My character archive!

If you like one, let me know ;3 Im always more than happy to 1x1 with someone.

Name: Sally Cameron Rosswood

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Disorders: Borderline Personality Disorder, OCD, CIP (Congenital Insensitivity to Pain)

Position: Student, Junior.

Appearance: Sally has a very emo, or maybe even grunge, appearance, despite her absolute disgust with the terms. Her naturally white blonde hair is kept short, mostly because she doesn't care to do anything with it. It constantly falls into her dark eyes, hiding them from view. She's roughly 5'6" and the last time she checked, she weighed 113 lbs. She tends to wear light, no frills clothing, in colors like tan, white, and pink. The effect actually makes her stand out more due to her pale complexion. Her lips are constantly scrapped and chapped from her biting them and from her flicking her lip piercing.

Personality: Because she suffers so severely from her Borderline, Sally's personality fluctuates like a water facet. Some days, when she's having a good day, she's upbeat and cheerful and playful. She pretty much act like a fifteen year old from a cheesy anime. She will help anyone, she'll write all day, drink all night, and giggle at everything. She's particularly loving and affectionate, trying to lift everyone's moods.

On a bad day, she typically resemble an ad for lithium. She doesn't want to do anything, she drifts off into space and she sleeps for days at time. She get paranoid on these days, and also she often turns into a bit of a bitch. She tends to get severely depressed, and its on these days that she becomes the most reckless, all concern for safety gone.

Despite the kind of day, she cares intensely about people. Always present is her underlying concern for others before herself, her use of sarcasm as a defense, and her ever present gentleness.

Interests: Sally has major interests in classical art, loud music, and dangerous activities She enjoys coffee, dark chocolate, and energy drinks, mostly because they make her adrenaline highs that much better. She likes sunsets, and getting wildly drunk/high at crazy parties. Got something potentially self destructive? Sally would be interested. She is interested in mechanical things, liking to work with her hands more often than not.

Dislikes: She has an intense dislike of being stared at, and hates being touched without permission, or unless drunk. She has never been good at German, in fact sucking so bad that it's rather a bit of a miracle that she is in German IV. She despises athletics and the whole world surrounding them. Medication is her enemy, and she does whatever she can to avoid taking them. Preppy girls and guys, like the kinds that form the school's various clicks, annoy her to no end. The way they speak... The way they look... It's enough to drive her crazy. She avoids several things, including mushrooms, raisins, homework, and her parents.

Hobbies: Motorcycles, painting, and writing are some of Sally's main hobbies. She got into motorcycles because it gave her the kind of reckless adrenaline high she loves, and the painting helps clear the half formed thoughts and racing ideas. Writing has become a good way to expelled the sudden flashes of depression she suffers.

Strengths: Sally has a strong sense of intuition, and she can usually sense when something really bad is about to happen. This has helped keep her out of things that have evolved to shootings, drug busts, and police raids. She is exceptionally organized, and can find anything on a moment's notice. Her system tends to go by color, though sometimes she is left with no choice but to use an alphabetic system.

Weaknesses: Even though she does not consider it so, her CIP is a major weakness. Because she cannot feel pain, she has no idea when to stop. She has frequently gotten cut and nearly bled out because of this. She doesn't know when her bones are broken, when anything is sprained, and so she tends to make the injury worse by continual use of the limb, until it becomes swollen and purple, and the damage becomes visually noticeable.

History: Sally was born the daughter of a senator and an established art curator. Both parents were overjoyed at her arrival in their lives, and for many years, everything was good. She was a normal child with a sweet disposition, always concerned more for others than herself. She was a musical talent when given a violin, and her parents were beyond proud to have her. She fulfilled every desire that they had ever dreamed of, and quite a few they didn't. In elementary school, she proved to be a genius as well as gifted. She was always standing out in class, helping the other students understand their work, and she was well loved on the playground. Teachers and class mates alike loved her. She was playful and happy, the best she could be.

Entering middle school, teachers had heard stories of the prodigy Sally. She had high expectations to fill, and she did so wonderfully. She soared through her classes with an ease few possessed in adolescence. She was far above what anyone had heard of her. It was in middle school that she discovered she couldn't feel pain. With her childhood being the way it was, she never had a chance to be injured. She was protected and sheltered, and her parents took extra care in raising her. During a class hike, Sally slide down a ledge, breaking her right arm. Despite being able to physically see the damage caused by her fall, Sally was more fascinated than anything else. While everyone was busy trying to rush her down the mountain and get her to the hospital, Sally was busy internally freaking out. Her broken arm was her her sawing arm, her music arm. How would she be able to play!?

But a different thought intruded then, and from that moment on, Sally was a different person. How am I supposed to live? After having her arm taken care of, Sally's parents rushed into her room to check on her. At first, she seemed alright to them, smiling and assuring them she was okay. But the moment her mother reached to touch her, Sally changed abruptly, slapping her hand away with an irritated huff. Her parents were shocked, and rather upset, with Sally's abrupt change. The doctor interrupted before the conflict could ensue, but as he began his checkup, he began to notice that the girl was in no pain. Concerned, he began to ask her what hurt, what didn't. In response, Sally had shrugged and answered, "Nothing really hurts, Doc. I feel fine."

The doctor came to a quick conclusion; Sally had CIP, a rare disorder that caused the brain to become insensitive to signals of pain from her nerves. After a few more questions, the doctor had growing concerns. The girl that had come into the hospital had been sweet; the young teen before him was bouncing between rude and simply indifferent. He pulled her parents aside and explained that he'd like to have Sally speak to a psychiatrist. On occasion, patients who had discovered an previously unknown disorder from a completely unrelated trip to the hospital became unable to cope with the disorder. Her parents agreed immediately.

A few weeks passed, and Sally's moods began to become increasingly erratic. She would be happy and cheerful one moment and a snarky bitch the next. She would burst into tears at the littlest things and she became withdrawn. Finally, the results came back from the psychiatrist. Sally had developed an extreme case of Borderline Personality Disorder. The Psychiatrist theorized that it had began manifesting due to Sally's shock at her lack of pain. Then he gave her parents the worst of the news: she showed signs of possible self hatred, which could lead to self harm. In addition to her other disorder, this could be an even more deadly mix than he had ever come across. He recommended an immediate prescription for Sally, saying that she needed to kept under close watch.

Over the next few years, Sally became increasingly difficult for her parents. She refused to hear her name, insisting she be addressed by her middle name alone. Her impulse control failed and she began sneaking out to get high with her new friends, a crowd of alcoholics and druggies. Her parents were feeling a strain on their marriage due to their daughters wildness, and they began to fight and blame one another for their daughter's disorders. They began to fight so often, that they forgot to pay attention to Cameron. Which was when she began motocross racing. She was awful at it, wrecking constantly, and by the time her parents caught on, she'd broken her arm twice. By her junior year, she was intentionally hurting herself, doing stupid things for the rush, and her parents had had enough. In trouble with the school for ditching, in trouble with the city for vandalizing, Cameron was ordered into the therapy program after classes.

Class Schedule:
1. Calculus
2. Civics
3. German IV
4. Lunch
5. Honors English
6. Creative Writing
7. Choir

Medications: She is supposed to be taking Depakote, but she usually throws the pills away.

Optional Theme Song: (Because I'm a dork)

Name: Desdemona Keller

- Pronunciation: (Dez-dëy-mōn-uh)

Nickname(s): Just Desdy

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Race: Banshee, Siren class.

Height: 5'7"

Weight: 130lbs

Build of Body: Her frame is delicate underneath her curves, and she has long limbs, all ending in a delicate set of digits. Everything about her figure screams "fragility". Her face is round, almost oval in shape, and her facial features are delicate and soft.

Skin Color: A translucent and creamy white, with an almost permanent blush.

Eye Color: A vivid and electric blue, similar to the color of the ocean when it's calm.

Hair: Deep, vibrant red the color of lycoris, or maybe the color of brilliant red roses and long, usually tangled, waves that fall down to the center of her back, curling slightly at the bottom.

Scars: Across the backs of both hands, she has has light pink scars in swirling patterns, carved into them long ago. They match the ones across her cheek and forehead.

Distinguishing Physical Features: The darkened skin around her eyes, a similar shade to her hair, is the only noticeable feature in the light. However, the moment the sky begins to darken, or when she walks into an unlit room, her pale skin begins to glow from the inside, similar to that of a deep sea creature's bioluminescence.

Style

Typical Upper Body Wear:
1. Simple, ruffled blouses in dark hues
2. Dark tunics, belted at the waist
3. A tight, leather armoured vest is always beneath her shirt, just in case.

Typical Lower Body Wear:
1. Long, billowy pants, usually black
2. Thick leggings, usually bound around her calves.
3. A pair of leather grieves always guard her legs.

Typical Winter Attire:
1. A long purple cloak made of heavy material with a short, fur lined cape to top it.
2. A pair of men's trousers over her usual leggings.
3. A long sleeved tunic belted at the waist, lined with fur.

Typical Shoes:
1. Usually, she wears a pair of skin tight, soft leather boots, with a flat bottom. Heels don't allow for running easily.
2. When indoors, she relinquishes her boots for a pair of soft, slipper style shoes.

Typical Outerwear
1. Her only outerwear not reserved for winter is her lightweight purple cloak, which she constantly wears with the hood raised.

Weapons and Armour
1. Although she strongly opposes violence, Desdy carries a small Celtic style dagger in a holster on her thigh.
2. In addition to her daily, leather under armour, Desdy possesses a full set of battle armour from her time as an indentured soldier.

Personality: At her core, Desdemona is gentle and serious. She has a great sense of humor, but rarely applies it to her actual conversations. She is generally straight forward, always answering questions with absolute conviction. She is generally very open to people, except when her past is touched upon. She has no difficulties trusting people at face value, but once her trust is broken. It is rarely earned again. She is loyal to the end, and if you earn her friendship or love, she would never willingly abandon you.

Temperament: Although she is generally a peaceful, and frankly sweet, person, she has been known to flare up and become a force of anger unlike any other. Although she has a playful side that she displays in private, she is polite and calm around people in public.

Nervous tics: When under stress or particularly nervous/anxious, Desdy tends to tap her fingers at a fast pace against her thigh. If she is near the point of a meltdown, she will cross her arms and bounce on her heels while darting her eyes around the space she is in, looking for the best exit.

General attitude: Serious, calm, and polite describe Desdy perfectly. Her attitude in public is generally restrained, giving her a cold, almost aloof mask. Though, contradictory to the previous, she tends to be nearly submissive to the wishes of others, following any order or request made to her, given the person is not forceful about it.

Dislikes: Desdemona hates violence intensely. Her whole philosophy is against it, in one way or another, though she is a skilled fighter. She has a rather strong dislike for overly touchy people, and she really does not like being asked about her past. Bitter tasting drinks, sour foods, and dresses all make their way onto her list of irritating things, as does arrogance, argumentive behaviour, and being talked down to. She also dislikes riding horseback, something she never seems able to escape doing. She finds war distasteful, and feels no shortage of disgust for those who profit off it. Bright colors often hurt her oversensitive eyes, so she tends to shy away from them. She stays away from crowded areas, because of the headache she gets due to the constant noise. Being touched without consent is also a big no no for her, and she does not enjoy being stared at.

Hobbies: Desdy has never had a real chance to develop any hobbies, but now that she is in Etirath, she hopes to find enough peace to allow this.

Likes: Though her list of dislikes is long enough, her list of interests is surprisingly lacking. She has a vague interest in music, and intends to try to learn to play one of the many instruments she's heard in her travels. She likes to try different kinds of foods as well, something that was actually brought to her attention through her travels. She has a love of dark colors, and has a near child-like joy in being able to travel on her own/with a companion of her choosing.

Personal motto: "Even though it's the easiest way out, violence is a last resort."

Etiquette: Desdy's manners are, if not perfect, the closest thing to perfect they could be. She is rather hesitant still, when dealing with others, and tends to be submissive to others' cultural practices.

Outlook on Life: Despite her experiences, Desdy tries to have a good outlook. She is certain the future is brighter than her past, and she is determined to run to the light that is waiting for her.

Morality: Because of the same experiences that shaped her outlook, she possesses a strong sense of morality. She could never strike someone as they turned their back, nor could she ever hurt an unarmed party. She believes highly in equality between sexes, as well as between social classes.

Intellectual Characteristics

Intelligence Level: Though she never had any true schooling, her level of intelligence is slightly higher than average. Her knowledge is mostly gained through experience, and therefore more permanently ingrained in her.

Manner of Writing: It shames her to admit it, but though she can read, her writing is atrocious. Her handwriting is the main issue, being illegible at best.

Extremely Unskilled At: Though she moves easily and almost beautifully in combat, she has absolutely no other grace, which in turn leads to a complete inability to dance, or sometimes, even walk. This lack of grace causes her to have trouble staying on a horse as well.

Abilities/Skills

Logical: One of Desdy's strongest abilities is that of simple common sense. She knows how to look at a situation and come to the quickest decision on if she should interfere, if she should run away, or if she should stand her ground.

Artistic: Desdy has artistic talents, though she has yet to explore them. In the past, when she could get her hands on some ink and paper, she had proven to be rather talented with creating portraits.

Musical: Although it activates her "gift" far too often, one of her true talent is, ironically, singing. Her voice, usually soft and full of tenderness, becomes both strong and emotional, captivating everyone who hears. She tends to use this to stun people and help avoid conflicts, as it has a fifty percent chance of throwing people off their guard.

Combat: Most of her skills reside in fighting. She is a strategist and a commander, with fast reflexes and an eye for weakness. If there's any to be noted, she will find it and use it the best she can. She has perfected fighting with her short sword, as with her knife, and although her technique is rather dirty and unhonorable, it has never failed to keep her safe. She has basic archery skills and has well enough aim, though she would never rely on it.

Magical: As a Siren class Banshee, Desdy was born with enhanced vocal cords that produce special vibrations. These vibrations cause shock waves, paralysis, internal bleeding, and temporary deafness, and sometimes permanent internal damage, though the effects differ from person to person, depending on the frequency and the opponent's own resistance levels. It works best, though, on humans. She also posses enhanced vision and hearing, which only serves to allow her to notice miniscule details and to see further distances and to give her headaches with greater frequency than any other race.

Sudden light changes, into extreme darkness and brightness, will temporarily blind Desdy. Overuse of her abilities will cause massive headaches and eventually nosebleeds. In the end, she will pass put from the exertion. She has a bit of difficulty controlling it when she is very emotional as well.

Physical: As a Banshee in general, she is gifted with increased speed and agility. She can run nearly as fast as any horse, and she is nearly impossible to land a blow on during a full blown battle. In one on one fights, she's a bit less agile, because she tends to focus harder on her opponents.

In exchange for her gift of speed, however, she is less resilient. It takes few hits/wounds to incapacitate her then it would a human.

Cooking: To her utter dismay, Desdemona is absolutely incapable of cooking anything edible. She intends to fix this in the near future.

Botany: One of the skills that Desdy picked up through "living in the field" during wartimes was botany. She can identify nearly every poisonous and medicinal plant, and she is capable of using them to their fullest extant.

Astrology: Desdy has memorized multiple star charts, in order to better navigate the world. In particular, she has memorized the star charts for ocean navigation, as she enjoys long trips out to sea.

She learned most of her navigation and botany skills from the older soldiers who took her in and helped "raise" her. She was forced into the kingdom's army at a very young age after the discovery of her abilities, and some of the older, more experienced soldiers were horrified to see such a small child being drafted. They took her under their wings, becoming fathers, mothers, and teachers to the girl.

There's a soft whisper as the fabric of the young woman's cloak drags across the dirt road. It is night, but the hood is still pulled up, an attempt to hide the bioluminescence of the woman's skin. She didn't need to alert the sentry to her attempted escape any sooner than was necessary. Thankfully, the bags thrown across her horse's saddle remained silent, the contents unmoving as the horse trotted forward slowly, matching it's rider's own pace. For once, it seemed that everything was going to go according to her plan, and she smiled as her feet moved silently, stealthily along the dirt path.

Until they didn't.

With a motion so graceless that it was almost beautiful, Desdemona Keller, the last Siren of Umara, tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face, her cloak billowing out around her. Her horse, who had become accustomed to the silence, reared up and neighed loudly before running at a gallop away from the camp. Not a moment after, the sentry in the watch tower lit his beacon and began to beat on the that hung next to it. The red haired woman scrambled to her feet, rushing after her horse, with the sound of raised shouts and pounding feet growing ever distant behind her.

And then she heard the horses. Damn it, of course they'd get the horses. It was the only way they'd be able to catch her.

With a rising panic, Desdy sped up, desperate to catch up with her horse, who had begun to slow, calming down now that it was in quieter pastures. Just as the sound of hooves pounding on the road began to echo closer, the siren reached her horse, grabbing ahold of the saddle and leaping up onto it, for once managing not to fall immediately off. Her horse took off like a shot, neighing loudly as it bolted down the road. She had picked the fastest horse from the stables for her escape, knowing they would probably chase her down, but they were still catching up with her. She felt a rush of panic, which she bit back fiercely. If it was a fight they wanted, it was a fight they'd get.

She drew her sword from it's sheath, her expression a cross between reluctance and determination. Fighting. Horseback. She had a sudden desire to just forfeit, to return to the emperor's camp and face her punishment. It passed quickly, however, and her expression settled on fierce as her first opponent drew up next to her, his sword raised to strike. She blocked it with her hilt, flicking her wrist to send his sword flying, and with the flat of her blade, she slapped the back of his head, effectively knocking him out.

Another rider pulled up on her other side, and she leaned back to avoid the thrust of his sword just as a third soldier rode up to the right again. She looked between the two quickly, her mind processing the possible outcomes. The one to her right carried a set of throwing knives as well as a regular sword, the one to her left, a regulation sword and a short sword. If she disarmed the one to her right and then focused on the one to her left, she would leave herself open to his knives. But if she spent too long trying to knock him off his horse or knock him out, the one to her left would certainly get at least one clean cut. With a sigh, she drew one of her two knives alongside her sword. She threw it to the left, where it buried itself in the rider's neck, and thrust her sword to the right, parrying the other's strike. The man chuckled and tried to disarm her, but she twisted her sword, and his blade glanced off hers. She thrusted, once, under his arm and winced as she felt the blade slice cleanly through the gap in his armour.

As she drew her now bloody blade back, the man pulled back on his horse's reigns, falling back as he held the wound on his side. He was quickly replaced, though, with yet another rider. She looked over her shoulder and paled. Thirteen more riders were closing in, but these weren't the typical riders. Dressed from head to foot in gun metal and black with horned helmets, these were the Drakken Riders. They were renowned throughout Umara for their ruthlessness and lack of humanity. The Emperor had sent his assassins and personal guard after her.

Which meant one of two things. He either thought she served no further purpose, in which case the Riders would kill her without hesitation, or he wanted her back like nothing else. If that were the case, the Riders would most likely hesitate to even harm her. She threw her attention back to the soldier riding alongside her and felt a small wave of shock. The rider next to her didn't have any weapons drawn, and in fact also seemed to have packed their possessions into the saddle bags. He gave her a flirtatious smile and waved with his fingers. "You didn't think I was going to let you go alone, did you, you little minx?"

"Endymion, what are you doing?! They'll kill you, you idiot!" A wave of panic and fear threatened to overwhelm her as her mentor steered his horse closer to hers, until the two were side by side. The older soldier's smile widened, and he shook his head, a bright light in his dark eyes.

"I'm not letting you leave alone, kid, and I think I've served his royal idiot for long enough. Thirty years of my life, wasted on this. I'm coming with you, Desdemona." The man tilted his head forward, one of the scars on his neck flashing above the collar of his uniform. Unlike Desdemona, who was a special forces soldier, Endymion was one of the legions, and a commanding officer at that. His uniform was brightly colored, even in the darkness, and was practically a flare declaring his newly traitorous state.

Behind them, the Riders were gaining. While she was uncertain of the possibility of them hurting her, she knew fully that they would kill Endymion. Traitors were not tolerated by the crown. Her mind was racing, working double time to try and come up with a plan that would allow them both to survive. With the Riders drawing nearer, she gave up trying to think. With only one option left, she took a deep breath and swiftly dismounted, Endymion's exclamation of surprise lost to the wind as she tumbled over the ground, her cloak wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. She rolled to her feet, her clock billowing out behind her, her hood flapping back. With her luminescent skin now visible to the Riders, they pulled back on their steads, trying to reign them in before it was too late.

For them, it was. Her feet planted shoulder width apart, her toes digging into the ground, and her shoulders back, her stance seemed to portray strength and defiance. She tilted her head forward briefly, touching her chin to the hollow of her chest as she did. When her head snapped back up, her eyes were narrow, angry, and the air around her trembled with raw energy she had collected for her attack. Too late, the Riders sensed the tremendous force swirling around the Siren. Hands clenched at her sides, she threw her head forward, a scream of pure rage ripped from her throat. The air in front of her pressurized and then expanded outward at a shocking speed, a wave carrying the ear piercing sound out in a wide spray. There was no chance to flee, no chance to duck below it as it hit the Riders.

The vibrations hit full force, rocking the metal clad riders back and off their steads. Several of the thirteen writhed on the ground, drawing their helmets off to clutch at their bleeding ears and noses, while several others laid still on the ground, occasionally twitching, paralyzed and unable to stem their own bleeding. Desdemona turned away, satisfied as she whistled for her horse. A wave of weakness flooded over her after her first step, the headache crashing down on her, nearly incapacitating her. She stumbled and continued on,frankly proud that she hadn't fallen on her face.

Trotting toward her at an easy pace, Endymion lead her horse by it's reigns, an unimpressed expression on his face. "Now, was that really necessary, you minx?"

"How else were we supposed to get away?" She stumbled again, her horse thankfully close enough for her to lean on for support. Her hair clung to the sides of her face and neck, sweat slicked as they now were, and she tried to push the mess of waves back. They fell forward and nearly covered her face in spite of her attempt, and she raspberries into her saddle, giving up as she slumped against it. Endymion gave her a soft smile and dismounted, walking around their horses to help her get back up.

"While I'm grateful, I'm sure there was some way other than- Desdemona, duck!!" She was sluggish, turning slowly to see the Rider behind her, sword raised and already swinging to cut her down. There was a flash of light in her eyes as her memories made themselves known in what was to be her final moments. She saw herself, a child of four, dancing in the shallow waves on the shoreline with her older brother Alexandru. Again, at six, her last happy memory of her parents, cuddling in their bed between them, their voices drifting over her and comforting her as she gave in to sleep. A flash of silver as the eleven year old version of her swung her new short sword, her mentor Endymion showing her how to properly wield it. The memory-pain of her throat burning after using her Siren powers for the first time in battle at the bequest of the emperor. At nineteen, screaming out her broken heart on the cliff at midnight, her first real desire for revenge against the emperor filling the space where the love she had just lost had once been. Twenty-two, her first escape attempt, that resulted in her being publicly lashed fifty times. Twenty-five, last year, opening the gift of her-

She felt a hard shove on her shoulder a moment before she hit the ground. She hadn't even settled on the ground when a warm spray of liquid showered over the woman. The silence was heavy as she looked over her shoulder, her brain unable to absorb the images her eyes fed to it. Endymion was laying down on the ground, their horses gone, and the Rider standing, chest heaving as he raised his now bloody sword and turned to her.

As it finally hit her, she felt her heart kick in her chest, a rush of anger and despair flooding her. She turned around, still on her knees and screamed, letting go as she threw all she had at the last standing Rider. Though he had survived her previous attack, she doubted that he would survive her current one. The Rider threw a hand up, projecting a field in front of him that bounced her shock wave off in different directions. Desdemona kept up her scream, slowly climbing to her feet, drawing up all of the energy she had left to take this one Rider out. The man was slowly pushed back, his outstretched hand slowly beginning to tremble as he strained against the Banshee's attack. As she advanced, slowly at first but then more surely as anger became the dominant emotion, she drew her remaining knife. With the last burst of energy she could muster, she threw the blade with expert marksmanship. With the power of her vocal vibrations rattling the knight's protective shield, the knife had no trouble shattering the brittle projection. The tip of the blade pierced his neck at the same moment that the last wave of her energy hit him, rupturing veining all over his body. He stood, paralyzed for a brief moment, before his failing body dropped to it's knees, hidden bruises blossoming under his armor. He fell forward, unconscious and soon to die, at the same moment that the Siren herself passed out from exertion.

Desdemona woke with a start minutes later, her horse nudging her lightly. It neighed in her ear, as though urging the exhausted woman to her feet. She pressed her hands to the ground, slowly moving until she was kneeling on all fours. Blood dripped from her nose down her chin, puddling on the ground. Her head was thick, foggy, and pounding like a drum. For a moment, it was all she could do to stay in that position, her breathing uneven and her internal system a wreck. The recovery from using her abilities to such an extant usually took days to recover from, though she had really only used them for maybe two minutes, total time. The horse nudged it's stunned master once more, partially kneeling for her to mount him. Though it took her far too long to do so, she managed to tug herself up and onto the saddle, laying across it as she was unable to sit.

She laid slack over the saddle, her horse waiting for her to steer it in any direction. With a weak hand, she grabbed onto the reigns and tugged once, leading her stead away from the remains of the battle and out of the valley. As he began to trot her toward freedom, they passed by Endymion's body. He looked peaceful to her tired eyes, but still wrong in his stillness. His eyes were shut, thankfully, and his fatal wound was not visible beneath his uniform. A clean slice to the chest, with barely any tearing of the clothing around it. If nothing else, she could tell his death would have been swift. Judging from the angle, she was certain he had died when the blade had severed his spinal cord.

Though she wished she could rest here long enough to regain the strength needed to bury his body, she knew that the emperor would notice soon enough that the Riders were taking far too long to apprehend her, and he would send more of the soldiers after her. There was no time to wait, especially not after her mentor had given his life for hers. He would curse her from the beyond if she wasted a single moment waiting here with his body. She patted her horse lightly on it's flank, her eyes feeling heavy as she turned them from the bloody scene behind her. She let them fall closed, whispering softly as she drifted away, "Take us away from here, Xavier. We'll come back... When it's time... When I'm strong enough... To kill the emperor."

Name: "Sir" Ian

Age: Unknown

Gender: Male

Species: Dragon

Appearance: When in his natural reptilian form, Ian stands about fifteen feet tall on all fours. He has a wingspan of roughly thirty feet, and is around twenty-two feet from head to tail. His scales are a glimmering white, which helps him blend into the northern snow that covers the land for three-fourths of the year. His wings have a distinctively ragged appearance, with three layerings of membrane on the inside, each layer engine in sharp spines. His eyes are an ice blue ringed in black. His back and tail are lined in those self same spines that edge his wings, with his tail being studded like a club.

In a mortal form, he stands at roughly six feet, with a knight's physique. His long hair is the palest blonde, usually pleated to keep it out of his way. He has the same ice blue eyes, set in a highly angular face.

Personality: Ian sees things differently in his mortal and reptilian forms.

Equipment: + Ian's black leather armour has been treated to withstand high temperatures and has a thin cover of violet and steel mesh overlaying it. His gauntlets and boots are fire forged steel with a thin inlay of crushed amythests. They serve no purpose really, but damn do they sparkle.

+ His shield is a standard steel piece painted with his rising dragon on an upturned crescent moon crest.

+ His two short swords are identical in appearance and are crafted of a lightweight variable of steel. Their hilts are wrapped tightly in black and violet mesh, to match his armour. They both end in a short tassel that hangs from the handle by a short chain. The blades are approximately 2'10".

+ His short dagger is roughly 8" in length, and has been designed to match his swords.

+The satchel is made of the same leather as his armour. Within it is enough food for roughly two days of travel, two full canteens of water, a few wet stones, a large rag, a flint, and a few bottles of unknown liquids. One is black, another a deep green, and the third is a violent violet. They are approximately 3" tall vials.

Ronin

Name: Fujiwara Yasu

Family: Born to the renowned Fujiwara clan, Yasu does not speak with his family.

Position: Second Ronin (Although 'Representative of the Shogun' could also be used here.)

Gender: Male.... Maybe? no one is actually sure. They just use male pronouns.

Age: 34

Appearance: Yasu has undeterminable looks. With long hair and androgynous features, no one is sure whether Yasu is male or female, only that he/she usually allows the pronouns "him" and "her" to be tossed about equally. He has dark eyes, nearly black in color. He is taller than the average Japanese citizen, standing at 5'11", and weighs only 144lbs. While not being wiry, Yasu is very slender, with an air of elegance in the way he carries himself.

Personality: Although a samurai, Yasu is truly a peaceful person. This was not always the case, but he has lived just long enough to understand that violence is not always the answer. He is soft spoken, generally, and always serious. He has great compassion, especially for the people of the province. He carries a heavy burden for the lives he takes, present in the form of guilt and a deep etched sorrow. Although he has been known to rise up and strike those who oppose him with a ferocity otherwise unknown, he prefers to be diplomatic. He, at the Shogun's behalf, has helped to form many alliances among the provinces.

At his core, he is a very fierce person, but he wields an iron fist over his fiery temper. He exudes knowledge and experience, so much so that many fall quiet when he approaches. When he speaks, it's with a great intensity, however soft it may sound. He is torn, in his soul, between his duty and his desperate need to preserve lives.

Weapon: Yasu wears the traditional daishō, a matching katana and o-wakizashi, despite his rare use of them. He prefers to settle matters as amicably as possible. Both of his blades are

Armor: Due to his extensive travels, Yasu has forged his own unique armor, in a combination of both traditional samurai armor and European armor. It's made of a lightweight metal, and beneath it, he wears

Years of Service: 18

History: Yasu was born into the Fujiwara clan, a prominent social climbing family. His family was constantly marrying off his sisters and cousins to prominent members of society, even to the previous shogun at one point. Even at the young age of six, Yasu disagreed with his family's way of life, positive that there was some other way to live. He spent many long and lonely days in the family library as a child, reading scroll after scroll until he stumbled upon one about samurais. At the time, he was ten years old, and had discovered that he possessed a deadly temper and an unmatched strength upon children his age. Finding this scroll felt like a sign to the boy, and he approached the subject with his grandfather, who at the time ran the clan.

With an anger rarely displayed by the elder, Yasu was sent away with a single answer: he would never be allowed to become a samurai. He was to be wedded to someone of noble birth and carry on the family line, and that was the end of it. With a fire burning deep inside him, the young Fujiwara ran back to his room and packed his things. By the end of the night, with two bags, the scroll bearing his family's crest, and some basic provisions, Yasu had disappeared from the family's residence.

He had to travel for many days, keeping mostly to the major roads, and he slept through many nights in the forest's edge. Soon enough, and not too shortly as he had run out of water that morning, he arrived at the then shogun's estate. This shogun had taken over at the previous' death, rejecting the sister that his family had tried to marry off to him. He was uncertain how the man would react to his appearance, to the request he was to make, but it was better than the alternative. By then, Yasu had become obsessed with the thought of becoming a samurai. Everything about it felt right to him, and the only person he needed to convince now was the shogun.

Upon inspection of his scroll, the shogun had become suspicious, asking if Yasu's grandfather had sent him to do this. Upon hearing that the boy had left home upon his grandfather's dismissal, the shogun had smiled, cruel and vindictive. He gladly accepted the boy into his service, despite his youth. He knew it would still be six years before the child would be of use as a samurai, but the sooner his training started, the better a warrior he would become. The shogun ordered the boy to be given a place to live, as well as for his education in the art of the samurai to begin.

By the end of his first three years of training, Yasu proved to be gifted both in the art of war and in the art of diplomacy. A gifted speaker, a thoughtful adviser, and a gifted warrior at only thirteen, the shogun took great interest in the boy. By the age of fifteen, Yasu had far surpassed the expectations of everyone around him, displaying a ferocity rarely seen in battle and life. Everything that he took on, he did so with belief that he would excel in it, and that belief brought him many victories in his life. He was charismatic, fierce, and merciless.

At sixteen, he pledged his blade and his life to the shogun and became his personal protector and servant. Somewhere during his training, Yasu forgot why he had became a samurai. He, just like his master, was cruel and unyielding. It remained this way for years. The shogun would send him to other provinces, to far reaching corners of the kingdom, with orders to execute entire families. His master would throw him into the ring with other accomplished samurai and he would always win, taking victory after victory.

Then, everything changed for Yasu. Shortly after he turned nineteen, the shogun called him forward with special orders. He was to go to the south, to a family who had begun to rise in power. And he was to execute the entire family.

Hunting the child down, knowing he had to kill him, was a slap in the face for Yasu. This was not what he had envisioned doing as a child. He had chosen a path that lead only to death, both those of the people around him and his own. He had not set out to become such a cruel and despicable person, someone whose sole purpose was to kill or be killed. He had wanted to protect people, to serve the land he lived in. Instead, he had become a monster, cruel, arrogant, and vicious.

In a split second decision, Yasu let the child go free. It wasn't as though the child could hurt anyone at such a tender age. He returned to the estate and went straight to the shogun. Until then, he had yet to ask anything else of the man, knowing he'd been gifted enough with being allowed to serve. This, his second request, was far more extensively. In fact, it was absolutely illegal, and had anyone else asked, the shogun would likely have had them executed on the spot. As it was, the only reason the shogun did not have Yasu put to death was because he was overtly fond of the boy. His request was granted: Yasu was to travel away from the shores of Japan. The reasoning he gave the shogun was what allowed it; that he wished to learn of the way that other peoples waged war. He wanted to learn new techniques and ways to kill.

In truth, Yasu wanted to learn how others lived, how life worked in other countries. He felt guilty to the core for his actions, and felt he needed to learn of life as a whole until he understood why killing was to be a last resort, as he was to make it. The shogun granted Yasu two years time to live among outsiders and to learn new fighting techniques.

Yasu spent his two years wondering through China, the middle east, and finally through Europe. He was fascinated by the different cultures he encountered. He learned ways of life that he wasn't aware could exist, and to satisfy his shogun, he picked up a form of fighting from each country he visited. By his return to Japan, he knew how to forge western weapons and armor, how to speak eight languages, and how to cook many exotic meals. He learned the special fighting style of many countries, and he learned the use of their region specific weapons. Truthfully, Yasu did not want to return to the shogun just yet, but if he refused to return, he would become exiled, never allowed to return to his home.

Now twenty two, the young man was more experienced than many of the elder samurais. His sense of guilt for the countless deaths he had brought about at the beginning of his service to the shogun haunted him like nothing else, weighing down his heart and mind. He began to practice meditation in the evenings as a way to cope, to find himself once more. During the day, he began studying strategics more closely, began to find ways to claim lands, to win battles, with the fewest deaths possible.

Despite his extracurricular activities, he continued to serve the shogun. Now, however, he more compassionate, and the shogun referred to him on occasion as to the fate of political adversaries. Occasionally, the shogun would listen to him wholeheartedly and spare the men. For the most part, he still sent Yasu to execute them, and Yasu began to memorize every name and face he took from the world.

For the next twelve years, the man became more compassionate, more gentle and soft spoken. Regardless of what he thought of his shogun's methods, he obeyed. Citizens frequently came to him, behind the shogun's back, for assistance with bandits and feuds. He helped those who he could, defending lands and settling arguments. He became widely known for his wisdom and his compassion for those around him. The shogun began to rely on him more, commanding him on raids and sieges with his army, referring to him on political and domestic issues. The two were hardly seen in public apart.

Upon the shogun's death, he was so immensely relieved, he almost broke into tears. He immediately began preparations to commit seppuku, but before he could act, the citizens of the province came before him with a request.
They wanted he, alongside his three fellow ronin, to take the province under their combined protection. He was torn inside, for all this time, he had wanted to die, to be forgiven the pain he had caused, and now the people came before him to be saved. He had no choice.

He called forward the other ronin, and forged an alliance with them, with the agreement that they would commit seppuku as a whole once the province had a new shogun.

The following is a written transcript of an interview with Jillian Grey,

"Alright, sweetheart. I know you're probably very scared right now, but I need you to be very clear with your answers. I'm really sorry that we can't wait, but Professor Xavier is going to want this as soon as possible. Try to speak in the direction of the microphone, alright? Now, could you tell us a bit about yourself?"

I guess... My name is Jillian Grey. I'm nineteen, and I'm a girl... Duh... Ugh, that was stupid. Is this really necessary? (Muffled mummers as the woman encourages her to continue.) Okay... So... Like... What else is there? Do you need to know that I like guys, too?

"Why don't you just tell me about your family. Whatever you feel like sharing."

Well... My mom's name is Jean, I think. We sure look a lot alike, but there's been a lot of discussion about me being the Phoenix's daughter... I don't really know who my mom is, okay? But I do know if it was Jean, or the Phoenix embodying Jean, then my father is Cyclops. Right? Ugh. I almost don't care anymore.

"But that isn't who raised you, is it?"

No. It isn't. I was raised by Mystique and Magneto to take a spot on their team. Since Magneto knew they would never be able to convince Jean- my mom- ugh... He knew she would never join him. So the moment they found out about me, Mystique disguised herself and stole me.

"And for the record, are you anything other than human?"

Such as 'mutant'? Yeah, I'm that. I'm also American, if you were really curious, and white. (There's a short silence, which is followed by a sigh and the sound of Jillian dropping her face into her palms.) But you can clearly see that I'm white. Because you're looking at me.

"Jill, it's okay. Just say what comes into your mind, alright? Now. Before coming to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, were you affiliated with any groups? People we should know about, in case they come looking for you?"

Not really... Just Magneto's team... I think it was called The Brotherhood, or something like that. Do you really think they'll come after me?

"I wouldn't worry about that, sweetie. Even if they do, the school is more than capable of keeping you safe. We offer the best protective services for our students. Next question. What kind of person would you describe yourself as?"

What, like am I a good person? I mean... I would say I'm neutral. I don't like to see people suffering, but if isn't world shattering, I won't get involved. And I would never deter anyone from doing good. I just don't actively do it myself.

"Do you know where you were born, Jillian?"

No. I actually don't. I assumed it was here, originally. I mean, this is where both of my parents lived at the time, right? And this is where Mystique stole me from. So it makes sense that this is where I was born. I think.

"Can you tell me about your gifts? What kind of powers did you manifest?"

I think you would call it telepathy and telekinesis. I can't really read thoughts, per say. I mean... If someone is practically shouting in their head, I can hear it, but I can't ease drop on thoughts. That disappointed Magneto a bit. But I think I made up for it by being able to attack someone mentally. Like, I can inflict damage on their mind. It's really complicated to explain. And I'm still working on it, but I can use telekinesis. It's really draining. I can manage to throw a car about six hundred yards right now.

"Is that all? I heard there was a rather special ability you had. Care to share it with me?"

Well... I wouldn't call it special... More like a curse. I cant control it, but Magneto triggered it a few times... I kind of can go into this trance like state where I have no control and all of my powers work at once. When I'm like that, I can also do the thing my dad does.

"The thing your dad does?"

Uh, yeah. The... Laser thing.

[See bottom of transcript for full list of abilities regarding telepathy and telekinesis.]

"And is there any downside to using your abilities? Anything side effects?"

Yeah, actually. I know my mom doesn't suffer from this, if she is my mom, but when I use my powers a lot, I get really tired. I get headaches a lot, and whenever I lose control, I tend to pass out after... And I tend to have no control anyway.

"That's quite troubling. I wonder if your powers haven't stabilized yet? We'll have to have you sit in with Dr. Xavier and see if he can help you with your control. How about weapons? Did Magneto and Mystique train you in the art of any weapons?"

Weapons? I can throw people across the room with my brain. WHY would I need a weapon?

"Well then. I think that concludes the interview. You have written up your history as you know it for Storm and Cyclops when they found you, yes?'

Yeah. I did that. I take it that means you don't need me to tell you about it?

"Quite right, Jillian. In fact, I believe that was all the questions I had to ask you. I'm sure that Dr. Xavier will welcome you into the school with open arms once he hears this."

Background: As a small child, Jillian lived with her mother and father near Xavier's school. At a young age, she began to display signs of strong telekinesis, just like her mother had. Although it was, admittedly, a favorable sign for how strong she would be, it was also far too soon for her to be able to control them. Before she had reached the age of three, Jean and Professor Xavier had placed a mental lock on her abilities, to prevent her from using them. It should have strong enough to hold out for years, until she was old enough to learn how to conceal her powers.

Within just a few days of this block being placed on her, Mystique, posing as Jean, picked Jillian up from daycare and took her back to Magneto. She was too young to remember coming from anywhere but here. Magneto and Mystique began to raise her alongside their son, Felix, and told the two that she was his sister. Felix was her only friend as a child in the Brotherhood.

When Jillian was deemed old enough for training, Magneto hired a psychic to take her mental block away. The work of Jean Grey and Professor Xavier proved to be too much for the man, who could only partially unlock her abilities. In so crudely doing so, however, he permanently locked part of her powers away, and made it difficult for her to access the powers that she could use. Around the same time, her "brother" began to mutate at an accelerated rate. He became confined to his bedroom, unable to move without feeling extreme pain.

Due to both his confinement and Jillian's training, the two rarely got to see each other again. She swears that between the age of twelve and sixteen, she saw him maybe four times, total, for sure. On Christmas.

Jillian's training was almost an absolute failure. No technique that they tried could help her tap into her abilities. They began to resort to their final method: stress and pain. The Brotherhood members who were teaching her began to do things to her that they thought might trigger her powers out of self preservation, such as locking her in a room with a minimal air supply and forcing her to find a way out. More oft than not, she would simply pass out from the pain and stress her body was suffering from.

Until they finally discovered the right button to push. Physical pain, abuse to her body and psyche simultaneously, unleashed her powers out of a need to stop the pain. She could rarely control them, but at this point, the Brotherhood only wanted to use her. Magneto, having raised her, began to have some small qualms about Tue way her treatment had escalated. When he looked at the girl, all he saw was the toddler that used to play with his son in the yard during the summer. He withdrew from her training entirely.

One fateful month just before her nineteenth birthday, the Brotherhood disappeared from the compound for two weeks, leaving only the adolescents behind. Most staid in their rooms, too afraid to leave. But Jillian took the chance to try to reconnect with Felix. The two seemed awkward around each other now; flustered and unsure of what to say. One afternoon was spent totally in silence as Jillian sat in the chair besides his bed, staring at her lap and blushing.

It took a few days, but they eventually loosened back up around each other. Felix was a welcome distraction, though she was always careful not to pet him see any of the scars or fresh marks marring her skin. She knew she wasn't fooling anyone... But at least she could try.

Upon the Brotherhood's return, Jillian reluctantly went back to her training, mourning her lack of time with Felix. Now that she had been with him again, it hurt to return to her strange kind of isolation brought upon by the Brotherhood's lack of empathy for her situation. It was only for two more months, until just after her nineteenth birthday, that she had to endure this. Shortly thereafter, Felix broke down her door and guided her out of the compound, giving her a stolen key to one of the small, personal aircrafts.

As shocked as she was by what he was doing, she was more shocked to see him up and about. She wasted precious time inquiring, as people tend to do, but Felix wouldn't have it. He sent her away, told her he would figure something out to tell them. He gave her an old map with coordinates on it, told her she'd be safe if she followed it. So after a tight hug, a kiss to cheek, and a few tears, Jillian Grey flew the jet all the way to Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

Upon her arrival, several of the X-Men were so shocked by her nearly identical resemblance to Jean Grey, and let her in immediately. She was taken to the medical bay, where they ran a short set of tests and pronounced her Jean Grey's missing daughter. Though neither of her parents were around, being out on mission, the school accepted her.

She currently wants for only two things. The first being to learn how to control her powers, which thanks to the teachers at Xavier's, she has been making great progress in. The second to reunite with Felix, not as a sister, but as a companion. If she could gain enough control, she could help him.

[The full list of Jillian's official abilities is located below. Please, let it be known that she has no mastery over her abilities, and for the most part, only taps into them by accident. The only thing she can say so is proficient at is her telekinetic abilities. She can, under stress, create the force fields and mental links with some accuracy. For the most part, her powers remained untapped.]

Telepathic Defense: She can manifest her telepathy in a number of defensive ways.

Telepathic Cloak: She can mask her presence and the use of her abilities from being detected by other psions and psychic entities. She can extend these defenses to others around her as well. Cloaking via telepathy is not perfect and powerful psis may notice and 'see' through this ability.

Psychic Shield: Ability to erect a psychic shield for protection of herself and the minds of others.

Mental Paralysis: She can induce temporary mental or physical paralysis.

Mental Amnesia: She can erase any awareness of particular memories, but she cannot erase the entirety of someone's memories.

Mind Link: Ability to develop a mental link with any person, which remains as a connection to that individual.

Psychic Blast: She can project psychic force bolts which have no physical effects but which can affect a victim's mind, causing them pain or knocking them unconsciousness.

Telekinesis: Projection of psychokinetic energy enables her to levitate objects, propel or manipulate them however she wishes, lift herself and move through the air to simulate flight, stimulate individual molecules to create heat, generate concussive force as blasts or bursts, and create protective shields.

Force Field: She can create a telekinetic field to either shield her and her teammates or use it to lift multiple heavy objects at her enemy.

Neural Jumpstart: She can increase the speed of neural signals in the brain, which could increase another mutant's powers to incredible levels, but the effect is only temporary.

Energy Resistance: Jillian is resistant to the effects of most psionic/energy based powers amount mutants.

(When in "Phoenix" state)

Optic Blast: Jillian possesses the mutant ability to project a powerful beam of concussive, amethyst-colored force from her eyes. The extra dimensional supply of energy for her eye-blast is practically infinite. The only limit to the eye-blast is the mental fatigue of focusing constantly. After about 15 minute of constant usage, the psionic field subsides and allows only a slight leakage of energy to pass through the aperture. Jillian's metabolism will recover sufficiently for her to continue in about an additional 15 minutes.

Telepathic Illusions: She can create realistic telepathic illusions and cause people to experience events which are not actually occurring.

Heal Trauma: She has the ability to erase a person’s memories and to heal mental trauma through “psychic surgery,” as well as the power to stimulate or deaden the pain and pleasure centers in a person's brain.

Mental Sedating: Can telepathically "sedate" her victims so that, if already rendered unconscious, they remain so for as long as she continues to "sedate" them.

Dilate Power: Ability to place “psychic inhibitors” in the minds of mutant adversaries to prevent them from using their powers.

Name: Mordread

- Pronunciation: (Mōr-dred)

Titles: The Betrayer, The Fae Traitor, The Desolator, Emperor of Umara, The Mad King.

Rank: Pending?

Age:

Gender: Male

Race: Fae

Height: 6'3"

Weight: 198lbs

Build of Body: Although he possesses a slender frame, Mordread has a powerful, muscular build, like that of a large feline. He has delicate features for a man, narrow and graceful.

Skin Color: The white of a lily's petals, nearly the same color as the marble of a statue. It seems to be impervious to coloring, either from the sun or from embarrassment.

Eye Color: A silver light like moonlight colors his eyes, nearly white when in the sunlight. It is assumed that his eyes were once a deep grey. Even he has forgotten.

Hair: long, straight, and black as a raven's wing. It shimmers slightly in low light with hints of violet and navy, a dazzling display when his hair is loose. It is usually contained within two plaits, one thick down his back, another thin one down his chest.

Piercings: Both of his ears contain a single piercing, from which dangles the same set of ruby stones in a long winged setting.

Distinguishing Physical Features: As a result of his twisted Auramancy usage, he has developed slight scaling in a ring around each wrist. They are faint, silver in color, and appear to be bracelets to an unobservant eye. It is assumed that if he continues his twisted magic usage, they will expand up his arms.

Typical Jewelry:
1. Long, dangling ruby earrings.
2. An elegantly crafted collar of an unknown black metal and burnished steel. It is set with a series of onyx stones.
3. A single ring, set in a sun based design with another onyx stone.

Typical Upper Body Wear:
1. A thin, black long sleeve made of pressed leather, worn as a precaution should his magic fail him. It has a high, lined neck and tight sleeves decorated with a thin lining and a set of buckles.
2. A thin vest with an embroidered edge of a burnished bronze shade.

Typical Lower Body Wear:
1. In warmer weather, Mordread wears a thin, light weight pair of leggings, bound to his calves with crisscrossing leather ties.
2. In cooler weather, he wears a pair of black trousers of a fine quality wool, cut close to his figure.

Typical Shoes:
1. When he leaves the palace, his foot wear is a pair of tall, healed black boots, close fitting, with ties up the front. The just brush his knees.
2. When indoors, he trades his boots for a pair of black slippers, also close fitting with a solid bottom.

Typical Outerwear
1. He wears one cloak of a lightweight but warm material, the outside decorated with a layer of black feathers.

Typical Accessories
1. A jeweled clasp that attaches to both sides of his cloak, depicting a black sun on one side, connecting to the flower design opposite it by three chains.
2. A belt of chains of the same metal as the cloak clasp, held together at the front by another black sun decoration.

Personality: Three words can be used to describe Mordread's personality with startling accuracy: psychotic, cruel, and obsessive.

He has a distinctive lack of mercy or empathy, and he cares not for age or gender; everyone is deemed beneath him and given the same treatment. In his mind, there is only one real use for the majority of the population, and that is to provide him with their ether. Those who could potentially serve a purpose eventually meet this fate as well.

He is methodical and highly malicious, with a tendency to be even sadistic. When angered, he possesses a kind of cold fury that usual sends even the bravest of warriors fleeing from him. He is known to have outbursts of violent anger that often leaves the object of his rage a broken mess. Once his anger is extinguished, he becomes extremely calm, which is nearly as frightening to those in his personal council. The eerie calm sets those around him on instant guard.

Temperament: Mordread is volatile. He has no natural temperament anymore. Some days he's calm and collected naturally, while others he is a roaring mess awaiting a reason to explode upon those around him. On basic principle, he tries to stay within the reach of his calm temper.

Nervous Tics: Mordread's vary based off his temperament. Sometimes they are nonexistent, other times they're highly obvious.

Interests: Hunting is a primary focus, right up next to magical experimentation, both of which he has high results in. He also is highly interested in the supposed last Siren of the Banshee race. Her resistance fascinates him, and he has spent the last several years slowly developing an obsession with breaking her. He has a minor interest in various art forms, though these are mostly for personal reasons, rather than anything actually artistic.

Hobbies: When he isn't busy executing peasants and stealing the life force of others, Mordread returns to his original past time... Discovering new ways to bend the old magics of his people. He also has a newer obsession, with trying to discover how Shatter Speech, possessed by the Banshee race, actually works.

Dislikes: Just about everything. Most people, most races, and most cultures annoy him in some way or another.

Illnesses: Mordread's only illness is that of his mind, which has become sick in both age and his experiments.

Outlook on Life: Mordread has a "the world is mine, if I want it" outlook. He feels as though if he is strong enough to take it, then it should be his.

Morality: If Mordread had any sort of morals, they were lost many centuries ago. He is not above slaughtering babies and executing people for giving him dirty looks.

Intellectual Characteristics

Intelligence Level: Even with a twisted mind, the Mad King has a high intelligence level. He is cunning and methodical, as well as precise. Tomes could be filled with the secret and arcane knowledge that floods his mind, should he ever chose to release it. Despite his failing mental stability, he still posses more common sense than most.

Extremely Unskilled At: Though this is debatable, in some way, Mordread is unskilled at being a person. He has lost the ability to conduct a simple conversation, to act without malicious intent, and to look at things using emotions rather than logic. He is unfit to be anything other than the cruel and violent man he is, all alone in his tower, experimenting with forces better left untouched.

Abilities/Skills

Logical: This is where Mordread excels the most. Although he is gifted in the creation and alteration of magics, his reasoning skills are by far his most superior quality. If he allowed anything to rule him, it would be this. His mind burns through facts, situations, and his own thoughts at a rate that far exceeds anyone he has encountered. He has such high accuracy when calculating outcomes that many of those left in Umara believe him to be psychic.

Artistic: Although he understands the concept of art, and knows many techniques, he lacks something that is vital to creating art. His paintings, which he creates occasionally as a way of keeping dead memories alive, lack the life of their muses. This is something that frustrates him upon the completion of pieces. He feels it is the one skill he cannot master, due to his overwhelming lack of remaining humanity.

Magic: Though skilled both in traditional magics of glamour and his own race's gift of Auramancy, Mordread has experimented with dozens of forms of magic to create a list of powerful splintered magics. Though some have a tendency to kill the subject of the magic, others have been perfected and can be taught to anyone with a basic knowledge of the base magic.

(List under construction.)

Traditional Combat: Mordread prefers the use of weapons over hand to hand combat, and thus is less skilled in this category, something he is surprisingly okay with. He has basic knowledge of several fighting styles, and has mastered his two preferred forms. He rarely uses this knowledge, as his magic has never failed him.

Weapons: As previously stated, the dark fae is a master of many kinds of weapons, and multiple fighting styles for each, however his favorite is his claidheamh cuil. The claymore has a single edged blade and guard, and the blade itself is made of a magically enchanted naturally occurring black iron.

(History Under Construction.)

BASICS

Name: Ilianna Channa Grace

Pronunciation: (Ïlē - änn - üh) (Chän - nüh)

Alias: Ilia

Gender: Female

Age: 22

Birthdate: November 27, 1993

Birthplace: San Diego, California

Current Residence: Coscmicah, Michigan

Occupation: Receptionist at a psychiatric practice while she takes courses at CU

Position in Eurasha: Mage of Fire/ Mage of Creation

Personality: A tad shy, a bit quiet. She's generally upbeat and hyped, always a whirlwind of energy, but her manic energy can quickly transform into a fiery anger. She's not the type to hold grudges, however, and is quick to forgive her friends, and even her enemies. She has a positive outlook on life, always pointing out how things could be worse.

Quiet a bit of this is a mask.

At her core, Ilia is depressed and lonely. She has an unfulfillable need to make everyone happy, to suppress her own unhappiness. She is weighed down by guilt and self loathing, but her new life has helped to heal her. She still struggles internally every day with the heart break of losing Kellen. Her need to protect and all those around her stems directly from the belief she has that Kellen had died for her.

APPEARANCE

Figure: While she's far from being "fat", Ilia is a very curvy woman, with a feminine hourglass shape. She's thicker in the thighs and hips, but remains slender through her arms, waist, and calves.

Height: 5'5"

Weight: 132lbs

Ethnicity: Russian + Italian + German

Hair: Her hair is the precise color of ink, black with a rainbow shine. The long curls, when left alone, reach mid waist in length. She usually keeps the unmanageable tangles up in a simple ponytail, though is Eurasha her hair is left down and wild around her face.

Eyes: Chartreuse green and round, her eyes are the most prominent feature of her face, and are heavily fringed with black lashes. The thin eyebrows arch high above them, typically raised in amusement.

Distinguishing Features: She has two tattoos. One on her ankle, of an elaborate chain, and one spanning the width of her back, of a girl shooting ideas out of her head, her fingers being used as a gun.

Dress: She likes to dress in bright colors, especially purples and blues, with shades of red as a second choice. She favors long coats and tall boots, and she never wears jeans. If she must, she will wear slacks, but Ilia is very feminine and prefers to wear dresses or mid length skirts. She has an endless supply of patterned tights as well.

Special items: N/A

Accent (if any): N/A

Style of Speaking: Ilia is very animated when she talks, and she has a tendency to use her hands a lot. She never stumbles over her words (unless flustered), and her tone is usually confident but playful.

PHYSICAL/MENTAL

Physical Fitness: While she isn't a weakling, Ilia is definitely not an obvious athlete. She has never had trouble with managing her weight, and is on her feet most of the day, so she does not feel the need to ever hit a gym.

Allergies: N/A

Physical Disabilities/Illnesses: N/A

Alcohol: Ilia is not a drinker. She's had far too bad an experience with substances to ever trust herself on them. She does not disapprove of others' use of it, however.

Smoker: Again, she would never allow herself to fall into such a habit.

Drugs: Her policy on drugs is even more strict than on alcohol or tobacco.

Regular Medication: She takes a single medication, a sleeping pill, on a nightly basis.

Mental Disabilities/Illnesses: Although she does not usually consider them either a disability or illness, Ilia suffers from Insomnia and Chronic Nightmare Syndrome.

Phobias: The only thing that she has ever been afraid of, and still is, is allowing herself to fall apart.

Likes: Ilia's interests vary far and wide. She has a limitless interest in psychology and the genre of horror, both formed after waking from Eurasha. She has a big sweet tooth, and some of her favorite foods are strawberries, chocolate, cheesecake, and coffee. Her music interests rang from harcore rock (Avenged Sevenfold, Theory of a Deadman, Three Days Grace) to the angriest rap (Eminem, ). When she stays indoors, she likes to either curl up with a good fantasy or science fiction book, or she has a child like love of blowing things to hell on games like Borderlands and Serious Sam. When she ventures out and into the world, she prefers for the day to be dark, as in the evening, but still warm. For the most part, she likes to just be with her friends, a sketch pad, and some pens. This is her idea of a perfect day.

Dislikes: The list of her distastes isn't quiet as long, but holds many small things that irk her to no end. Nail biting, the color brown in clothing, burnt food, driving a car, any form of pop music, and being asked serious questions. She also has refused, time and time again, to answer any of her friends' questions about her past and has displayed a tendency to shut down upon confrontation.

Sociability: While Ilia posses the skills and level of intelligence to interact with anyone she chooses, she prefers not to.

COMBAT

Magical Abilities:
+ Heat Generation
+Flame Manipulation

Fighting Techniques (if any): Ilia does not have a technique, so to speak. She prefers to just throw everything she has at her foe, giving no regard to how it will end.

Weapon(s) of Choice (if any): Although Ilia is a mage, she also carries a collapsible chakram for long distance and close quarter combat. She enjoys setting it on fire before throwing it.

Weaknesses in Combat: Because Ilia focuses so intently on eliminating the foe in front of her, she rarely remembers to watch for other advisories. When she battled alongside Kellen, this wasn't as severe a flaw, for her partner and her caught back to back.

Strengths in Combat: Also because of her intent focus on her enemy, Ilia can spot the slightest motions, a flick of a wrist or a tensing in the shoulders, and therefore prepare herself for an attack.

Combat Skills From 1-10.

Speed: +7
Agility: +5
Endurance: +5
Melee Combat: +7
Aim: +3
Medical Knowledge: +2
Basic Survival Skills: +4
Hunting: +1
Intellect: +8
Crafting: +9

While fast and quick to react in combat, Ilia completely lacks to ability to aim. This stems from the fact that her powers do not require complete accuracy. All she has to do really is focus on an enemy and her fire will home in on them like a missile. She's still rather good in close combat, however.

Ilia would probably die if left in the wilderness. She refuses to kill any kind of animal herself, and her medical skills are severely lacking. She has basic survival skills, but other than her ability to make anything she could possibly need from what's around her, she'd be so out of luck if she couldn't find edible vegetation.

FAMILY, FRIENDS AND FOES

Mother: Cynthia Grace (Estranged)
Father: Demetri Grace (Estranged)
Adoptive Mother: Aiden Liddell
Siblings: N/A
Children (if any): N/A
Other Significant Relatives: Aunt Cecily (Estranged), Uncle Cedric (Estranged), and her cousin Margaret (Estranged)
Friends: Kellen, Cadmus <To Be Filled In After Names Are Revealed.>
Rivals: N/A

History: Ilia was born in Aurora San Diego Hospital, kicking and screaming. She was a difficult child from the beginning, throwing fits and generally causing trouble. Whenever someone turned their back on her, she was instantly gone. When sought out, they would find the baby trying to ride the cat, or climbing into the LIT fireplace. For some odd reason, the little girl loved being near an open flame.

As difficult a baby she was, it held nothing to the child she became. While kind and generally well behaved, she couldn't seem to focus on reality for long. She would often wonder away from her parents, finding a quiet corner to draw in. Her parents, although annoyed when she disappeared, adored the artwork that came of her 'alone time'. She would produce full color depictions of gardens and story scenes, Alice in Wonderland a frequently occurring theme. It was during her "daydreamer" phase that her parents enrolled her in preschool. This is, of course, where she met the three people who would forever change her life.

By this point in Ilia's life, she had begun to enter the dream realms. As a child, she didn't quite comprehend that she was intruding upon others' dreams, or that she was inviting people into hers. She had begun to construct basic Faders, unknowingly inviting everyone she met into her head. Her teacher in preschool, a young woman by the name of Aiden Liddell, was also a dream walker. The night after her first class, Ilia invited Aiden into a dream. The teacher recognized Ilia's abilities immediately, and the next day kept Ilia in during lunch. She explained to Ilia what it was they could do and took the girl under her wing. Within the next week, two more students came to Aiden and Ilia in their sleep. Only one knew he was "Realm Jumping", as Aiden referred to it. Their names were Kellen and Cadmus, being the one who knew what he was doing, and they were both in kindergarten.

Immediately, the three children hit it off. They were all creative and inspired. None could focus on the present, seeking only to daydream their young lives away. Ilia, by this time, had a legitimate reason for her escapes into the realms. Her father had begun drinking heavily. Abuse at this time was less common, and Aiden took it seriously when she began to notice Ilia's variety of bruises. The girl would frequently come with blackened cheeks and finger shaped marks on her arms. Both of her friends ratted her out to Aiden, concerned that she lied for her father. Aiden, being a teacher and guardian to Ilia, did the only thing she could. Contacted CPS, and immediately began to fill out adoption forms.

Aiden was given custody of Ilia through several long years of hearings, CPS visits, hospital trips, and flat out pleads. Ilia's mother, who loved her husband more than her daughter, did not put up a real fight for the girl. Her father, on the other hand, was furious and tried to abduct his daughter from her new home. Aiden, having caught him trying and having called the cops, had ended up in the hospital trying to save Ilia. During those few weeks, Ilia stayed at Kellen's house. It was then that they constructed their first realm. It took them a few nights to realize it was an Everlasting, and when they did, they were overjoyed. They were getting stronger, which helped the joint goal of the three children: to make the ultimate Everlasting and escape the world.

The three stayed friends through elementary school, and with the guidance of Aiden, they began to control their abilities. Nothing was able to tear them apart, not physically or mentally.

Until Cadmus disappeared. Neither Ilia nor Kellen could find him, and after a few days, Cadmus's parents began to post search posters. Although the details of his home life had never been shared with the others, they knew there was only one explanation for the boy's disappearance: he had entered the realms and was hiding. As neither Ilia nor Kellen could reach them, Aiden suggested giving the boy space. In time, the woman was sure he would return to his two friends.

And in high school, when Ilia and Kellen had began the first construction of Eurasha, he did come back, with a new title and ability. But that's for another time.

Eurasha. Throughout their first two years of school, Ilia and Kellen constructed, edited, and vamped their world. They gave it forests, opposing kingdoms, and even NPC citizens, each with a distinct personality. They constructed castles and cities, made resources for expansions and gave it the capacity to become anything. With their balanced powers as the Mage of Creation and the Chaos Knight (Their roles would set a baseline for the powers gifted on others), they were able to create a perfect phantasm, a perfect dream. And finally, it was ready.

The first four people they invited in showed that Eurasha had already become it's own world, with a sentience unlike any other Everlasting. As Aiden walked in, she was given the position of the Sirenian Queen. Cadmus was, of course, given the title and abilities of the Sanchar Dragon, a defensive and powerful position within the world. Another friend and fellow teacher, Michaelis, was given the position of the Dracao King.

But something, somehow, went wrong. Because the fourth Realm Jumper never arrived. Instead, a shadow slithered into their world and immediately vanished. Although the teens were less than concerned, both Aiden and Cadmus were troubled. They had heard stories of a "realm eater", a beast who destroyed all it touched and poisoned the minds of Jumpers. Though Ilia and Kellen played no mind to the warnings, opening the gates of Eurasha to those who sought entry, Aiden and Cadmus were right.

The shadow that had entered Eurasha was known as the Entropy Beast. Myths claimed that it was the remains of Realm Jumper who had been tortured until he lost his mind, or that it had come into existence through the destruction of a different realm. Theories were endless, but only IT knew the truth. It could take the shape of any creature except a human, and it had an insatiable appetite for all dream life. It was supposed to be noticeable only because it glowed a sickly purple.

The beast took the Dark Kingdom. Although it's never been proven, it's widely believed that it killed the Dracaonian King. The destruction through the kingdom, the sheer amount of undoing... Ilia and Kellen retaliated with a fury, making the journey from theirs' and Cadmus's shared home in the Carrion Mountains to the Dark Kingdom to dispose of the beast. Together, the two were a formidable and undefeatable team.

Or so they had thought.

Instead, they were beaten nearly to death by the beast, and they fled. If they left the realm together, and willed it hard enough, their precious realm would disintegrate, forcing it's inhabitants to wake. The beast had other plans, as it chased them down. Both Kellen and Ilia knew exactly what it wanted, for they had heard stories from Cadmus as to what it did.

It wanted to inhabit Ilia. It was widely known that Ilia's abilities as a Realm Jumper and Creator were unmatched. She bent every reality to her will and created things that others couldn't have dreamed of. Her imagination was powered by something like a rapid fire, nuclear reaction. With her abilities in the Realms, the Entropy Beast could destroy everything.

It could enter the real world.

Kellen, while defending Ilia, was gravely injured, and forced Ilia to leave. When Ilia awoke for the first time in six months, she was attacked by an onslaught of physical pain. All of the fights from Eurasha caught up to her in reality, something that had never happened before. She made Eurasha far too real. Despite the pain, she immediately tried to return to Eurasha, angry and determined.

Only to find her way blocked. In his last conscious moments, Kellen had placed a "ban" on Ilia, something the two had come up with for when a Jumper caused too much damage to their world. Ilia, stunned and heartbroken, refused to give up. For three weeks, she tried to return. For three weeks, she was denied access. The ban that Kellen had placed would stay in effect until the Entropy Beast or the Sanchar Dragon learned to lift it.

Sixteen, alone, and broken hearted, Ilia hijacked a car and ran from San Diego. She drove all day and for part of the night before the car broke down in Michigan. She left the car on the side of the rode and made her way into the nearest town, a decent sized town known as Coscmicah. There, she managed to build a new life. She shied away from questions, and she worked a night job while attending high school. She made enough to get by, and not a cent more. She made some friends, few of which grew into true friendships.

Up until now, Ilia had avoided going back into any realm. The idea of returning to the dreams scared her so bad that she developed insomnia. The only way she can sleep is by the use of sleeping aids. If it weren't for the plea of the Realm Dragon, she would never consider going back.

Now, she has no choice.

Sally Phoenix
Aka, "Pyro"

Age: 24

Abilities: She can manipulate heat in any form. She can use this ability in a number of interesting ways, including, but not limited to, creating hot air currents to fly on, warming up another person's body, and manipulating fire. She has a heightened metabolism, which causes her to eat double what a normal person needs to survive. And although she gained these through training, and not through birth, she is also physically stronger than most women her size, and much faster. She sleeps half the time a normal person would, and heals at a slightly faster pace.

Weapon: A large hammer, reminiscent of Thor’s, with a handle wrapped in black and red tape. It has a red wristband that Pyro usually keeps wrapped around her wrist. The hammer has a basic flame print carved into the side.

Appearance: Long, tangled red curls, and bright green eyes. Fair skinned, with freckled cheeks. Not too tall, but very thin. Though she has a generally lovely face, her appearance is rather plain. Many people are put off by the hostile air around her and so she tends to fade into the background.

Her super outfit consists of a black and red, long sleeved catsuit with a red belt and high collar, black boots, and a red half mask.

Personality: Sally has a serious personality, and usually comes off in a very severe manner when acting as Pyro. During her daily life, she is aloof and distant with those sound her, despite the crushing loneliness that rules her. She's generally very polite and gentle, regardless of the distance she places between herself and others. She doesn't let people behind her shield easily, and the people she does she becomes fiercely protective and caring toward. Her temper tends to flare at the worst times, especially during confrontations. She has to be careful and reel herself in frequently to keep from exploding into a raging fire bomb.

Back Story: Sally was born with her powers, unlike some of her fellow supers. It's unknown where in her family they had come from, but they were there. Her parents began very early on her training. When she was young, it was mostly for control, but as she got older, she expressed her wishes to her parents. She wanted to be a super.

Her parents enrolled her in many self defense and martial arts classes to supplement her fiery abilities. Her father and she would spend hours after school practicing in their basement with various improvised weapons. They crafted an armoured suit and practiced with more dangerous weapons as she got older. She had a huge learning curve and a persistence to her goals that on its own reassured her parents of her choice.

Thanks to her heightened metabolism and minimal need for sleep, she was able to spend much of her high school life building a reputation for herself as a super during the night. During her senior year, another super moved into town; Witch. The new super was roughly the same age, and was gifted with telekinesis. The two formed a tenuous partnership to team up against a sudden influx of mob activity in Chicago. Their partnership became official upon the end of the mission, and the two became famous throughout the states once they became full time heroes.

Recently, a group of darker supers has infiltrated their home. Witch, while investigating, went missing. Upon an attempt to find her missing partner, Pyro was jumped by a rather powerful elemental super, and retreated to call for backup, as is the Justice protocol.

==>BE THE FUCKING OPTIMISTIC NUT JOB

You are POPPII DWELER, and you are the lowest color on the hemospectrum, a BURGUNDY BLOOD, MORE SPECIFICALLY, AN AUBURN. You are the most fucking OPTIMISTIC and HAPPY troll to ever grace Alternia. So happy and optimistic, in fact, that you just RADIATE FUCKING SUNSHINE THAT NO ONE CAN ESCAPE. BITCH, PLEASE, YOU WILL MAKE THEM SMILE. This in no way means that you are any less of a VICIOUS, MURDERING PSYCHO. It just means you tend to be bubbly as you smash people's heads in.

You have TWO RULING HOBBIES, the first of which is TROLLIAN LITERATURE. You just love a good book! It's one of the only things that can make you CALM FOR FIVE SECONDS. You also love anything that has to do with COMPUTERS. You are proficient in PROGRAMMING, and are a kick ass GAMER. You rock those fucking troll games hardcore. There is no game you cannot CONQUER. And your codes? UNHACKABLE and UNTOUCHABLE. (At least, so far.)

You have a knack for FASHION, and your favorite outfit is that of a stripped rust and black dress, a high collared vest bearing your INSIGNIA of an ASYMMETRICAL FLOWER, and a pair of tall black boots, which is obviously a blatant DISREGARD FOR THE RULES, BUT YOU COULDN'T CARE LESS. In all honesty, you're pretty surprised you haven't been culled yet. It could be because you live in a highly SECLUDED AND RURAL HIVE, out in the literal middle of nowhere. You might as well be A FUCKING HERMIT.

You were originally the ward of a LARGE BURGUNDY MEOWBEAST. However, it disappeared around the middle of your fifth sweep. The

Today is the day that you and some other trolls are going to play SGRUB. Which is a game that you TOTALLY ILLEGALLY ACQUIRED from a troll somewhere in the city that you occasionally snatch epic games from. Not like the supposed genius ever notices. He's probably too busy lisping about how awesome he is to even notice that YOU HAVE BEEN "BORROWING" THINGS FROM HIS GRUBWORK FOR SWEEPS. Ah well. His lost, you guess. In any case, you're just super fucking stoked to start this game. You just know that the others will love it.

Name: Poppii Dweler

Age: 7 sweeps

Gender: Feminine

Blood: Auburn Burgundy

Symbol: an asymmetrical flower with six petals.

Appearance: Of short height with an extra foot and half in horn height, this troll comes off as far too small to be such a huge PROBLEM. Her hair is cut in two distinct layers, one that brushes her shoulders and curls up, and the second that reaches her waist. Her bangs frame her face near her eyes and her cheekbones. Her eyes are still the same grey as the usual adolescent's colour, and her asymmetrical horns curl up and out, with one curling slightly inward, almost straight up.

Lusus: (deceased) A giant red meowbeast with six legs and foot long fangs.

Moirial: Alvaro Callom

Hive: A low to the ground, labyrinthine structure built of the indigenous stone. The rooms have a wide, open feel, due to the lack of completed walls. Wild beasts tend to roam freely in and out if her home. Each wall that does exist is painted a different colour, and the doorframes extend from ceiling to floor.

Handle: auspiciousPetals

Quirk: YOU LIKE TO YELL ABOUT EVERYTHING BECAUSE YOU ARE S-S-SUPER EXCITED ABOUT EVERY FUCKING TH-THING!!

Sylladex: The colour wheel. Everything gets sorted by colour into a wheel. They are then stacked in small boxes on top of one another. However, you never have any idea what's in the box you remove, since they are all the same size and colour.

Strife Specibus: The Colourblade, a combination of a sword and a paintbrush that slices through the air with bright streaks of colour.

God Tier: Knight of Verve

Moon: Prospit.

Land: Land of Music and Paint

==> BE THE LEADER THEY NEED.

Your name is ALVARO CALLOM, and you are so fucking fed up with this bullshit. If your RODENTBEAST LUSSUS goes into your respite block one more time when you are out, you might actually Strife with him.

You are a 8 SWEEP OLD CINNAMON BLOOD, and you are so STOIC that it legitimately freaks out others. Something about your heavy, browsing grey gaze just makes everyone uncomfortable when you want it to. Usually, you're rather RELAXED DESPITE YOUR SERIOUS ATTITUDE. You have a strangely open air about you, and many TROLLS FEEL AS THOUGH THEY CAN TALK TO YOU. It makes you a very natural COORDINATOR AND LEADER. You follow your INTUITION, even when others question you.

You live near the outer edge of a hive cluster, in a rather straight, tall hive with complexly shaped floors and walls. Your LUSSUS is a GOLDEN BROWN KILLER RODENTBEAST, and she in no way respects your privacy. She has a tendency to sniff through your belongings, so you get a lot of STRIFE PRACTICE.

You have a variety of interests, that include COLLECTING DISCARDED HORNS FROM DECEASED TROLLS, SOLVING COMPLEX PUZZLES, AND DEVELOPING ELABORATE BATTLE STRATEGIES. Your horn collection includes a wide range of sizes and shapes, and even includes some very rare fully grown troll horns from the years of the rebellion.

Name: Alvaro Callom

Age: 8 Sweeps

Gender: Masculine

Blood Color: Cinnamon

Appearance: Tall in height, nearly six feet and four inches, with slender, backward bent horns adding another four inches to his height. He tends to stand incredibly straight and stiff, making him look even more tall. His hair is straight and choppy in length, the rough strands blocking out segments of face. His eyes have begun to colour in their iris, and have a strange grey brown colour. He has sharper nails than the usual.

Symbol: A glyph that resembles a music note.

Lussus: Killer Rabbit. (Rodentkind)

Moirial: Poppii Dweler

Sylladex: A very direct and simple to use modus called Thing-In-A-Bottle. It captchalouges his items into labeled bottles and shrinks them to fit in a canvas satchel. The satchel contains thirty-two slots and bottles, that allows for thirty-two items. To use on of these items, he simply needs to uncork the bottle and retrieve the item with a set of tweezers. It will then maximize to it's real size.

Strife Specibus: Chakramkind. His spinning circular blades of death are painted a wicked bronze.

Handle: enviousCalamity

Typing quirk: //He has a tendency to speak with supreme severity.//

God Tier: Heir of Light

Moon: Derse

Land: Land of Fog and Gold.

Name and Titles: Aradia Gates, Regent Enchantress, Ruby Coven Chieftess.

Age: Currently, 25

Gender: Feminine

Personality: A tad shy, a bit quiet. She's generally upbeat and hyped, always a whirlwind of energy, but her manic energy can quickly transform into a fiery anger. She's not the type to hold grudges, however, and is quick to forgive her friends, and even her enemies. She has a positive outlook on life, always pointing out how things could be worse.

Quite a bit of this is a mask.

At her core, Ara is depressed and lonely. She has an unfulfillable need to make everyone happy, to suppress her own unhappiness. She has always felt out of place and out of time, as though she doesn't belong where she has found herself to be.

Since meeting Az in her newest life, some of her has healed. More of the positivity is real, and she seems calmer to those around her. The slow transformation into the woman she was before her first death has begun.

Powers: Ara, though a powerful Enchantress, has barely scratched the surface of her powers. She's only had a few months of training with Az to prepare her, and even though she grows in power every day, there is no guarantee she will survive

Illusions- Ara can create vivid hallucinations that cloud reality for those they are inflicted on with just a few words.

Touch of Clarity- by channeling her piwer into her touch, she can help clear a person's mind of pain and other troubling clouds. It leaves a soothing feeling and an ease of thought. For those who suffer insanity, it allows a few moments of sane clarity.

Diamond Shield- A quick, gesture activated spell that casts a field around her and those with her to protect them from harm. It can hold as long as she can and is as hard as diamonds.

Blast of Light- Her only offensive spell, currently, creates a tornado of blinding light that surrounds the opponent. It's extensively gesture activated spell that requires signing runes and throwing them.

As she's still being trained, her powers will expand. She will slowly become adept at more magics, just as she was before.

Biography: Once, a long time ago, there was a girl. She was born in Greece in the early 1600s, during the rise of the Ottoman empire. Her father's postion as a tax collector kept her family in a privileged life. And beyond that, nothing.

There was absolutely nothing special avout her life. She wasn't exceptionally beautiful, nor was she highly gifted in any of the arts. She was, quite simply an ordinary girl who stumbled into something extraordinary when her family took a trip. They traveled to Britain for her father's job promotion, and during this trip, they went to a passing faire. This particular one was well known for its animal trainer, a man that people claimed could speak directly to the animals and get them to do anything.

His show was just as they were told it would be: phenomenal. The man had tigers and lions leaping through rings and elephants balancing on top of one another on lamp post sized poles. He rarely spoke, and when he did, ot was to tell his animals good work before moving onto the next trick. But while her family was enthralled by the performance, the girl herself was enchanted by the man commanding them. There was something about him, a pull that dragged her in.

After the show, she became sepearted from her parents and younger siblings in the small market. In her attempts to find them, she came across a small both selling a very special necklace.

But that's all ancient history.

The fact that this girl later married the animal tamer, who turned out to be an extremely powerful Shifter, is not important. Nor is the story of how the two began to teavel, and how they adopted a young witch from Siberia. How they met all of their friends and helped establish a Hierarchy for their people is not currently important.

This woman collected the most powerful of witches and placed them at the head if the largest covens to help guide them and keep them in line. She established a small castle in France in the early 1700s and kept council there alongside her husband. She was a powerful, wise woman who changed the lives of her people for the better. With her help, the witches flourished and grew. They were able to save young girls from being burned alive, they were able to keep small towns hidden for entire covens to live in solely due to her brilliance and leadership.

And she is not the woman this story is about, even though she is.

Because after her death, she became a hundred different people, until she finally became the young woman she is today. And although she is the same, she is not. That doesn't mean she will stay this way for long, though.

Appearance:

Name and Titles: Shifter Regent, Azreal

Age: 591 {Remember, remember, the 5th of November... long before Guy Fawkes tried to blow people up.}

Gender: Male

Personality: Sullen, witty, and intimidating. Azreal's prescence brings with it an air of seriousness and silence that fills entire buildings. At his core, he is a very fierce person, but he wields an iron fist over his fiery temper. He exudes knowledge and experience, so much so that many fall quiet when he approaches. When he speaks, it's with a great intensity, however soft it may sound. He is torn, in his soul, everytime that Aradia is taken from him again. It's caused nearly irreparable damage.

Buried beneath all of this is the part of him that returns everytime Ara does. Compassion and contentness begin to show again. He steps out of the dark overcast that clings to him long enough to smile again. Devotion and loyalty are two of his primary traits, both of which are the culprits to the change in him.

Due to Ara's return, he's become more extroverted, engaging with people again of his own will. Although he's still surly and dark, there's a noticeable lightness around him again. And although no one has come right out and said it, the council suspects that he has found her. It's only a matter of time until he tells them.

Powers: Shifter's magic is distinctly different from a Witch's, in that it is more diverse. The very first thing that a Warlock does when he joins the Shifter sect is pick an animal companion. He bonds with it, and is gifted traits from it as well as the ability to speak to animals. They can see through each other's eyes, and have a telepathic bond that grows the older they get.

In Az's case, his Fenrik gave him the keen hearing, stealth and agility of a fox. He can hear conversations from two doors down, is rarely caught when tracking people down, and is far faster than average. Some of his fellow Shifters tell tales of a speeding streak of red that catches you off gaurd as he breezes past them. "And damn that bastard, he's never even winded."

Fenrik and Az have been together for nearly their entire lives. Az was only seven when they met. Therefore, their telepathic bond is beyond anything that had existed befoee. While some Shifters are careless and go through multiple companions, Ax has been careful. Other than Ara, Fenrik is all he has left. The grey fox has learned a great deal of human language from Az. He can't do something so silly as talk or write, but he can understand conversations.

In addition to the animal companion, Shifters train in what they call "natural magics"; aka, the ability to manipulate elements. Azreal is particularly skilled in fire and air based spells, and not so much at water or earth.

Flame manipulation- Fire manipulation allows Az the ability to direct flames. He can do so in any degree, from causing the flames to burn faster, to forcing them to spiral through the air.

Heat Generation- Heat generation does exactly as it says: It allows the user to raise the temperature of the air around them to a desired temperature.

Flash Bomb- If something ignites anywhere in Az's vicinity, he can cause the newborn flame to spark to a full flame size in less than a second. This also causes a drop in breathable air nearby for just as long.

Detonator- Detonator is a form of concussive fire ball explosion. This is created by packing extra flames and energy into a small, compact ball, and throwing it at a target. Upon collision, the ball explodes outward, releasing the energy trapped inside. Sometimes causes hearing damage.

Flame Generation- Another self explanatory title, flame generation allows Az to spark flames from nothing.

Wind Manipulation- Allows him to telepathically direct the air current in a manner of his choosing. He can create soft breezes or torando force winds.

Cacoon- creates a cushioning of wind around an object to protect it from impact during a collision.

Deflector- uses a short, sharp blast of air to deflect any physical attack or spell. Though rare, it can cause a backlash of the attack to his aggressor.

Flight- Err, well, it's close enough. By bending the way the air currents move into a spiral around a person, he can make them hover and soar through the air. It only lasts as long as his concentration does.

Fire Devil: A combination if both his Wind Manipulation and his Flame Generation. With them, he can create a spiraling tower of flaming death. It takes a lot out of him, and he can't do it more than once a day, maximum. It last for about 10 minutes, setting fire to anything that it sucks up, before fading out.

Biography: When he started out, he started with nothing. No family, no history, and no name. He was seven years old, with no recollection of anything before waking up in the field. Standing above him was a fox, it's nose tapping his forehead, as though trying to rouse him. A soft sound in his head, steadily growing louder. He pushed himself to his knees, and the fox curled at his side.

"Up."

With no past experiences, Az thought nothing of the fact that a tiny fox was speaking to him. It's head pushed at his side again, and he stood to his feet. No shoes, dirty clothes, a strange ring, and ragged hair. And so, with prompting from the fox, he walked. He walked until he reached the nearest town, a small village in Lithuania. Whike the people were kind, he didn't feel right staying long. At the advice of the fix, newly named Fenrik, he joined a traveling faire.

The owners quickly discovered the boy had a way with animals, and apprenticed him to the animal trainer. It was during his stay there that a Warlock approached him the first time. He explained to the then teenaged Az what they were, and asked him to come join the sect. The boy was quick to decline. He was waiting for something, although he wasn't aware of what.

He spent nearly a century jumping between different circuses and faires, traveling across Europe and Asia. He never stayed long enough for them to realize he didn't really age, but long enough to keep his reputation up. He developed new acts, bonded with dozens of animals, and taught Fenrik languages in his spare time. Eventually, he joined a traveling faire in Britain with strong Witch ties.

It was there that his life really began.

During the entire performance, he could feel her eyes on him. He almost set one of the tigers on fire by accident watching her back. As soon as the show ended, he rushed out to find her, but she was gone already. An ache began to build in his chest as he ealked down the row of merchants. Her eyes had captivated him, and without them, he felt dizzy and struck.

A sift voice in the crowd caught his ear from a few stalls away. The way it cleared his head left him sure. He pushed his way though the crowd just as the lovely girl picked up a necklace. Something in her gaze had changed as she had looked at it. And then, as if she felt his presence, she looked up at him.

Three feet away.

Her eyes were green, and he was lost in them forever more.

Appearance:

Name: Loni Ky

Age: 32

Sex: Female

Personality: Stoic, sharp, and thoughtful are terms that have been used to describe her before. Other terms used have been bitch, psycho, and stubborn. Loni has a powerful personality- headstrong, fierce, but collected. She rarely, if ever looses her temper around others. She displays only what she wants. She weilds her intelligence and sharp wit as a weapon in her daily life, while holding back the frustration that gradually builds up behind the surface.

Beneath the facade lies a flaming tornado of molten fire spinning around a core of steel. Stress and frustration have caused her fuse to become short, and she frequently blazes up internally. She's stubborn to the core, and never gives up or concedes: to do so would be to turn her back on the ideals and decisions that brought her to where she is now.

Description: Lani is a fairly taller than average woman, standing at 5'11". She carries herself in an easy, light manner. One might say she moves with a silent grace, like a predator ready to strike.

Equipment: During work hours, she can constantly be seen carrying a simple, brown briefcase. Several people have tried to open it in the past juat to find a biometric lock, old fashioned number lock, and a voice recognition lock. She never leaves it alone long enough for it to be opened.

In addition, she carries two plasma pistols on her belt, as well as an old fashioned long knife, for protection. All three seem to be custom made, though through several public demonstrations, it has been made clear her guns fire normal plasma rounds.

History: The knocking on the front door echoed through the small house. The architect looked up from the files displayed across the holotop of the table to where his wife sat in the room behind him. "Fiona, would you mind getting that? I think I'm finally making some progress on this."

She gave him a soft smile and set aside her screen before disappearing aroubd the corner. He turned his attention back to the table, barely paying any attention to the voices behind him, nor how they were getting closer. "Gregory."

His wife sounded shell shocked, and that was enough for him to break attention from the plans before him. Standing beside his wife was a figure that turned his blood cold. Foreman Loni Ky stood a good half foot taller than his wife, an imposing figure in comparison. Her arms were crossed, and her pose seemed relaxed, but he had tensed up the moment he had laid his eyes on her. Her presence was rarely a good thing in his experience.

"Foreman Ky... what brings you here so lat-."

"I'm terribly sorry to break this to you, Dr. Pioloni, but you're being evicted." Her tone was curt and lacking emotion, dropping the news as though she were telling him it was going to rain. "You're also being fired."

The man sat baffled as Loni strode forward, her long legs carrying her up to the table in a matter of seconds. She leaned over it and examined the plans quietly. "Funny. I don't remember you having clearance for these plans. In fact, you've been obtaining many things that you don't have clearance to be seeing." Her gaze turned from the table to him, the intent clear in their heavy, green weight.

"Please, let Fiona leave. She hasn't seen anything, and she won't say a word to anyone-" Loni seated herself on the table with a sigh and drew her gun, pressing it to the side of his temple. His wife shrieked, cowering into the wall with a terrified look on her face.

"Look, as touching as this is, I have a meeting in an hour on the other side of town. The fact is, you know far too much. You dug into things that you never should have touched. And now, you have to pay the price. Unfortunately, so does she." She cocked the gun into ready and asjusted her grip. "Goodbye, Dr. Pioloni. Goodbye, Mrs. Pioloni."

She fired one round and then quickly turned and fired another. Silence, and then a sigh. Lani pulled a small screwn from her pocket and tapped on it. A live video link pulled up. The man on the otherside was mostly dressed in a tight hazmat type suit, his face mask sitting on the table next to him. "Morning, Foreman Ky. My team is ready to begin whenever you're clear of the building."

"Give me five minutes. It shouldn't be too difficult. Two clean shots. Not much for cleanup, so it shouldn't take long." She strode with easy, soft steps out of the small house through the still ajar front door, tucking her pistol back into its holster. So far, the day was going as planned. She could only hope it would continue to.

==> BE THE GIRL WITH THE HEADPHONES.

Your name is ARIA DOLTON, and you are by far the OLDEST MEMBER OF YOUR TEAM. You have been AVOIDING LEAVING YOUR ROOM for quite some time now, seeing as how your AUNT FREQUENTLY AMBUSHES YOU WITH STRIFE, and you'd rather not tear the new skirt you made. Did you mention that you love CLOTHING AND FASHION? No? What about your NONDISCRIMINATING taste in MUSIC? You forgot that too? Ah, well. Now everyone knows.

What will you do?

You go immediately to grab your MP3 PLAYER and plug in your headphones. You're not sure why you took it put to begin with. The SLEEK, PURPLE DEVICE WHICH DOUBLES AS YOUR MESSAGING DEVICE almost never leaves your hands. It is your single most favorite possession. In addition to your Mp3 player, you also grab the nearby PAINTBRUSH, which you allocate to your STRIFE SPECIBUS. You're going to need it if you plan to leave your room.

Name: Hotaru Okamoto

Magical Girl Alias: Banshee

Age: 17

Personality: Fiesty, fierce, and dedicated to protecting all those ahe meets, Hotaru tends to jump headlong into battle before anyone else. She seems to care less about ratings in the sense of popularity and more for the boost of energy they provide her with while fighting. She can be seen as stubborn, because she never backs down. Many people have told her that she has too much of a temper, and well as that she's too smart for her own good.

On a more personal level, Hotaru is compassionate and devoted. She loves life, the world, and people. The type of person who marvels at everything and appreciates this chance she has to fight back and save it all from destruction. She is almost eternally upbeat and always encourages others to do their best to be strong.

Biography:
~5 Years Prior~
The rain fell steadily faster on the windowpane as the wellwishers packed up, until soon only Hotaru and her father remained. The silence between them was tense, unspoken words ready to burst. Her father turned slightly, back straightening as he prepared himself to launch into a long tirade, but the girl beat him to it. In a soft, quiet voice barely audible over the rain, she whispered to him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it."

A hand raced through the air before Hotaru could react, striking her cheek and sending her sprawling into the hospital floor. The sting hadn't faded when her father, in a tense and controlled voice, began. "It doesn't matter what you meant to do, Taru. What happened, happened. There is no undoing this. Do you understand that? That you can't go back and stop it from having happened? All of this... it is on you now."

"Father, please! You know I would never hurt her intentionally, it was an accident, I was just sca-"

"Control yourself, Taru."

"-red and I didn't know what to do and I- I- I-"

A hand covered her mouth, stopping the small vibrations that had been trembling through the air. The girl looked up with wide forest coloured eyes as she struggled to hold back tears. The man looking down at her had no sympathy in his eyes, nor love; only a stern, simmering anger that he was desperately trying to repress.

"Control. Maybe if we had taught you that from the start, none of this would have happened. You need to be educated on how to control this. How can you expect to live any kind of life if everytime you are afraid, you hurt someone with your voice?"

Slowly, he lifted his hand off her mouth. Images were running through her head. The open front door, the man in the black hoodie who's face was always missing, her mother running in front of her and trying to push her back. Scared and confused, Hotaru run to the end of the hall and cowered in the corner, watching her mother try to take the man down. But she wasn't winning, and the noise in her head was too much to take anymore... so she let it out in one long screech. Photos hanging on the wall shattered, and both her mother and the man were sent flying through the air. The man crashed through the door, while her mother hit the railing on the staircase. When Hotaru tried to stop screaming, she found she couldn't and that her power had taken over her. The twelve year old screamed until she fell unconcious.

"How can I have any life? I'm a freak." The two stared at each other in a silent standoff. With a sigh, her father caved and looked down. He reached a hand into his jacket and pulled out an official looking letter, holding it out for Hotaru to read. The girl looked at it intensely, the first words visable before she had even reached out to take it. 'We believe that it would be in both your and your daughter's best interest for her to be transferred immediately.' "That's it then? You're going to hand me off to some strangers and forget I exist?"

"WHAT OTHER CHOICE DO I HAVE? I CAN'T RAISE YOU. I CAN'T HELP YOU, HOTARU." The rage that had been simmering broke free as he threw the papers at her feet, his breathing becoming heavy as he tried to gain control again. "You... are too dangerous to be around Satoshi. What if you hurt him? He's only five. I can't... I can't take care of both of you, Taru."

The girl nodded and stared at the ground as it set in. She had known from a young age that her father was afraid of her. Her mother had been her one ally, and now she couldn't help her anymore- not laying in a coma in the hospital. She knew the likelihood of her mother waking up was slim. She was alone after all. "When do I leave?"
Primary Power:

~Shatter Speech~

Hotaru has an interesting power. It is innate, and cannot be supressed since it's activation, and seems to grow in power as time passes. Her voice causes vibrations that rack the body of her opponents and cause internal damage. It can do as little as causing minor balance issues and nosebleeds to various internal damages and side effects. Viens and arteries rupture first and cause extreme internal bleeding, and then the organs will begin to stress. It can cause vomiting, and if the wrong things get torn, it can cause paralysis, both temporarily and permanently. It hurts her to use her powers, eventually. It causes weakness, tiredness, rupturing vocal cords, and eventually blackouts. The strain on her body can cause random bruising and bosebleeds. It takes her up to a day to recharge.

Secondary Power:

~Balance Break~

By humming, she can cause the vibrations to travel through her body. This is especially useful if she is touching her opponent but risks hurting herself with backlash if she uses her primary power. The vibrations are forced off her skin and onto her enemy, which causes balance issues and confusion, as though they had spun around in circles.

Tertiary Skill:

~Kickboxing With A Twist~

Although her powers are intense, and tend to be overkill on some opponents, it doesn't actually KILL. Therefore, she uses a "customized" version of kickboxing and a pair of spiked brass knuckles to finish them off.

Hyper Power:

~Vibration Tornado~

When about to die, use your biggest gun you have left. In Banshee's case, that would the Vibration Tornado. It's caused when she channels every bit of spareable energy she has into her skin and voice. She spins like a top, and the vibrations rise off her in loops that quikly escalate to a tornado. She pushes it in the direction of her opponent with a quick use of her Shatter Speech. It causes immediate internal bleeding and rupturing, as well as paralysis, to anything in its path. It leaves her with just enough adrenaline and energy to finish them off with her knuckles before she passes out and reverts to her normal form.

She sleeps for three to five days directly after, and is rendered mute and powerless for up to two weeks, though it typically is fully recovered by a week if she takes care of herself.

Clutch Power:

~Fists of Rage~

By channeling the fear and anger of people around her into herself, Banshee can create giant projections of her brass knuckles. The size depends on the levels of negative emotions surrounding her, as well as the power behind them. She doesn't get long with them, maybe eight minutes tops before they shut down and leave her a defenseless pile on the street. She has to make them count.

Appearance:

(Image coming)

Appearance After Transformation:

(Image coming)

Name: Adeleen Marquez

Age: 31

Gender: Feminine

Race: Dragonite

Basic Appearance

Hair: A rich red somewhere between auburn and orange shines off each strand of the messy shoulder length waves that spill over Adeleen's shoulders when loose, though usually tied back in a loose braid.

Facial Hair: None.

Eyes: Eyes as golden as a pirate's coin and as round as them adorn Adeleen's thin face.

Build: Both of the twins posses the same thin and aristocratic figures, though Adeleen's contains more wiry muscle than her brother's due to her extensive training. They both posses the long, slender fingers that look more suited to a musician than a warrior and a "diplomat".

Height: Adeleen is 5'9", just shy of matching her brother's height.

Weight: Despite the extra height her brother holds over her, she has more in the way of weight, at 145 lbs.

Special Features: Both twins posses scaling down their backs and little spikes on the back of their necks. They are not very sharp, but rather little hard nubs.

Combat Credentials

Combat Style: An agressive and forward style that works best with her claymore or a long sword. Adeleen balances her heavy hitting attacks with careful planning and keen observation to avoid being out maneuvered with her slower weapons. On the off chance that she loses her sword, or must fight a large number of enemies, she resorts to her matching long daggers, where she is able to incorporate speediness and cleverness in her fast paced assualts.

Physical Abilities: Adeleen is a powerhouse of strength. Training with heavy weapons and working in a smith's shop as a child has lent her a physical strength that not many expect. She is flexible, and rather speedy for her size.

Supernatural Abilities: Adeleen is more gifted in this aspect than her brother, with an ability to drastically lower temperatures around her and to manipulate most liquids.

Gear:

Satchel- A leather bag with a single long strap. It has five interior pockets, two exterior pockets, and is roughly two feet by four feet in area.

Money Bag- Adeleen's bag is firey red with a pattern of overlapping green scales.

Knit Hat and Gloves- a pair of grey gloves and matching hat knit for her
By her foster mother before she and Aiden left home.

Miscellaneous Items of Note: A single vial containing a bright blue syrup. It measures roughly four inches in length and is no more than half an inch around.

Armor

Armor Description: As the duo's fighter, Adeleen has the good armour. Her steel plate armour consists of a breast plate, back plate, a skirt of tassets, greaves, poleyns, gauntlets, and couters.

But thats a lot of super heavy shit.

So she usually only wears typical, lightweight leather body armour, specifically a long sleeved vest and gloves.

Armor Abilities: Abilities? Other than being hard as fuck and super durable? Nah. No abilities.

Additional:

Main Weapon

Weapon Description: A claymore with a special sheath that hangs over juat one shoulder. It makes for easy unmounting and drawing.

Weapon Abilities: Again with the abilities. She can freeze things and manipulate them. Why does she need special weapons?

Additional Weapons

Weapon Description: Two long bladed knives, almost short swords in length, sheathed in the outer edge of each boot. The handles poke out for easy retrival.

Weapon Abilities: None.

Name: Aiden Marquez

Age: 31

Gender: Masculine

Race: Dragonite

Basic Appearance

Hair: Aiden's hair is of a darker shade, more a true red than his sister's. He keeps it a little on the linger side, so that it brushes his collar and covers his ears. The fine strands lay with the slightest of curve in.

Facial Hair: None.

Eyes: Aiden's eyes resemble a golden brown, like the colour of wheat during the summer, and are heavy lidded

Build: Both of the twins posses the same thin and aristocratic figures, with Aiden having a more "delicate" appearance. They both posses the long, slender fingers that look more suited to a musician than a warrior and a "diplomat".

Height: Aiden is 5'11", just barely taller than his twin.

Weight: Despite his taller stature, he weighs less than his sister, at 138lbs.

Special Features: Both twins posses scaling down their backs and little spikes on the back of their necks. They are not very sharp, but rather little hard nubs.

Combat Credentials

Combat Style: Aiden is the long range fighter, and his main weapon is a longbow. He prefers to be in the distance, rather than in close quarters. He tends to cover his sister from a distance. When pressed with no other choice, he uses a swift and elegant style, with a lot of flourishes and graceful evasions. He prefers to be on the defensive rather than the offensive when in close battle.

Physical Abilities: Aideen, while not as strong as his sister, is far more graceful and fast, his movements fluid and flexible. He moves as though dancing during battle.

Supernatural Abilities: He has slight telepathic abilities that he shares wih his sister. The two cannot read thoughts, but project their own to others.

Gear

Coat- a long coat of black velvety material made for him by his foster mother before he and Adeleen left home.

Money Bag- His bag is a sparkling blue with thin embroidery of a dragon on it in orange.

Back Satchel- a two and a half foot by three foot bag with a single, not so long strap for shoulder carrying. I has a single internal pocket and two side pouches.

Miscellaneous Items of Note: A singular vial of sparkling red syrup. It is roughly three inches in length and a half inch around.

Armor

Armor Description: Aiden only makes use of basic leather body armour, in the form of a long, sleeve less vest worn under his plain clothes. He enjoys the challenge of fighting with no armour.

Armor Abilities: None.

Additional:

Main Weapon

Weapon Description: A longbow made of stained ash. It is roughly 5'9" from tip to tip, on the smaller range. He uses 30 in arrows, the typical lengrh for a longbow, made of popular wood, painted black with goose fletching, and tipped in steel arrowheads.

Weapon Abilities: None.

Additional Weapons

Weapon Description: A beautifully made bisento, with a matching stained ash used for the staff portion of the weapon.

Weapon Abilities: None

The twins do not have parents. They were found near a lake in the woods close to a small village in Lorica. The villagers knew right away where the babies had come from, though, due to the scaling and spikes on their backs. They were children of the Dragonite clans who lived in the mountains to the west. Rarely were any of their people seen this far east, and never had they seen children. A lonely couple who managed a farm on the edge of the woods took the twins in with the intent of raising them.

They progressed quickly, barely needing teaching. They grasped language and arthimatics early on, and could speak complete scentances before they were three years old. By five, they were already faster and stronger than any other children their age. They grew stronger and taller than normal children, and were intelligent beyond their years.

As they grew older, they developed what appeared to others as a psychic link. When one was told some new bit of information, the other would know it almost instantly. When one would try their hand at something the other was proficient at, they would perform nearly as well. They would often complete each others sentances from different rooms in the house and would join in conversations when enetering the room, even though the topic had ended a few minutes prior.

Though they spent most of their days helping on the farm, tending to the animals and harvesting the field, they made time to enjoy their individual hobbies. While Adeleen would practice sword fighting in the barn as a tween with some of the neighboring boys, Aiden preferred to sit on the sideline and pretend to watch with his nose buried in a book.

As they approached their early teens, their foster parents realized they were already far beyond their small country town. They held onto them for as long as possible, as parents do, but as they approached the age of sixteen, they sent them into the city to live with relatives until they were prepared to drift on their own.

The two entered vastly different areas of expertise, with Adeleen quickly mastering close comabt skills and gaining a fierceness that shook her opponents, while Aiden developed a stinging intellect and silver tongue that left others baffled with empty pockets. He became involved in city politics, while Adeleen rapidly approached a knighthood. Everyone assumed they would move into a small cottage together and continue to gain ranks within the capital.

Until they gathered their things and left the city, Adeleen a trained swordswoman and Aiden a skilled diplomat and politician. They wandered west toward the mountains, and weren't seen or heard from for several years. They were presumed dead for years after, and their foster parents assumed they had simply gone home to their own people.

They wandered back to the same village they had been found at nearly five years later. People pressed them for details of the western lands, where no one dared go for fear of angering the Dragonite clans who lived there. Their answer was always the same, however, and after the sixtith time of being told, "It was rather warm." with a cryptic smile, they gave up asking.

After a few weeks of catching up with their foster parents, who had finally been able to have a child of their own, they headed east once more, this time by ship. With a small set of adventurers, they set out for the next continent, rumored to be far larger than their own. The twins were eager to see new people, new cultures, and- most importantly- to eat new foods.

This was not to be quite yet, as three months into their voyage, their ship was attacked by pirates. Taken hostage by the sea faring people, the now twenty eight year old twins had their weapons, their armour, and all their possessions stripped from them before being thrown into a cell. Barely a day into their capture, a few of the less savory of their captors wandered below deck with the ill intents regarding Adeleen, one of the first woman they had seen in months. Their first mistake was opening the door. The second mistake was assuming she was just any old girl.

In a few seconds, the first pirate was disarmed and flat on his back, likely with a concussion, and the second pinned to a corner with a sword at his throat. Aiden was quick to free himself using the unconcious one's knife, and the two lead a jailbreak, arming their fellow voyagers before storming the deck. Though their escape was thwarted, the captian was impressed with their fighting and agreed to release them when they came to land. Until then, the two agreed to join the pirates as crew.

By the time they had reached shore, they had made a pretty penny pirating, and had been given their things back. And thus, the twins arrived in Ranna. They have spent the last few years learning the culture and honing their skills.

Name: Desdemona Grace

Age: 25 human years (roughly 22 draconian years)

Gender: Feminine

Race: Dragonite

Appearance: Desdemona was always considered tiny for her age and race back home, but in our dimension, she stands at a slightly shorter than average 5'3" and weighs in at 124lbs. Her frame is delicate underneath her curves, and she has long limbs, all ending in a delicate set of digits. Everything about her figure screams "fragility". Her face is round, almost oval in shape, and her facial features are delicate and soft. While she might not be the most beautiful of the Dragonite, she is still considered stunning by human standards, especially with her living fire hair.

Other things that set her apart from her fellow reptilians were her blue eyes and pale skin, strange colouring even by their genetic pool. She stood out too much to be considered attractive. But here? It's almost bizarre to her gow many catcalls she can get walking down the street in a city.

She has a tendency to ignore fashiontrends, mostly because she doesn't understand why someone would wear towering heels over a pair of comfortable and ass-kicking boots, or why they would suffocate themselves squeezinginto tiny dresses when jeans and a t-shirt are incredibly comfy. She likes to buy graphic Ts and skinny jeans with tears mostly, and tops it off with a zip up hoodie and a leather jacket. You couldn't get her back into a dress if you tried.

Abilities: As a female Dragonite, Desdy lacks the ability to shift into a reptilian form. This by no means makes her defenseless. In addition to having diamond hard skin like the scales of a male Dragonite, her nails can rake through steal like tinfoil, she can generate absurd amounts of heat from her core, and she is learning how to spit fire. The latter usually leaves her absolutely exhausted and with a sore throat for several days.

Weapon(s): Back in her own realm, Desdemona would have been required to wear a full suit of armour and carry at least a sword, shield, and a few dozen homecooked variety bombs. But here on Primary Earth, all she needs is 6" skinny knife that she keeps tucked into her boots and a can of pepper spray in her purse.

Personality:At her core, Desdemona is gentle and serious. She has a great sense of humor, but rarely applies it to her actual conversations. She is generally straight forward, always answering questions with absolute conviction. She is generally very open to people, except when her past is touched upon. She has no difficulties trusting people at face value, but once her trust is broken. It is rarely earned again. She is loyal to the end, and if you earn her friendship or love, she would never willingly abandon you.

Although she is generally a peaceful, and frankly sweet, person, she has been known to flare up and become a force of anger unlike any other. Although she has a playful side that she displays in private, she is polite and calm around people in public.

Biography: Desdemona's home realm is known to the inhabitants as Delfi. It is a paralleling world that mirrors the shaping of Primary Earth, with just two major difference. Instead of being inhabitated by humans, it's the home to the Dragonites, a ruthless race that killed off many of the other sentient races inhabiting it. Those who don't learn to play the part of the ruthless killers are exiled and tend to die quickly. Their children are raises believing that being different is bad.

The second difference? The world is barren and scorched dry. The Dragonite had their own furtile lands in different patches of the world. Other than for mating and celebrations, Dragonite families kept apart. They had a tendency to kill anyone not related to them or mating with them if they spent too much time together. Families sometimes spread as far as 500 miles from each other.

Desdy, one of three fledglings born to a prominent bloodline, was, to say the least, a disappointment to her parents. The only girl, tiny, and a daydreamer. Her mother, who was the primary caretaker of the fledglings, cracked down on her the hardest, vut it never really made a difference. She grew up curious of other races, of different worlds, and would frequently sleep longer than needed in order to maximize her time beyind the bridges.

As she grew to adulthood, she becane increasingly strange to her race. Compassionate, gentle, and always smiling. It would have been fine had her family had just kept her hidden away. A special celebration was beginning, and there was no way to keep her hidden any longer.

The coming of age celebration was held only once every twenty years, as there was a three year period in which fledglings were born, and is considered one of the most significant events in a Dragonite's life. It was the day they left their nests and made ones of their own. It was the day they met their mates.

Desdemona, who was mostly ignored due to her tiny size, turned down every potential mate who did come her way. Word spread quickly at celebrations like this, and soon the atmosphere took a turn to something darker. Cruel eyes were cast upon her as she stood her ground, her refusals adamant. The first sign of violence was a shove from behind that sent her sprawling on the hard ground. Then, as she tried to stand back up, a foot smashed her hand. She shook both events off, and keeping her hand tucked into her pocket, continued on.

The first stone came as a surprise. It grazed her cheekbone and left a slight abrasion that stung. One wince as she touched the wound, and it was over. Rocks and angry threats went flying through the air, scratching her armour and bruising her exposed skin. She didn't wait long before taking off into the scorching desert.

The isolation was a blessing for as long as it lasted. Occassionally, one would find her. She never let them get close enough to grab her or to follow her. One male seemed particularly set on hunting her down. She knew there was a way to escape, but she didn't have the required power to do it on her own.

It needed a blast of fire from a male Dragonite.

So she waited at the edge of the plains near the mountains for him to catch up to her. It didn't take long. He found her in only two short days. But when he finally had her cornered, he did... absolutely nothing. Desdemona couldn't believe it. This stupid Dragonite had hunted her for months across the desert plains, juat to sit there and stare at her? He wasn't even going to bother to attack??

The girl drew her sword and charged at the male, provoking him into shooting a warning blast at her. With the precision of days of practice, she swung her blade into the fire and sliced through it, tearing a rip in the air that quickly sucked in every bit of fire. With a smile, she stabbed her sword into the ground and saluted the male before waltzing through the hole and into her new world.

And for a while, she was free.

And then, he found her in her sleep.

And the hunt began again.