozarre has blended himself into even more organization, none of them any wiser about his own “extracurriculars.” Still, every now and then, rumors abound about a failed hunter team being eradicated at the hands of a Masked Devil.

This attacks are generally swift and vicious, and most often occur after a team has failed a mission. The victims range from Haven academy graduates to Signal freshman, age and location are irrelevant, Mozarre simply strikes at those he deems a failure. Still, every now and then, he lets one or two members escape if he feels that they succeeded at what they desired. Be that protecting their comrades or simply making lots of money.

However this should not be construed with mercy, or even a sense of honor. For while Mozarre might be willing to spare people every now and then, he still often enough feels so consumed by range that he will destroy them anyway. For instance he once fought against a team of recent Haven graduates. Working in tandem with a hired assassin, Mozarre had little trouble dealing with two of the members, but the other two, a sword wielding otter of justice and her leader with terrible taste in fashion, proved far more troublesome. Even with the added help from his assassin, Mozarre had to admit that those two were strong, that they were successful.

And yet, his rage continued to burn.

With the same ferocity he showed the Grimm on that fateful night, Mozarre cut down the wine themed team from Haven. Their blood was added to the pool offered in repentance to his family. They became just two more corpses on his hands, paying for the sins of this miserable and weak world.And even now, Mozarre continues on his mad quest for revenge. He continues to grow his strength, so that one day he may douse the world in blood so that only the strong may survive.

Mozarre will bring about a reckoning.

Name: Amaranth "Amy Desire" Desree

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Race: Half-Faunus

Affiliation: Herself. Most find her to be a little too unstable for their liking.

Weapon: Demented Edge
While her particular method of seeing does have its perks, it doesn't have the sheer range of light assisted vision. Her weapons have been replaced with some focused more on close range combat. The shield and spear of the Unchained Fury are still stored in their ordinary sleeves, which seldom (if ever) leave Amy's arms, but instead of rotating gun barrels their folding panels hold foot long daggers, kept devilishly sharp and able to be launched or flicked into her hands with merely a thought and a gesture.

The color of the sleeves is still the bluish grey of the original Fury, but the tint is blotched with crimson, the shine dulled by years of use without cleaning or polishing.

Semblance: Wild Eyes
Heightening to unheard of levels to compensate for her blindness, Amy's Semblance has gone from being a mere amplification of her ordinary senses to a sense of its own. While active (and it nearly always is), Amy can hear everything nearby from the racing heartbeat of a loner walking through an alley to the soft flutter of an owl's wings, smell sweat from meters away, and differentiate marble from limestone by touch alone. Replacing her vision is a sort of electrolocation. By generating small electric fields, Amy can perceive the world around her... And "see" the weak fields generated by the nervous systems of all living things nearby. Her semblance is her vision, her world, and her most potent hunting tool.

Additionally, her perception of time can be slowed down even more--compensating for the short range of her "sight" in deflecting attacks.

Personality: Amy’s life has stripped her of any illusions regarding the nature of humanity and its conventions, and the loss of her vision has stripped her mind of most of her remaining inhibitions. She's perfectly willing to kill, steal, and sleep her way to whatever she wants... And most of her wants are the desires of a barely lucid, vindictive mind terrified of being alone. The lives of others no longer have meaning for her, nor does her own. Often, the only thing preventing her from killing someone who threatens to leave her... Is that paintings make poor conversation partners.

Appearance: Amy looks much the same as she did during her time at Beacon, superficially. Her hair is still the same short crimson spikes, and if anything her number of rusty feathers has only increased. Her lips are the same full red, under the same small nose, with the same spackle of freckles. Her body is still the same work of art, toned and kept carefully to its maximum beauty--though her motions are more tired, her expressions more stressed and more depressed. Her face is a little more wan, as well... And if you look where her soft blue eyes used to be, you'll see nothing but a bandage covering empty sockets.

History: Amy's life progressed nearly exactly the same as her normal counterpart's, up until one single, solitary, tiny event: the touch of a pencil on the C slot on a multiple choice question instead of an A. That one changed guess meant Amy passed her Beacon entrance exam, getting assigned to the team CADE Cascade, with a certain old friend. Fast forward a few weeks, to that old friend standing her up for a date. Being forced to face her the next day, not having a team of fellow rejects and failures to fall back on, feeling completely and totally alone, meant another single, solitary event was changed. The point of the Fury, hurtling toward Quina's face, was not deflected... Not in time, destroying the other girl's eyes and killing her. Forcing tears back and running away, fleeing into the Emerald Woods and hiding while search parties looked for her, Amaranth pulled herself together...

Long enough to realize that she'd killed her best and only friend, lost her chance at becoming a Huntress, and was now being hunted.

She ran once more, into the city proper, disappearing into the populace and taking on her former occupation once more. But this time... This time she couldn't be too public, couldn't appear near figures of power... She was reduced to waiting on the sides of streets, hoping to make scant change in the shadiest way possible, until justice finally caught up with her in the form of two hired thugs. She was happy--hopeful, even--when they informed her that Quina had survived, only losing her vision... But those hopes were dashed when they turned out to be men sent by a vengeful father. They gouged out her eyes, in recompense...

And as she lay in a pool of her own blood, clutching at empty sockets... like a blinded glass bird flying toward a thousand crystal spikes far below, her mind shattered. No longer would she be the Hunted. Now, she was a Huntress, of a completely different sort. They thought of her as a murderer, so... She'd become one. Her new semblance proved to be perfectly suited to stalking and murdering in the dark, the only trace of her after each slaying a fresh painting of the slain's face in blood over the body of the victim, done by touch.

People might leave you... But paintings have no legs on which to walk out.

Theme song


Name: Krysthane, "Hellhound"

Age: 21

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Affiliation: White Fang/Self


Wyrm Carapace: A mix of weapon and armor, this is a full body suit that encompasses Krysthane. This armor bears an apocalyptic look and appears to be the body of some long dead beast. This unique armor can fire powerful flames from anywhere, as a form of attack and transportation. The flames can vary between extreme heat and force, which allows her decide when to burn someone in the face with it, or send herself flying through the air. The intensity of the flames and the ability to propel herself in any direction allows Krysthane to attack relentlessly and dodge most attacks with ease while continuing her assault. The spikes act as a powerful deterrent for any who would dare to fight her in hand to hand combat, as well as giving her another form of ranged attack. In addition you can always count on her having several varieties of explosives with her.

Semblance: Fuel For The Fire. Krsthane's entirely alternate development has lead in a semblance more fitting for her new style, rather than applying the pressure she feels onto others, she gains power from them. Krysthane gains power from many things. Primarily she gains power from attacks against her, anger, fear, even fire and semblances used against her. She does not absorb them per say, but Krysthane feeds off them. She not only gains physical strength and speed, but even wounds she has will heal as she gains more and more 'fuel'. The effects of this take several hours to wear off, though she will eventually return to her natural state these enhanced attributes also give her a sort of high similar to adrenaline but more extreme.

Personality: Krsythane is a brutal sort of person that cares more for herself than anything else. She enjoys fire to a maniacal degree. To a lesser extent she also enjoys the heat of battle. Her only concern is with her personal enjoyment and savagely destroying anything that gets in the way of that. Preferably with fire. Lots of fire. She's not much for planning, much preferring to jump headlong into things. Krysthane is by no means normal, she never takes of her armor and is constantly thinking of what to set on fire next. The intense aura she gives off at all times marks her apart from your average street person.

History: Krysthane grew up rather differently. Rather than her mother surviving the accident the criplled her she died, and her father dropped out of his hunting career. Of course her father was by no means honorably discharged. His severe drinking problem as a result of his wife's death lead to endangerment of his teammates: he was forced to retire. This drinking problem also inevitably lead to the chronic abuse of his daughter. Krysthane bore through this as best she could, most of the time by simply not being at home as much as possible. Though in his brief moments of soberness her father did teach her what aura was and the basics of using it. She acquired a hatred of hunters from her fathers maltreatment and threw in her lot with a local gang with a certain dislike towards hunters as well.

Beside regular ruffian behavior that would vandalize the homes of hunters or ex-hunters with specific malice. The gang was actually funded by the White Fang and so was surprisingly advanced. The explosive expert to a particular liking to Krysthane's zeal and adopted her as an apprentice of sort. She quickly grew to love the careful work of setting up the explosives than retreating to a safe distant and watch the always impressive boom and the fire that resulted from it. In addition she made friends with some of the other more experienced members and learned the ins and outs of fighting over several years.

Eventully Krysthane explained her own issues to her mentor and he agreed to help her take care of it. The next day her father's cheap apartment had a small explosion occur and burnt to the ground with him in it. Krysthane gave a sigh of relief as she watched the fire from the top of a far away building. She was finally free. She spent several years with the gang, eventually becoming an influential member. The White Fang divulged had been developing a special combat suit for high ranking members and wanted the gang to test it out. The reason for this was that the gang's affiliation with the White Fang wasn't well known so it was unlikely to be traced back to them.

Unfortunately there was a mole in the gang and the shipment was found out. At the pick up location they were ambushed by a heavily armed police force. Naturally Krysthane did the only sensible thing and put on the suit on while her teammates held them off. The suit combined with Krysthane's half developed semblance allowed her to fight off the police force. Unfortunately due the well organized ambush she was the only one who made it out alive. After this she used the suit and further developed her semblance to became a one woman army. She still received missions from the White Fang every now and then but most of the chaos she caused was off her own imagining. Krysthane struck without rhyme or reason, only taking money when she needed to fix her suit or get more explosives. But she always left the scene of the crime in blazes.

Dust in the Wind by Kansas

Robert sat at the kitchen table of his home, staring at his old wrinkled hands as they shook uncontrollably. It’d been more than 80 years since he graduated Beacon, and he was ready to rest. Pushing back the chair and grabbing his cane, the now gray haired Robert began to slowly walk towards the staircase.

As he approached the first step, he looked at some of the many pictures that decorated the walls. The first two were of his graduation from Beacon. One, of him and his friends all holding their certificates, everyone smiling. Even the infamously pessimistic Abel had a slight grin. The other, was of him kissing Priscilla. When Team JMCL found her on their mission, it was the happiest day of his life. Robert looked back at the steps and sighed, “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten a two story house.”

One hand gripping at the rail, the other on his cane, Robert made the arduous task of lifting his foot high enough to reach the first step. “Ah, remember how full of life we used to be in our younger days, sweetheart,” he said as he looked back at the wall full of pictures. The one he saw now was of his wedding day. “You probably would if you were still here,” Robert said, a tear coming to his eye as he struggled to remember when it was that Priscilla’s heart finally gave out. “I wish I could.” He was referring to his mental illness. About ten years ago, Robert had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, his memories were always fading away. People, places, events. Very few were left in the old man’s mind. He continued up the steps.

“Halfway… there,” he groaned. Robert was beginning to lose his breath. He began to have a coughing fit, barely able to continue standing. When he pulled his hand from his mouth, he saw spots of blood. “There goes my lung. Hahah-” More coughing. Looking to his left, he saw what pictures were near him now: The day his kids were born. “R- Robert Jr. and… and… Dammit don’t forget your kids’ names!” he cried. “‘L.’ It started with an ‘L’... Lilly! It was Lilly.” He smiled. He hadn’t forgotten. They were still there. “Okay, let’s go.”

Only a few steps away from the top floor now, the dying man looked at where he was on the timeline of photos to his left. It was a photo of him with his friends again, this time for their Beacon Reunion Party. “Shiro always did throw the best parties… or was that Gren? Oswald maybe?” Robert shrugged, ignored the loud ‘pop’ that his shoulders had just made while doing so, and finally stepped off those god awful stairs.

Finally, he was nearing the bedroom. “Took me long enough. Hah-” More coughing, more blood. “Ah, and there goes the other lung.” Lifting the sheets, he climbed into the bed and turned to look at the nightstand beside him. The top of it was filled to brim with pill bottle after pill bottle, with only one thing not being made of the white and orange plastic container. Another picture, this one of his entire family. Him, Priscilla, Robert Jr. and his wife and kids, and Lilly with her husband and kids. Robert didn’t even bother trying to remember their names. “I don’t think I could keep their names straight even before I was diagnosed.” He picked up the small portrait and pressed it up to his chest. He closed his eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he began to fall to a sleep that he would not be waking from.