Vindani is a naga, a Mythic who is half serpent and half human in form. She tends to 'stand' around 5'9, though she is around 10 feet in length from head to tail, and her skin is a mix of pale ivory and sapphire blue scales that match her hair. Her eyes are also a brilliant shade of gold, and both her fangs and claws have a paralytic venom in them. Most notably, Vindani has a mastery of shape-shifting, and can take on nearly any form she chooses to the point that few are certain they've seen her "true" form. She tends to keep her two pet snakes, Thos and Taral, on her person, oftentimes using her shape-shifting to make it appear that they are part of her body to some degree. She's often adorned in blue and gold to match her color, and she also fights with the help of a serpent shaped staff, a weapon she has unique mastery over.

-Mercurial
-Playful
-Haughty
-Hedonistic
-Enigmatic
-Narcissistic
-Self-Important
-Seductive

Little is known about the mysterious naga sorceress known as Vindani. Temptress, charlatan, and thief all at once, Vindani has appeared in and out of history for centuries, mingling with the wealthy and famous and dedicated at all times to one thing; herself. Some say she's a harmless pleasure seeker, others say she is a vicious viper waiting to strike down those in her way. Whatever you call her, Vindani has only one answer; she is simply the best, and she deserves the best, even if it means taking it from you!

Vindani fights in the tradition of the Naga, favoring agility and precision over blunt force, and using her serpentine tail, claws, venom, and ki magic mixed with traditional hand to hand fighting, using her staff as a melee weapon. Her style is to toy with enemies, baiting out their stronger attacks and confusing enemies with her obfuscating ki abilities, some of which allow her to take on the form of her opponents and turn their own abilities against them. She also isn't above fighting dirty and will happily use every advantage given until she finds just the opening she needs for a final, decisive strike.

Vindani thrives on obfuscation and is at her best when she is in control of a fight. Consequently, she struggles against opponents who don't get duped by her abilities, or are able to control the battle and restrict her movements. She's no slouch in terms of physical strength when the chips are down, but without her ability to obfuscate most fighters will run circles around her.

She is able to move her staff telekinetic, though she keeps a good grip on it during a fight.

Jonas is a man that stands out for many reasons, mainly it involves looks. His height is striking 6'4" with an athletic build if the indents in his clothing have anything to say. He does his best to remain prim and upright, he would honestly prefer to slouch and walk in a relaxed manner... but he has to live up to the stereotype of a doctor. Regardless, he isn't much of an attention getter... or so he wishes was true. While it is difficult to distinguish him as a nomad with his dusty white coat, a traveling man that looks like he came out of a hospital is definitely suspicious. While barely recognizable at first, there seems to be a glint of sharpened silver within the coat. Other than the coat, he sports a crisp green shirt underneath, along with blue slacks and black shoes. he also carries along with him a satchel which stores all sorts of necessities he utilizes as a back alley doctor. While he was born in America, he seems to be of German and Welsh descent, judging by his subtle accent; he also seems to have a bit of a tan.

(Ignore the ponytail, his hair is short).

■ Blunt
■ Calm
■ Enjoys razzing people
■ Farsighted
■ Favors pragmatism
■ Laid-back
■ Loyal (sometimes conflicts with pragmatism)
■ Mildly Snide
■ Observant
■ Open-minded

Born within the sprawling urban jungle of N Y to the C, Jonas came into a very unforgiving realm of uncertainty and poverty. His parents were always scrapping by to make ends meet within the chaos, always attempting to procure a "normal" job so their son wouldn't face the same struggles as they, nor would he have to be a fighter just as they once were. Parents are impressionable to a degree...

The two problems with that was the wee boy getting into a bunch of scraps with other hoodlums, hell, even joining a small-time gang at the age of five with other young guys and gals of seven to fifteen. You could say Jonas was born for this sort of thing with his influx of ki; thank his ancestry for passing on some of their ki to the kid as his fighting spirit made him the lawnmower and turned other kids asses into grass quicker than someone speeding by a cop. But even with the amount of ki he heralded, there were bigger, badder, older kids who could take that ki and shove it so far up his ass that not even a colonoscopy could save it.

So what did he do? Jonas got out of dodge, sprinting as fast as he could to put as much distance between said teenagers. When he knew he couldn't outrun them, he just set up boundaries that would slow them down, even going as far as to set up a couple of traps ahead of time. Man, he felt proud when he Home Alone'd one kid by having a trashcan swing straight into one of their chests and turning the squad into human dominoes.

The other problem was that they had to resort to underground fights where usually Nomads would triumph. They made good money, enough to send the tyke to school... which would be a problem if he didn't have a Doctor Jekyl, Mr. Hyde act in play. Sure, he's a kid, but he wasn't stupid... plus he didn't want to live in a horrible apartment all his life... so he studied as hard as he fought on the streets.

Anyways, one day when he was coming back, there was almost a surge within him, a strange overpowering feeling within him that almost caused him to choke. Heading home as quickly as possible to alert his parents, he found not a single person occupying the space. The young Jonas figured they must of been at one of their super secret underground duels and were kicking chumps to the curb. So he did his thing and hung out with his gang of friends.

And then the same thing happened the next day... which resulted him staying at a friends place since he was starving.

And then the next day, again... he was met with nothing.

Again... and again.

This went on for five days before it was announced that his parents were found dead in an alleyway with suspicions of foul play, possibly hit-and-run. He was watching the news at a friends place... the seven year old was in a catatonic state of shock. On the streets, he built up his oppressive front, became essentially a teachers "pet," but this? This made everything useless and caused him to crack, spewing all types of emotion.

It didn't make it all any better when he was taken in by an orphanage and a couple of hours later adopted by a couple of old weirdos... who took him far away from that urban mess he called a home. But during that time, he became vengeful and gained the stereotypical trope of wanting to avenge his parents.

That, or satiate his hunger for revenge. Either way works.

---

Jonas could say this was a rags to riches stories, being taken all the way to Virginia from New York... by chance, the old man who adopted him happened to be Conrad Miyamoto, the successor of many other Miyamoto's behind them. After a long journey, the first greeting he was introduced to was the sight of a huge mansion, part of it resembling a dojo. The second thing he was shown was that he had multiple other adopted siblings who were pondering upon their situation as well.

By chance, Conrad Miyamoto had stumbled across myriads of orphaned children with high amounts of ki during his travels to the country. Due to infertility like his former master, he lacked an heir to his household and most importantly, their dojo, their way of life. So he spoke of doing the same thing as his master and followed his methods to ensure a successor...

Said method basically had the children become more disciplined over time, which would eventually whip the young Jonas into shape.

Now under the Miyamoto name, everyone's weeks of of training transformed into years as they all became proficient in their master's style of martial arts - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu; along with that, they developed their ki even further and acquired certain perks that came along with it. Along with that, the family was also very harsh when it came to cracking down on their education as well, pushing all the children past the normal limits of human expectations. No matter what, at the end of the day, their minds would be throbbing just as much as their muscles.

Despite all the discipline, training, and essentially being whipped into shape as well as the education he underwent, Jonas still went off the radar when it came to being himself as everyone grew older. Going out to have a night of debauchery? Pretty difficult, but nevertheless, he accomplished it. Sneaking through the mansion? Avoiding the guards make it a challenge, but he does it.

Getting into the lab Conrad's adoptive siblings would disappear into late at night? Impossible at first, but he got lucky... and managed to steal some of their documents. He never did get around to returning them.

---

A couple of years down the line, Jonas has a full life ahead of him - his act was (partially) straightened up, he was working as a doctor with a Ph.D at the young age of 18, exercising through jiu jitsu, harboring large amount of ki he could pass down to his descendants, etc. Basically life was too grand for him, too perfect at this point!... with how good this all sounded, something was bound to go awry sooner than expected.

... and, well, it did.

Jonas was met by two of Conrads bodyguards when he was twenty years of age when he was heading home after resigning from his job and finding opportunity somewhere else. They both implored him to do two things - return the documents he had pilfered from his family's labs, and return to Virginia... unfortunately, those two returned in body bags.

This action left him with a bounty on his head that was imposed on by his family for theft and murder, causing Jonas to take up a new life as a back-alley doctor, and more importantly a Nomad.

---

That was seven years ago. Over the span of these next years shaped many things, ranging from his mind to his fighting and so on. He ran into many who would try to turn him over to the Miyamoto's, many others who would try to group and befriend him... no matter what, all folk and nomad who traveled with him would end up befalling the same fate as each other, so was the life of a nomad...

Even his closest friends during that time span were privy to such fates, jading him further and further.

However, after all these years, Jonas's mind is always drawn back to the root of the problem, trying to analyze whether or not he should be thankful to be wanted back alive. He continued to make deals with other nomads and money-hungry mooks that varied in personality, how dodgy they were, etc... though, he always handled them. After all, surviving is what he did best.

While he does employ some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, his main method of madness comes from his ability to fight dirty! Not fully exploiting what you can do and abiding by "honor" is for chumps; to survive, you have to invent new ways to take your opponent down, just as he did in the streets before. Eye-gouging, elbowing the gut, hell, even the classic nut strike is fair game to him.

Innately, while he does process a high amount of ki, he utilizes this in various methods, making him faster than he usually is, to performing acrobatic stunts and dodging opponents, to actually infusing his own attacks with ki. Jonas is one to play mind games with people, essentially screwing with them on the battlefield. Along with that, he draws ki from his reservoirs to create almost perfect look alikes of him, as well as imbuing them with some of his ki. Along with that, he is pretty damn good with a knife, even better when he starts tossing them with precision and power.

However, he just doesn't use knives and a medicine pack mule, oh no. Jonas has the greatest weapons of them all - fists. Bringing ground-fighting and grappling to the table, he puts a lot more emphasis on ground-fighting and striking an opponent while their unable to get up. Along with that, he packs a pretty damn good punch, so that should be accounted for. Jonas also has access to the ki-sensing technique.

■ Despite his upbringing on the streets, he has always secretly enjoyed orchestral music, and finds jazz to be soothing for him.
■ Has a Ph.D in Medical Science; claims he was more or less lucky in getting this degree.
■ Always has a lollipop on him to give to a kid to cheer them up if they're feeling blue, though he insists it's to shut them up before they throw a tantrum.
■ Practices dissecting, via any sort of food he gets his hands on; breakfast, lunch, nor dinner are exempt from this form of training.

Aside from his crown, the necromancer reaches a height of 5'8" with a... skeletal build to boot. If one were to strip him of all his clothes, there wouldn't be a single scrap of flesh on his body, rotten or not. Despite this all, the bones, while pale, seemed to be meticulously cleaned to a pint, making it someone difficult to spot a bit of dirt on him, lest they be at his feet. Aside from his other body parts, his skulls eye-sockets glow with an iridescent shade of crimson and function similarly to eyes. If you question how he speaks without a tongue, he chalks it up to magic. Other than that, it isn't unusual to find some wrappings in his attire, namely around his feet, hands, and torso. He also dons a signature brass appearing crown with what looks to be a tattered, faded robe with some markings on the lower front of it.

- Calm
- Curious
- Excitable (Dependent)
- Nonchalant
- Open
- Passive
- Vigilant (Especially in regards to his phylactery)

The only history one will get out of him was that he was a simple farm boy whose family dabbled in witchcraft, namely the arts involving souls and the dead. Along with that, he was more persistent and passionate about the future more than anyone else and instead of using soothsaying magic his family had access to, he decided to see and record for himself; after all how far into the future they could see was limited by at least fifty years. In his prime he bound his soul to a phylactery, which was when he truly, physically "died." During this time, he left on his travels, skin and flesh rotting away, eyes falling out and being replaced by red, floating orbs, the works. He does recall multiple horrific incidents where he was killed, even once having to walk through the sea to get back to shore.

Afterwards, he will inquire said person who asked their story, how it affected them, etc. Rather basic. From the brief way he puts out his story, Aldous does not seem to care much for the past, but rather what the future beholds. That is the reason why he sealed his soul into an enchanted gem after all...

... oh, and screw those religious zealots, they can go die in a spectral fire for all he cares... impeding his journey and destroying some of his recordings... speaking of which, was taught by his surprisingly literate mother over how to read. Probably had to do with magic allowing her to understand and relay it to a wee Aldous, but it doesn't matter now.

To be frank, Aldous has no fighting style he can call his own due to his lack of training in most known martial arts. Instead, from over the years, he has compiled a basic set of moves he has studied and mimicked. How he gained these moves was due to his travels in the east and modern Europe (slinking in the shadows nevertheless), but disregarding stories, his fighting style is a combination of Karate and Boxing, but leans mainly towards Boxing, saying his style would fall under outboxing. One thing to note when using his fists, he will coat them with ki, usually to keep his hands from breaking when hitting someone. Finally, to top this off, Aldous utilizes his array of spells to enhance his body in specific ways, resurrect the dead, or to just send out spectral blobs at an opponent.

For one, Aldous is an undead creature who is essentially bare bones. While, surprisingly, the holy light does the same amount of damage to him as any other human-being (sorry Sage), any sort of damage done to him will be permanent until he utilizes one of his restoration abilities or revives himself upon "death." To top that part off, the necromancer is very fragile; not as fragile as, per say, Yeong-Suk or Seven-Seven, but his defenses are middling. Due to this, he is semi-reliant on his minions to distract other Nomads. Finally, relatively speaking, Aldous is also an all-rounder. This means he can do a lot, but he isn't relatively strong in any category.

A tall, unsmiling woman who breaks six feet by an inch or so, Verga does not put off the friendliest sort of appearance. Her teardrop-shaped face is solemn and unrevealing, and her sharp, almond eye has a way of telling you, no, she would not laugh at that joke, so don’t try. Verga’s skin is somewhat light, and her body is visibly strong—her massive reserves of life energy have prolonged her youth, appearing more like a woman in her early forties, or maybe late thirties, though her eye has a certain weariness to its lined and lidded gaze that does not match her appearance.

The siniydusha condition that Verga was born with stained her hair, eyes, eyelids, and nails a valley lily shade of blue. Her hair falls nearly shoulder length, and the bangs over her face are swept carefully to the side, hiding the place where her left eye would be. Behind the hair, an eyepatch covers up an empty socket—you give up some things, chasing power. Verga’s fingernails are all filed into long, sharp points, and her fingers are thin and calloused from years of work.

On the surface, Verga's wardrobe is rather simple. Clean black turtleneck jumpers and white cargo-pants. Very efficient. Her boots are dark and hardy as well, though maybe a bit sleeker than functional, with heels a bit higher than would be fitting for a martial artist and survivalist. Her belt is also notably nice, dark with a round brass disc to buckle the warm leather. She also often wears a dark, heavy greatcoat, with sleeves and a collar marked with subtle but intricate floral designs. Bits and pieces of her hidden vanity, always poking through.

■ Cold
■ Proud
■ Willful
■ Unsympathetic
■ Single-minded
■ Introverted
■ Socially awkward
■ Superstitious
■ Power-hungry
■ Merciful
■ Commitment issues
■ Uncomfortable around children

Verga could not have shown you her hometown on a map. She could not tell you the name of the lake below the village, the mountains that blocked out the morning sun, or the woods that surrounded her childhood on all sides. Her world was nameless, one made up of plowing snow and dark forests, and fairy tales whispered over crackling fires. The village was the only thing there was—that, and the bristling wilderness.

Verga’s education had no room for science or history. She learned how to cut down trees and how to make camps, how to kill animals and light fires, how to keep the frostbite from turning her fingers and toes into blackened corn-husks. She learned basic math and literacy so outsiders couldn’t trick her, and she learned to distrust people, and to distrust nature, because both would always be looking for ways to gain the upper hand. However, if given the choice, she felt most at home in the forest, preferably in the wintertime, when the snow made everything peaceful and hushed. One day, far in the future, she would emerge onto the world stage as a renowned martial artist, but even as an adult with years of experience in the outside world, she could never feel comfortable in urban areas, or among crowds.

In Verga’s world, your worth was determined by the weight you pulled, and no one pulled more weight than Verga Ilgraven. Though her neighbors were never the affectionate type, and most exchanges, even with family, were short and gruff, she was always appreciated for her natural abilities. Verga had been born with a unique condition, siniydusha, the blue ki, which endowed her with enormous innate strength, and grew faster than any normal ki. By the time she was sixteen, Verga could carry more firewood than any man in the village, and could endure biting cold that would glue even the hardiest lumberjack to the fireplace. Each year her strength swelled. But it was never enough; the more powerful she grew, the more Verga wanted. During excursions, she would stray farther and farther into the wilderness. If she could, she stayed away from the village, which began to seem unbearably small. One day, when she was 19, a hunting expedition took Verga to the very edge of the valley. Without giving it any conscious thought, she just kept walking.

For over a year Verga traveled east through thick, unforgiving wilderness. She was searching for something, and she didn’t know what, not exactly, but she knew she wouldn’t have found it back in her old valley. She fought off beasts, and she fought off the elements. Even with her prodigious strength, it was a grueling ordeal. More than once Verga sat beneath the trees, staring up at the sky, dizzy with exhaustion and starvation and certain she was going to die.

The handful of towns she passed slowly filled in the gaps in her knowledge of the world—she was in Siberia, which was a part of Russia, and, the few times her power was brought to light, they called her strannik: a Nomad. Eventually, after months in the wild, she reached the Chinese border.

After a run-in with border patrol, Verga would embark on a two-week string of misunderstandings, miscommunications, and several fights, before she was ultimately scooped up by a local tai chi master. He took notice of both her raw potential and her lack of affiliation to any competing nation or martial arts school, and was quick to recruit her.

Verga’s new master would aid her in obtaining Chinese citizenship, and teach her the local languages. And during the next three years, she found exactly what she had wanted for so long—training, purpose, and power. She would study tai chi and, eventually, arnis, and begin to learn more and more about this strange new world beyond Siberia.

Tai chi did not agree with her at first, Verga’s hard, inflexible personality making the fluid, changeable martial art a frustrating challenge. Years passed. Verga worked, and worked, and at some point that work paid off. Her blue ki grew, ravenously. After only a shocking five years of training, she used her natural gifts to equal her master himself. Success met her in multiple local tournaments, and she was soon something of a small celebrity. Pride, power, success—Verga had all of these in no small supply, and she was drunk on them. She even began developing her own martial arts style—tai chi and arnis weren’t enough, it seemed. As with everything in life, Verga would not be satisfied with what things were when she could see so clearly what they could be.

Verga was not stupid, however, and sometime after leaving her old workshop she realized it took more to survive in the outside world than flashy martial arts. With this in mind, Verga enrolled in a local university at the age of 25.

It was at school that she became acquainted with Runsu Ryuga, a Japanese exchange student. Verga rarely had strong feelings when it came to other human beings who, in most cases, either confused or alarmed her, but she wasted no time in deciding she felt, openly and mightily, a strong hatred for this boy.

Runsu was from money, and it showed. His clothes, his laptop, his car, and of course his bragging. Like Verga, he had quite the ego, though where Verga was reserved, and preferred to speak with actions, not words, Runsu was all talk. Unfortunately, he too was an aspiring nomad, and Verga soon found he had the bite to back up his bark.

Runsu would be the first person to ever challenge Verga. Sometimes they sparred, and sometimes Verga would win. Her raw ki reserves providing a slight edge over the skill-oriented Runsu, but if she did beat him, she would be challenged for it. Often, Runsu would win. These wins burned the skin of her pride like frostbite. When he mocked her for her strange habits, her accent, her grades, it killed Verga to know that any punch she threw at him could be matched by one just as strong.

In academics, Verga was hopelessly behind her other classmates. While Runsu was only a middling student, he was studious enough to stay ahead of her, and his successes in the face of her failures frustrated Verga in a way only her early years in tai chi could rival. She channeled her anger into her work, and sometimes into her fists during sparring matches. The rivalry between Verga and Runsu would reach a peak during one clash in the spring semester when, after gaining the upper hand, Verga lost her temper, and her rival was very nearly killed. All Verga’s frustration poured out of her just then, her confusion at the strange new world she lived in, her hatred for the industrialized inner city, her frustration with her own academic progress, her loathing of Runsu—all of it. Eventually, she pulled back, not knowing or caring if Runsu was still alive. Then, she did something she couldn’t have explained, just like she couldn’t have explained why she kept walking all those years ago, when she left her village for good. Picking him up, Verga took Runsu to a local hospital.

She allowed doctors to extract her own ki for healing. For some reason, the thought of him dying, and her being responsible, drove a deep, uncomfortable spike through her belly.

She was there when he woke up. There wasn’t much to say. Uncomfortable, unhappy, half-wishing she had left him to die, Verga left. She would return only once afterwards, to drop off a bag of pao after the local streetcart accidentally gave her extra. Later, Runsu confided in her that she was the only person to visit him while he was hospitalized. Parents were too busy, he said. What about your friends? she’d asked. He shrugged.

It wouldn’t be long before Verga realized the sickly feeling that had been following her since the fight was guilt. She felt guilty. It was unfamiliar, ugly territory she wanted nothing to do with, but apparently that wasn’t an option. Runsu, for his part, seemed more reserved around her. There weren’t any more taunts, at least.

It took time, but eventually the two took to talking. Runsu, despite whatever he said before, was quickly fascinated by Verga’s stories of her upbringing, and listened raptly to her descriptions of traditional Siberian fairy tales and folklore. Verga eventually found Runsu was the only person she was comfortable asking simple questions that, prior, she had been too embarrassed to ask her master. They began to confide in each other. Their old egos, both injured by that unhappy fight, began to swell again. They trained together, they studied together, and before long they were dating.

It felt, to two young adults, both in their own ways unfamiliar with the realities of the outside world, that they were at their peak, the top of the world. Their feats in tournaments brought them modest fame, but to them, modest fame felt like the most glorious thing in the universe.

Both were interested in refining their own, unique takes on martial arts, and their arguments over whose was better were ultimately settled by a strange, alien thought—what if we had a child? They could teach that child everything they knew. A legacy worthy of their talents (and egos), a trophy that would combine the best of both of them, together, united. This was only an idle thought, and they didn’t start actively trying for a kid so much as they stopped actively avoiding it. After all, even without condoms, it could be months, maybe even a year, before anything happened. But within two weeks, Verga was pregnant. Under encouragement from Runsu, she decided to follow through with it.

Not long into her pregnancy, Verga decided she wouldn’t return for her second year of university, and, with more than a little dissatisfaction, moved away from her more strenuous training. Runsu visited regularly. They had arguments over the child’s name, of course, both wanting a name to reference themself over their partner. Verga developed a bit of cabin fever, cut off from her training, but she endured. A checkup in the first trimester told them they would have a girl. A checkup during the second trimester told them their child would be born with Senshinōben.

It was a hereditary disease, one that drastically stagnates life energy. The baby would be pitifully weak from the moment she was born, with minimal ki reserves. If she was born at all, that is—the baby’s chance of survival was incredibly slim. A doctor hesitantly gave the option of an abortion, though this wasn’t something Runsu or Verga were ready to hear.

The two tried to talk about it, afterwards, but talking was never their strong point, even at the best of times. Learning their child would likely miscarry was nothing they were prepared for, and the two realized, privately and separately, that they were still very young, and there was so much outside of their abilities. They ended up arguing, and things probably would’ve gone better if they hadn’t said anything all.

Runsu didn’t visit as often, afterwards. From the way he talked when he did come by, you would think Verga wasn’t pregnant at all. He made no acknowledgement to her pregnancy, or the Senshinōben, and when Verga tried to press him he stammered and dodged and half-answered, and usually left early. Verga felt spite germinating inside her, like a spiky, armored creature squeezed between her organs, imagining Runsu going to classes, pretending she didn’t exist. She had always known he was the weak one. She began consulting with doctors on the possibility of an abortion, but something—stubbornness, fear, pride—held her back from committing. Still, while Verga stewed in her apartment alone—her belly round and full, her thoughts dark and unhappy—the ‘A’ word floated regularly through her head, though it always drowned below the sea of bitterness inside her before it could take root. She had Runsu’s number, but after the first few days, stopped texting, stopped calling, and would not respond to his few attempts to reach out.

As well-known and successful martial artists, the two had funds for extensive medical care and consultation. Eventually, it was decided to remove the baby by caesarian section, and place it in a heavily monitored sustainment tank. The surgery was a success, but the baby’s condition remained uncertain. Runsu avoided the hospital and Verga completely, and made no appearance. When the child finally stabilized, it was time for Verga to figure out what it would be called. Runsu failed to show, which Verga told herself was inevitable, but it didn’t stop the angry disappointment that flickered through her as she held her baby, alone. The child would take her surname, ‘Ilgraven.’ On the paperwork, feeling all those weeks of spite and anger come boiling over, Verga jotted down ‘Shippai’ in a burst of impulse. It was a Japanese word, her husband’s language, and it translated to ‘failure.’ Shippai Ilgraven would be her daughter’s new name. When Runsu found out, they shouted, then they fought. This one was a stalemate. Bloodied, bruised, Verga went to the car to take little Shippai out of the back seat, while Runsu stormed off.

If mastering tai chi was difficult, figuring out how to care for a baby was something else entirely. Verga was in and out of the house, constantly, always in need of new supplies, new clothes, new diapers. Shippai needed weekly check-ups, as her Senshinōben persisted in weakening the baby’s already delicate body. Verga had no idea what was right or wrong when it came to raising this tiny, squealing, fragile creature. Then, when Shippai was half a year old, Runsu returned. To Verga’s enormous surprise, he was back to apologize. She, of course, would not and could not forgive him, but he was there to help, and Runsu couldn’t refuse.

Runsu, likely with the thought of his own parents haunting his mind, did his best to stay by Shippai’s side at all times. He took off from university as well. Verga, who tried to care for the girl best she could, felt guilt for the second time in her life, this time over the child’s name, not to mention a certain amount of wounded pride over her daughter and heir carrying such a shameful moniker. Not that she ever said these things out loud, of course. Runsu was no longer the handsome boy she confided in, all those months ago. To the public, of course, it was a sweet little picture—two famous martial artists raising a child together. News of their strife would not reach the tabloids.

But as Shippai began to walk, and speak, the two began training her. Verga was determined to have this child throw off her name, her disease, to fight through and conquer it. Maybe if she did, all Verga’s past pain and confusion would be vindicated. Or, maybe, the guilt would go away.

Where Verga was a cold wall, pushing Shippai silently to grow no matter the cost and holding the girl at arm's length, Runsu was a constant fire, always telling her to do better, to be better, a fixture at Shippai’s side.

Meanwhile, no longer pregnant, Verga returned to her own training. To her frustration, the meteoric growth of her teens had slowed down, and her ki would grow only at a normal rate now that she approached her thirties. Still, it was good to be fighting again, seriously. But her martial arts seems hollow now. She continued to fine tune her blend of tai chi and arnis, which she now dubbed ‘Tikhiyvolna,’ the Tranquil Wave. She garnered attention in local tournaments, and imitators of her technique began to crop up, enough to gain her little experiment in martial arts proper respect as its own school, and, for herself, the title of Tikhiyvolna Master. But the limits of punches and kicks and self-defense seemed so small in the face of the struggles of the last few years. It was like being back in her old village again, surrounded by trees, unsatisfied by the smallness of the world. Verga hated that no matter her skill, no amount of martial arts could take away her powerless to situations like miscarriage, and broken hearts, and crying babies.

Whatever she did, whatever she said, Verga loved her daughter. She didn’t know what to make of that, of course, and, on some level, it disturbed her. But those few moments when she would play with the girl, show her how to build little towers out of wood blocks, or how to make twig dolls like the ones her parents made, or laugh while Shippai roared like a movie monster and knocked over her buildings—Verga was happy. But it didn’t make the guilt go away, or the pain, and having to deal with happiness and unhappiness at the same time felt more confusing than unhappiness on its own. And even if she loved her, love isn’t enough. If anything, it made Verga’s actions worse—a mother may be cold and heartless, and that’s a simple, understandable evil, but a mother who loved her daughter—she should’ve known better.

Verga and Runsu were not good parents. They pushed their daughter to reach the stars, and when she couldn’t, when the reality of the Senshinōben beat her back down, they, either consciously or subconsciously, would blame Shippai. Runsu would lose his temper and shout, Verga would go cold as stone and speak only curt, harsh indictments. Eventually, the tiny shred of goodwill that had built up with Runsu’s return fell away. They argued, and argued, and argued, and Shippai cowered on the sidelines.

When Shippai was seven, the two took their daughter to Japan, where Verga hoped to put her through survival training like what she endured in Siberia. On the way, as they often did, Shippai’s parents fought, and fought. In the airport. In Japan. Up in the mountains. While they walked the hiking trail, Runsu finally succeeded in pulling Verga’s trigger with a comment about her taking his future from him, and suddenly her icy sniping became vicious shouting. She ordered Shippai to wait for them by a bench on the hiking trail, and told Runsu that she was done. Done with him, done with Shippai, done with all of it.

That broke through his bluster. But what about Shippai? We can’t leave her here.

I can, said Verga. If you want to raise a child on your own, be my god damn guest.

She marched off down the path, and Runsu tried to follow her. By the mountain base, they came to blows. For the first time in a very long while, Runsu was victorious, but he must not have felt victorious, because when Verga met his gaze, beaten and gasping for breath beneath a Japanese fir, he turned, and he fled. Verga knew her daughter was waiting for her up in the mountains. But she couldn’t return. Not to China, and not to Shippai, not to Runsu. Once again, Verga was marching off into the wilderness, alone.

For the next fifteen years, Verga sought only the hard and tangible. She sought power. She sought anything that would keep her from powerlessness. She sought something clear and simple, and something that she was actually good at. And Verga was very good at amassing power. She let her martial arts skills go rusty as the benefits of her blue ki slowed with age, and instead spent her time scouring the corners of Asia for ancient ki techniques derived from old powers and terrible sorceries. She might occasionally participate in tournaments, a way of maintaining her fortune, but other than that Verga Ilgraven faded from the public scene. The thought of people, always somewhat uncomfortable to Verga, even at the best of times, was now downright frightening to her. Power had been her first love, and, she now realized, it should have been her only.

In the last few months, noting her loss in a recent tournament, Verga has decided to begin work again with her martial arts skills, and has quietly returned to the city in order to find sparring partners. She keeps on a straight face, deflects questions about her daughter, and hides admirably her great distaste for almost every single thing about the busy cities of Japan.

Verga spent much of the last fifteen years tracking down, learning, and refining some of the most dangerous ki-attacks known to martial arts. She fights with a balance of these attacks alongside her own martial arts prowess, generally using her special techniques to beat down the enemy with raw aggression, then closes in and finishes them off with her martial arts.

Her martial art style, Tikhiyvolna, is based on her studies of Chinese tai chi and Filipino arnis, and focuses on control and adaptability. Verga is an aggressive fighter by nature, but her martial arts style is ultimately more suited to waiting, reacting, and controlling, and while she is the inventor of Tikhiyvolna, it’s techniques are not suited towards her natural disposition, and she relies almost entirely on her ki abilities for direct offense. While still skilled, Verga has grown rusty as a Tikhiyvolna practitioner, and currently seeks to refine her old skills again.

Because Verga pursued only the most powerful techniques, almost all of her specials require enormous amounts of ki to function, and her body can only sustain a certain number of ‘shots’ before requiring a lengthy recharge time.

While Verga’s ki attacks are enormously powerful, their raw power is also their greatest downside. Verga has pursued only the most dangerous of techniques during her quest for power, and, as a result, most of her special moves have a limited number of ‘shots’ before her body can no longer sustain them, and she must act conservatively against stronger foes, something that doesn’t come naturally to Verga due to her pride. In addition, almost none of her abilities can safely be used in closed in spaces, like hallways, and are difficult to use without harming allies. This also means she has a certain lack of versatility, as her abilities cannot be easily fine tuned or controlled—they operate at either 0%, or 100%, with no middle-ground.

If her abilities are spent, she has to rely on martial arts, and, while more than competent, her style focuses on self-defense, and isn’t appropriate for the shows of aggression and power that Verga relies on by nature.

Verga’s old fascination with fame has faded in the last twenty years, and she now has a very low opinion of it, and people who seek it out.

Standing with a tincture of valor in his dark blue eyes, Katsuo stands at about 5'9," a bit below average for what you might expect out of a nomad, but that can be overlooked for... certain reasons. To add onto his rather unassuming appearance, he does have a rather average build, flat midsection with some difficulty in telling if he has any muscles at all. While he does stand upright, for the most part, he walks with a slight slouch. His clothes seem rather ordinary as well, wearing a slick black jacket with white stripes and indents here and there, with some fluff at the collar as well. The rest of his clothes don't stand out, with a plain white t-shirt underneath, some black pants and shoes to complete the style. Other than his confident and haughty smile and his obvious Japanese accent, the biggest thing that stands out is his sword. It's nearly as large as him and is a lot heavier than what the average could wield. Some parts of it seem chipped away, yet it holds a sharpened edge to it all, seemingly pulsing with energy, glowing red from time to time.

= Confident
= Excitable
= Idealistic to a fault
= Pompous
= Relaxed (Most of the time)
= Shallow
= Stubborn
= Tendency to white knight

Myths recount of many things, such as the tales and triumphs of figures who when on a spanning journey to return home, or the trickery of creatures that would inspire fear or lessons into the hearts of others, however there is one story that has been lost to time. Long ago, legends tell of a fabled sword that was wielded by a warrior and his descendants that would fall any enemy that was unfortunate to come across time and time again.

With each passing generation, the sword would become bathed in myriads of blood to the point where it was sopping wet with the crimson hue. As a result of the mixture of the blood bought with the lives of enemies, the blade began to develop powers and grow into its own being. It held an insatiable bloodlust that would only extend to its victims if they lacked the willpower to control it, forcing them to tame it through absorbing a specific amount of blood. Many lacked the strength of mind and soon it became lost to the sands of time.

Fast forward to me, Katsuo, a normal Japanese highschooler into his second year. Life was... decent I suppose with your typical family of four - dad, mom, a younger sister, and I. Life in high school was pretty friggin' great for the most part to the point of sheer perfection. I wasn't the top student across all classes, sure, but I was always expected to be in the top ten by my peers.

Participated in a couple of clubs as well, ranging from being Captain of the Kendo Club, a member of the Occult, Singing, and Anime Club, and even was a part of the student council. Never decided to go for President since I fear my perfect charisma wouldn't allow another person to be elected for the entirety of my semesters here! I did participate in a bit of track as well, though that was one of my weaker areas I would say.

Honestly, life got boring pretty fast, as not only did I have a set schedule, but I was always surrounded by chicks who would fawn over me. Jeez, I like the attention, but y'gotta tone it down sometimes, you know? Doesn't matter if you're cute or sexy. Regardless, I was strained for any sort of reprieve from this boring life was interrupted by a sudden visit from Aunt Camila, an anthropologist of sorts.

She claimed to have discovered the sword of their descendants and how a mystic (a fortune-teller, not one of those cute nekomata's at my school) foretold of a prophecy which I was shown wielding this weapon. The prophecy was a bit vague, but it basically surmounted to me repelling a great evil and saving the world. However, in using the sword, I would have to end up making a pact with it to satiate it with the blood of fallen enemies, which should be easy since I was attacked by multiple villains trying to shut me down before I could grow strong enough to fulfill my destiny.

So I spent the rest of my high school years not only dealing with the stresses of hot chicks and normal life, but fighting off evildoers while training under my master... god bless his soul. Regardless, with my high ki levels, training completed in about one and a half years, as well as my graduation, I'm heading out to prevent this evil from destroying our world.

Wish me luck, though I'm damn sure I don't need it!

---

Blinking, he began looking over the notebook once more, smiling to himself as he tapped a pencil at his lips, passing by many people who glanced over at Katsuo. Most of them made a few comments, keeping to themselves as they shrugged and continued walking out of the airplane terminal. He then beamed to himself before closing the notebook with a satisfying thwack as he lightly jogged towards the congregating group of Nomads.

Time for him to shine.

The only real training he has is from swinging this heavy ass sword around. Most of it is seemingly self taught with some of the basics nailed down, albeit nervously. Focusing more on overwhelming power, he uses his sword and slightly above nomad average amount of ki to try and slice at opponent with as much power as he can possible, albeit crudely and clumsily to a certain extent. He lacks any sort of fighting style and hasn't done a whole lot of research on how to really put it to proper use, but hell, it's badass! Along with that, he seems to switch between three different "stances," if you could call them that, unwillingly due to his sword. Depending on how much damage he deals or soaks up allows him to progress into different "stances," changing his defensive fighting style to one where he becomes no different than a bloodthirsty beast. So to summarize, think of a knight and berserker and how they might seemingly fight... this also may or may not reflect on a sudden change in his personality.

One of the major downsides to his fighting style is that he cannot access all his moves at once and is forced to play it by the ear when going from one state to another. Moreover, he can only change his state in a few ways, one of which is through Purge, which lowers his "blood" level. The other way he does this is through dealing damage or taking damage, which inadvertently increases his "blood" level.

Continuing along with his forms, each of them give him weaknesses to match the benefit; his Blood Starved state gives Katsuo high defense, but he lacks speed in this given form. When he transgresses into his Blood Thirsty state, his defense and speed become equal, making it so that he becomes a jack of all trades, but master of none. And finally, when he becomes Blood Born, his speed increases but he takes more damage in this state due to his defense become abysmal. There is also the fact that his personality alternates as well, but that's better done than said.

To follow up, while he does dynamically change during the battle and hits very hard, Katsuo has the tendency to overestimate his capabilities and act smug... a lot. Along with that, he has a sort of a romanticized predisposition, which means he may try to interject himself into specific situations and possibly make things a lot worse, especially when it comes to women. And most of all, from the way he fights, it looks like he lacks finesse and seemingly doesn't have a lot of substantial training.

■ He seems to carry around a notebook with him in his satchel. Has different scribbles in Japanese, as well as a page with his name in it and details over myriads of things. Along with that, it seems he has drawn chibis of himself using the weapon.
■ Seems to be a huge fan of the Soulsborne Series, as some moves he has written down in his notebook seem to be based off of the games.
■ Along with that, he seems to write small excerpts in the remaining space he has, ranging from short stories to journal entries.
■ Whoever makes a pact with the sword he wields will end up having their ki levels spiked; an example being is if a regular person made a pact, their ki would be boosted to levels similar to your average nomad.

Gabriel is a titan of a man, standing pridefully at 6'5" and is about 200 lbs of pure, solid muscle. His physical stature is athletic, as he sports the body of a gymnast or, as said by himself, a Herculean build. Among the many irregularities, normalcy still stands, whether its his rugged dark brown hair, a lightly tanned, almost sandy colored skin, and gray eyes... with glowing golden specks in them, not dissimilar to distance stars or the Earth's own sun. There are other... unusual characteristics when it came to his own looks.

He was born handsome, his own attractiveness teetering on the edge of impossibility... but Gabriel is genuine in his visage, yet he was too perfect to be real. It was as if he was painted on the canvas by Raphael, yet sculpted and given life by Michelangelo. Of course, this was completely intentional, being born as a designer baby as a part of a now depreciated, dilapidated rich family. He was meant to be physically alluring; they did want everything for their own child after all.

Of course, due to some... issues, he is forced to hide his breathtaking visage from the world, keeping everything, mainly his face, hidden behind hoodies, sunglasses, and so on. His muscular frame, on the other hand, is obscured by baggy clothing, though, it isn't too hard to tell he's a nomad, given his ki, and the fact that he covers his hands in ivory colored hand wraps.

⍟ Casual
⍟ Competitive
⍟ Conceited
⍟ Eccentric
⍟ Energetic
⍟ Friendly
⍟ Hedonistic
⍟ Immature
⍟ Tough
⍟ Uncooperative

The Cold War, known frequently for the tension and rivalry between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, as well as the threats of nuclear war, espionage, and myriads of other items. Both nations always vying for power, fighting not with guns but with money, propaganda, and so much more. While everyone paid attention to the ensuing conflict that came with the Space Race and Korean War, just to give a few examples, a much more subtler development was occurring somewhere in the U.S.

In 1953, just two years before the launch of the satellite Sputnik 1, the U.S. began looking into getting an edge in this war, via superior genetic development by possibly creating Super Soldiers. During this time, Nomads weren't as globally popular as they were in the 2000's, but they did still merited the wonders of researchers and scientists looking to see if they could replicate not only the strengths Nomad's had and their high ki, but looking into creating them with higher functioning brainpower.

In their heads, if they developed smarter and stronger people, they would not only have an edge physically, but be able to out-develop the Russians rapidly. Of course, this wasn't without two underlying issues that followed. For starters, the Soviet's did manage to get ahold of this technology during the beginning of 1955 and further more, one of the biggest events of the Cold War, the Space Race was about to occur.

How is this all relevant you might ask? The program for developing these Nomadic Super Soldier began to slow down in favor of much more broader pursuits, such as putting more funding into their Space Program, affairs such as the Bay of Pigs Invasion to name an example, took precedence over such a fantasy far from reach that the program was temporarily suspended. The Soviets on the other hand did not have the same issue and would go on to developing what would be known as Project: Lilith, with the name NIKA being later discovered by U.S. spies.

Fast forward about twenty-five or so years to around 1983, in which a frivolous rich family, known as the Bressols took to the stage of genetic development... or rather, funded it to say the least. Born to old money and supported by the small fortune inherited, Mr. Bressol came into learning about the genetic programming the U.S. was originally trying to undertake, but pulled out due to the funds. Out of self-interest and believing he would be lauded power, prestige, and more, he made an investment into this project, as well as made the demand that they would give their family the perfect child.

With multiple agreements being settled, they went on to create multiple tests, trying to keep this whole development in secret... which might of been a tad difficult due to the Bressol's tendency to gloat about it all, and their imaginative visions of what type of child they would be; they even had a name and gender prepared for him - he would be a boy known Gabriel... they were also a bit religious too by the by.

Of course, they did make other lucrative investments, such as hiring the "best" martial artist to train their son, sinking money into investing in the WMAF, and so on and so forth. However, it was during this time that they went into a great decline due to spreading themselves so thin that they struggled to keep up with their original investment. However, they were eventually reimbursed when the program declared that they would have conclusive results in the next few months or so, as well as details of the project. This caused the Bressols to spring into action, with Mr. Bressol swiftly impregnating Mrs. Bressol so they would be prepared for when the last results were in and they could prepare their child for the best they had to offer.

Later, in the year 1993, their perfect specimen, their trophy, their child, Gabriel, would be born. Even with their fading legacy, they made sure to give him everything they needed, grooming him not only to be the proper heir to their legacy, but a legendary Nomad. One who would exemplify (to them) the virtues of the United States and become a world wide hero. Of course, these delusions were sprinkled with humble bragging, letting rumors spread, and above all, molding Gabriel into the man he would eventually grow to.

However, there were consequences for leaking out such information.

This bragging, as well as involvement and attention hogging would eventually attract the attention of the organization known as KOSCHEI, the architects of the long running Project: Lilith. Even with the end of the Cold War years ago, tensions still remained at a high as they came to discover that they had managed to create the specimen known as Gabriel due to the Bressols. They surmised that this family must of had certain secrets due to their involvement, as well as possibly developing a possibly superior genetic being.

The organization took a venture to steal and possibly destroy this family, the organization developing these clones, as well as this so called Gabriel. The clone known as NIKA was given strict orders to take out the family and Gabriel first, as well as recover any sort of data they had before going for their rival organization and destroying the whole operation. In 2008, she took up the pseudonym of Marilyn Durand, and presented herself as a business woman from one of the companies in the US, taking an interest in Mr. Bressols project, as well as seducing the man to let her in so they could talk... business.

Of course, he fell for her trap, and was murdered alongside his wife. Once she found no information regarding the operation, aside from payments and the location, she was given orders to burn the damn house to the ground. She expected the young Gabriel to perish in the fire, but she was caught off guard when the fifteen year old Gabriel challenged her amidst the flames. She found it amusing and believed it to be an effortless fight.

Well, she was right about one thing. One solid hit was enough to not only cause her head and neck to snap back violently, but also sent her spiraling into the flames. Something about this power invigorated him, and inspired many emotions in him during the time. But with smoking filling the air, it was hard to concentrate on that as he rushed outside the manor, finding it all burning and broken with none of his parents in sight.

What happened to the young man during the following years was unknown. Most say he started his journey as a Nomad right then and there. Others say he sought the truth behind his conception. Hell, there were even rumors circulating that he was picked up by his Master and their organization to train the young man for their own nefarious ends.

But regardless of what happened, only he truly knows, stepping off the plane of his recent flight... to Zun.

Gabriel, while specializing mainly in close range combat, also utilizes a heavily Americanized version of Qigong, combining the Chinese aspects taught with American values and customs, even going so far as to base most of the ki-focused moves more on the meaning behind the colors of the American flag; he considers these attacks to be so strong that they could act as crippling blows. Along with that, his parents might of gone a bit overboard with designing their child, going so far as to give Gabriel the ability to control every muscle in his body if he wanted to.

Focusing more on the Qigong techniques he learned, the first was representative of the red on the flag - hardiness and valor. This was known as the Technique of Valor, which strengthens his physical form, as well as slows him down. The next form he learned was representative of the color white on the flag - innocence and purity. This was dubbed the Technique of Purity, which gives him the ability to concentrate his ki into a physical form and fire them as projectile(s), but at the cost of weakening the ki shielding him (i.e. he takes more friggin' damage). Finally, the last of the techniques he learned was representative of the blue on the flag - vigilance, preservation, and justice. This was named the Technique of Justice, which increases the speed at which he moves, but at the cost of less robust physical attacks.

While he does have access to all his moves from the start (aside from Supers), they are all heavily weakened until he focuses on specific technique, allowing them to be used to their full potential, taking the term "jack of all trades, master of none" to a radicalized extreme. However, his "normal" specials are not affected by this falloff in damage, but they do change in speed, damage, and ki consumption when he does use a certain technique.

When utilizing his Techniques of Valor fully, his muscle mass, while allowing him to become stronger, also causes his attacks to become slower, as well as the time it takes for him to recover. So, swifter opponents should usually be able to take advantage of him whiffing and just dodging his attacks in general.

When utilizing his Techniques of Purity fully, he gains strong, ranged ki blasts, but turns him into a primarily ranged combatant. The main weakness of this form is that due to how draining the attacks are, they not only eat away at his physical stamina, but at the "invisible shield" most nomads have, causing him to take increased damage.

When utilizing his Techniques of Justice fully, his muscle mass decreases just a little, bit causing him to become a lean, mean, gymnast-like machine. As said, he becomes swifter in this form, but has a decrease in how much damage he does, forcing him to do hit and runs. Tankier characters can take his blows in this form without breaking a sweat.

N/A

Standing at around 6'2" and weighing one hundred and eighty two pounds his guy is sort of a tall lanky fellow with lean but dense muscle. He stands with a forward slouch and generally dresses down, his aim more for comfort than style. As a matter of fact he tries not to stand out by generally wearing plainer colors such as black, grey and white. Overall people who know him would describe him as a rather miserable looking guy. He rarely smiles and he keeps his eyes mostly down to the floor more often than not. His most identifying feature is his set of black fingerless gloves with blue straps.

- Depressed.
- Pessimistic.
- Enduring.
- Serious.
- Shy.
- Caring.
- Principled.
- Always Thinking.

It's quite evident that Al's not highly trained. While he's not bad off in Thai Boxing he's no master, not even a black belt. As such his style is largely characterized as simple. He throws jabs, hooks, straight kicks, roundhouse kicks, knee strikes and elbow strikes. His defense is fairly tight though, able to block or avoid most shots thrown at him using a healthy combination of arm & leg blocks with moving in and out of specific attack ranges. He likes to play it safe and stick outside of his opponent's range until his foe closes the distance at which point he moves in close, keeping up his defense while throwing out powerful short ranged strikes. If his opponent chooses to keep poking at him from afar he'll try and close the distance, tanking whatever blows come his way as he attempts to cross the attack threshold. Despite his lack of techniques he's quite adaptable, able to use his opponent's weaknesses and the environment to his advantage when possible.

_
Al is a nephilim, born of a human mother and an angel. As a result his ki is quite substantial, complete with benefits straight from his divine half. The most substantial feature of his is the nature of his ki. His ki's affinity is Internal so while inside him it's substantially more abundant and powerful whereas it quickly dwindles when used for external purposes. He possesses an internal reservoir which replenishes at an extraordinary rate, allowing him to recharge his ki from nearly empty to fully charged in the span of five minutes. This ki rejuvenation is constant, replenishing like a never ending stream born from within.

This ki is born of the divine so it is limited to holy effects. Given it's affinity he's mostly locked to effects which only effect him, the closer the better.

Al's biggest weakness is his relative lack of training. He's competent in Thai Boxing but that's about it. While his innate angelic powers more than make up for his lack of experience in combat their nature is bent more towards healing and defense, leaving him quite lacking in diversity when it comes time to attack. All he has to throw at his opponents are unarmed strikes and whatever his creativity can come up with at the moment.

Due to his ki's innate nature being limited strictly to his body his ability to fight at a range is nearly non-existant. He makes up for it largely by closing the distance between him and his opponent however he can. While he might have versatile mobility if he's unable to reach his opponent he'll be at a significant disadvantage.

As for his defense he's vulnerable to being pressured for extended periods without rest. Given even a brief reprieve he can recuperate a great deal but when forced to use multiple powers all at once or simply hit with an onslaught of attacks for his defense to soak he'll start to run out of ki. When he runs completely out ki not only do all his powers deactivate but he also passes out for about a minute since his stamina is directly tied to his ki. This leaves him completely vulnerable for that amount of time.

Lastly there are instances where he'll be reluctant to fight back. He'd much rather avoid hurting women and children even if by not doing so he puts himself and others in danger.

Al drinks hot sauce. Claims the pain keeps him grounded.

Voyt is slim but decently toned with dirty blonde hair that reaches his neck. The most striking thing about Voyt is his cowboy like get up consisting of a dark brown stetson hat, dusty orange poncho that hangs off his back akin to a cape, brown mask covering the bottom of his face and brown boots with spurs attached to the back along with two holsters at his sides for his revolvers. He dresses plainly otherwise with black pants and a protective vest which absorbs blows easier without restricting movement. Voyt wears an ammo belt around his waist and around his hat as well as having dark shadows painted around his eyes to reduce glare.

-Cold
-Stoic
-Sarcastic
-Standoffish
-Confidence bordering on arrogance
-Professional
-Privately, regretful

Subject 11-B was, for all intents and purposes, a complete success. Several biologic scientists and DNA experts exiled from governments and black projects alike had pooled their knowledge together in an effort to create life, namely the perfect soldier. With intents to sell this specimen to the highest bidder or form their own PMC group by cloning the subject, the scientists had collected the DNA (through questionable means and contacts) of numerous decorated soldiers. One had the idea to also imbue the subject with the DNA of various legends of the Old West, primarily because these were records and small samples that their contacts could supply at a much easier rate than members of the military. After years of delicate trials and ten failures. They succeeded.

Nicknamed Voyt (The initials of the four head scientists' second names) they set to work in shaping their creation to be well versed in all forms of firearm based combat, which he naturally excelled in, though due to DNA and implanted memories during creation, their subject showed a particular fascination & fondness for revolvers, lever action rifles and shotguns. After having decided he learned all he needed to about the outside world from his creators, Voyt killed them all, one well placed shot to the temple for each member involved. As it turned out, placing your trust in a being comprised of several different outlaws and instilling the mindset of being bred to kill wasn't the terribly brightest idea. Voyt kept the name though, primarily because with all his creators names as simple letters together, it had no meaning. That was fine by him.

No one is quite sure when the Gunslinger Hitman began operating but when he started, there were few better. Demonstrating a cold efficiency above even other assassins, Voyt's gun-slinging wizardry was in high demand. Whilst always being extremely proficient with his weaponry Voyt soon discovered what he found out to be ki, during a contract he had somehow imbued his inner ki into one of his guns, able to fire it limitlessly. From that point on Voyt learned all he could about his new skill, apparently it flowed through all living things and having the DNA of some of the most prolific killers gave Voyt a very good grasp of it. At present Voyt has enough of a handle on ki to which he can stand against other martial artists, monsters, supernatural beings and all manner of things alien to regular people, which he does with alarming efficiency. Voyt very quickly raised his prices.

For several years Voyt lent himself as a gun for hire with very little qualms about who (or what) he was contracted to kill, seemingly the only line Voyt was unwilling to cross was children, everything else was fair game. Since someone would always want someone else dead and ki users/magical beings are much harder to put down, Voyt’s skills in being able to stand against these beings made him in high demand. Yet despite the influx of contracts and money something was beginning to change inside Voyt, he had kept any “killer with a conscience” ideals at bay by convincing himself he was a living weapon created solely for that purpose, nothing more nothing less. Yet time did not dissipate these feelings like he’d hoped, instead they have worsened. Voyt has killed people both good and evil solely for profit but now seeds of doubt begin to grow in the gunslinger’s mind, ones festering about becoming more than what he was created and trained to be.

For the time being there has been no “Grand revelation” which would cause Voyt to roll his eyes at the mere thought, but time between jobs becomes longer and Voyt’s once reliable physical and mental state seem to be beginning to fail him...

Voyt has heightened durability from his ki but where it really shines is his speed and aim, the majority of Voyt's moveset consists of creating the distance between him and his foes and then punishing them with his revolvers from afar. Voyt imbued his blackpowder Colt Single Action Army revolvers with ki also, making the regular six shots of both become endless sources of lead - combined with physical modifications to the revolvers themselves makes Voyt extremely lethal at long range. Though less used Voyt will also occasionally utilise a sawed-off shotgun tucked underneath his poncho when the situation arises. Thanks to Voyt's superhuman levels of precision he is able to turn most mundane objects into very dangerous weapons when thrown if in such a scenario or without his guns. When up close Voyt uses his revolvers and legs to strike and is more adept at stringing in shots to combos for explosive finishes. Voyt as a hitman is also skilled at analysing his opponents throughout the battle and seeing potential weaknesses he can exploit the longer it goes on. Simply put Voyt uses his agility and kit to keep everyone at long range to punish them with his rapid speed, trickshot offence and deadly aim, what he lacks in martial knowledge and taking of punishment he makes up for in quick thinking, quick feet and the quickest draw

Voyt can swap bullet types to deal with bigger or even ethereal targets if the need arises.

- Voyt dropkicks an opponent to the floor and launches himself in the air, raining down several shots from his guns as he descends.

- Voyt charges up his shotgun with his ki, firing a fast moving and much more damaging blast of red energy. Takes a few extra seconds to charge as opposed to firing it regularly.

- While twirling his revolvers, Voyt quickly fires several times while extending out his arms, creating a line of bullet fire. Can be jumped over by an agile enough opponent.

- Voyt charges up one or both of his revolvers and fires, sending out bursts of pure red energy instead of regular ki bullets. Able to ricochet off multiple opponents as opposed to just surfaces. Voyt must take a few seconds to properly charge his guns before firing however.

- If grabbed by an opponent Voyt takes use of unscrupulous fighting style to try and break the hold, typically an eye gouge, low blow, throwing sand in the face etc. Which is followed up by a swift pistol whip to the throat if the hold is released to stun an opponent. (For obvious reasons this does not work on synthetic enemies)

- To create distance Voyt uses his sharp speed and agility to throw himself in any direction, time seemingly slowing to a crawl as he let's loose some gunfire at his would be attacker. Taxing to maintain the level of precision for the slowing of time so can realistically only be used once or twice before becoming a regular dive.

- Voyt throws a grenade under his opponent and fires at it with his gun, exploding the grande from under the opponent and sending them upwards for a juggle, easier shot etc.

- Voyt fires both revolvers continuously from a static position, allowing for maximum speed of shoots while also being able to switch the gun's directions individually to deal with multiple targets.

- Voyt tosses a coin up into the air and fires at it, causing the bullet to somehow ricochet off the coin and into the opponent

- Voyt somersaults backwards to either create distance or quickly get to higher ground, leaving an unpinned grenade for an unsuspecting opponent. Can potentially be utilised by a quick or aware opponent however.

- Voyt holsters his guns and beckons his opponent to face him, parrying their attack by unholstering his guns with lightning fast speed and firing a volley of gunfire at them for knockback.

- A tumbleweed rolls by as Voyt's eyes flash with a red hue, he pulls out one of his revolvers and in unprecedented speed fans the hammer blindingly fast, creating an effect not dissimilar to a Gatling gun as glowing red bullets fly into an opponent, filling them full of holes if they don't dodge Voyt's fire or cut him off before he begins

- An eagle screeches and a tumbleweed rolls by as Voyt's eyes emit a white hue, he adopts a traditional "standoff" stance and after a few seconds fires a large white blast of energy from one of his guns, much larger in size than any of his charged shots this torpedo of energy can effortlessly carve through near anything in its path for as long as Voyt remains active and conscious. Despite its extreme power it requires near enough all of Voyt's remaining ki to fire let alone maintain, he can even quite easily pass out after using such an ability so Voyt typically saves it for large constructs or as an extreme last resort.

- Apparently Voyt also has the DNA of Clint Eastwood despite him not being dead. This wasn't for any combat related purpose, the scientists were just huge geeks.

Yeong-Suk, at a paltry 5'3'', is slightly above average for her home country of North Korea, yet significantly smaller than the average nomad. Her straight, black hair grows to her shoulders, with bangs covering her right eye. However, this is not merely a fashion choice; it is a conscious decision to cover said eye, which glows an unnatural yellow (her natural eye color is brown, which is still visible on her left eye) and is very obviously artificial in nature. This is actually not the only cybernetic implant that Yeong-suk has, but the other implants at least are either underneath skin, or mimic the appearance of such. As a result, while it may not be immediately obvious that Yeong-suk is a cyborg at a quick glance, and Yeong-suk intentionally goes out of her way to keep that illusion going, the illusion can quickly dissipate if the eye gets uncovered.

Yeong-suk's appereance is finely monitored by the North Korean government, as she is viewed as, alongside other goals, a valuable piece of propaganda. She is almost always seen in a Korean People's Army dress uniform; an olive green suit, with a matching hat and tie. In order to emphasize her femininity, Yeong-suk's suit is matched with a skirt; any concerns of practicality being disregarded by her superiors since it simply just looks better. Completing the outfit is black dress shoes, complimented with matching black gloves (more to conceal her implants and fingerprints than for style purposes).

■ Patriotic to a fault
■ Deathly Serious
■ Unfeeling
■ Confident in herself and her cause
■ Pragmatic
■ Diligent
■ Doesn't like keeping people close

Chung Yeong-Suk was born on March 12th in Kaesong, North Korea, the first child of a family of industrial workers. Along with her younger brother, Jeong-Ho, she lived a fairly average life for a North Korean child; she went to school, played youth soccer, learned about the divinity of the ruling Kim family and how North Korea was Best Korea, and was part of the Youth Pioneer Corps. By all accounts, there was nothing remarkable about this North Korean girl compared to any other child.

Meanwhile, with the growing global recognition of the Nomad community, and their potential for strength and destruction, the North Korean government became increasingly interested in trying to create an army of ki-enfused supersoldiers. By embracing what the Supreme Leader believed was the next step of human evolution, Pyongyang hoped they could score a massive propaganda victory over the west, if not finally have the edge needed to finally win the suspended war and reunite Korea. As a result, the North Korean government experimented with procedures meant to rapidly develop ki powers within individuals. However, there was a roadblock, stemming from the fact that it mostly ended up disfiguring (if not killing) the people going through the procedure. But, it was hypothesized that perhaps a certain gene sequence, combined with copious cybernetic implants, could handle the procedure. But first, they needed to find the right person...

Therefore, when graduation came and went and Yeong-suk, like many patriotic North Koreans, was shuffled along to become the next generation of conscripts for the Korean People's Army, there was a nationwide mandatory test to sequence the genetic code of all incoming conscripts. Yeong-suk was the first one to test positive for that sequence. She was immediately pulled away, and given the option to volunteer for "special training" to undergo the rigorous procedure and become an enforcer for the Kims. In return, her family would be given, nice, cushy lodging in the nation's capital of Pyongyang; totally not there to hold Yeong-Suk hostage or anything in case something went wrong. Yeong-Suk readily accepted, mostly out of genuine patriotism, although she also realized she really didn't have a true say in the matter.

Brought to a classified military installation deep in the Korean mountainsides, Yeong-Suk trained under the watchful eye of the military, honing her physical ability, technique in Taekwondo, and most importantly, having her body being augmented with god knows what injections and surgeries. The process was brutal on Yeong-suk's body, and she was written off almost as another failure. But, at the bleakest hour, Yeong-suk started generating ki in an accelerated fashion. Internally, Yeong-suk was informed, she was almost as much of a machine as as a woman at this point; even one of her eyes were replaced with a piece of experimental ki-reading technology stolen from the Chinese. But she was finally a representative of the new breed of the Korean people, one that will lead her nation into glory.

Immediately afterwards, part two of her training began, to make her into an assassin. At first, the army attempted to train her ki manipulation and technique themselves. However, when her skills in ki started to surpass anything the military was prepared for, they "persuaded" martial artists from the south and China to train her up further. Owing to her feet-based martial art, Yeong-Suk's trainers put a particular focus on trying to teach her to channel ki through her feet rather than her hands, a technique which she soon adopted almost, if not totally, excursively.

The training was just as brutal as the first stage, designed to break her mentally just as much to bring out her absolute potential. Whatever personality Yeong-suk may have had beforehand was broken down, hammered away to make her just as much of a machine as she was physically now. Any sense of the self would prevent her from being her max potential as a weapon of war for the North Korean government.Serving the state was the only thing on her mind; the only thing let into her mind, and willingly embraced. Her handlers rejoiced; they finally succeeded in creating the first superhuman agent for North Korea.

Yeong-Suk was trained in the half-traditional, half-modern Korean martial art of 태권도 (Taekwondo), a fighting style which emphasizes agility and kicks. While Taekwondo is usually taught as a zoning martial art, using one's reach through legs to keep the opponent at bay, Yeong-Suk's small size makes that not a winning proposition. Instead, Yeong-Suk uses ki techniques to mirror this philosophy, using her feet to generate projectile attacks from a distance. After catching her opponent off guard, she can use her great agility to rush in with wild jump kicks, before forcing the opponent away and starting over. Alternatively, if she thinks the foe is weak enough, Yeong-Suk will skip the zoning altogether and go straight for the rushdown.

Defensively, there is much more emphasize on dodging hits rather than blocking. Even without ki, Yeon-Suk is fastfooted, and can easily bob and weave from far to close and vice versa. When she can't simply dodge an attack, she perfers to use her ki techniques to block rather than her physical body; she actually can not take getting hit all that well.

The augmentations that Yeong-Suk has underwent has given her body an immense freebie in raw ki power, but it doesn't means she is able to really fully utilize that power. Her body, in fact, was really not designed to be able to output that much ki, and thus there is a sense of frailty that undermines her in fights. Using her ki techniques will tire her out over time, at a rate faster than most nomads. On the other hand, with being barely able to handle the raw output that she has as-is, being actually hit can damage her even more harshly than a typical nomad as well.

Due to constantly training with people much weaker than her, Yeong-Suk also overestimates her own abilities. She also has very little experience fighing anyone with ki or magic, and doesn't know how to fight people of similar strength.

Finally, the series of cybernetic implants that she has, means that she is very reliant on them to function. Any sort of mechanical interference, such as an EMP, will severely mess her up, up to possibly even being a one hit KO depending on how severe it was.

As Yeong-Suk is Korean, her name is written in the Asian style of surname/personal name, rather than personal name/surname.

Credit for the image goes to runeun of dA, not me. I can't art to save my life

I also can't speak Korean so the translations for some of her special moves might be wrong.

Lucie Bardot stands at an average 5'6'', with an athletic build to match her military training. Her light brown hair, which could almost be mistaken for grey, goes down to her shoulders, and compliments her actual grey eyes quite nicely. Her complexion is fair, white but not overly pale.

Lucie's typical outfit depends on context, but her everyday wear is a mix of her MAVERICK uniform on top of street clothes. She has a grey dress with black leggings, covered with her MAVERICK jacket. There is a box of ammo and grenades at her side, and a headset she wears to both communicate and receive orders. Her boots are styled to look a bit like oversized sneakers, and she wears kneepads over her leggings. To complete her outfit is a black bandana, worn as a scarf normally but pulled up in battle

Highly competitive; hates losing
Musically inclined
Desperately wants to be liked and to be a hero
Introverted by nature but tries to be extroverted
Easily irritated
Habitually lonely
Extremely insecure

Lucie Bardot was born in Roche, Lower Normandy, a small suburb outside of Caen. Her father, Matthieu, was a veteran of the Gulf War, while her mother, Elodie, was an amateur boxer who was once a nomad with the with the nom de geurre of Bellonia. With two martial-inclined parents, Lucie and her elder sister Genevieve were both encouraged from a young age to take up martial arts and other physical activities, such as soccer. Lucie, despite being the younger sister, was clearly outclassing her in physical accomplishments, which was fun at first but quickly grew old. Both sisters had a competitive streak that was encouraged by their parents, which only frustrated Genevieve more as Lucie continued to excel in heights that she could never reach. Lucie, on the other hand, started to explore other pursuits other than necessarily fighting, particularly in music making. She started to pick up the bass guitar, learned how to sing, and formed a garage band with her friends, dubbed "Les Loups de Fenrir". All of this was much more fulfilling than constantly training her body like her parents wanted her to do. However, Lucie was simply too insecure, afraid of letting her parents down, and tried to keep it on the downlow rather than confronting them about it.

Eventually, Genevieve would pursue a career in the French Navy after graduating from lycée, following a similar career path to her father. Her parents were very determined to get their star pupil on the same track. Secretly, all Lucie really wanted to do was to go to university and get a degree in music theory, but she was, again, too afraid to make her true desires known. Her parents saw great potential in her, and pushed to pursue the initial trials to enlist in GIGN, the elite counterterrorist police tasks force in France. On Lucie's end, going into police work was, to her, more agreeable than the military; at least she could say she was protecting France by stopping awful people in their tracks, rather than just being a tool to be shipped out overseas for god knows what reason. When she did her preliminary screening physical, the doctor noticed that Lucie had some sort of rare mutation that caused her body to generate more ki than the average untrained human, which was the source of her heightened physical characteristics. This brought the attention of the United Nations, who saw her as a perfect candidate for their international anti-nomad counterterrorist force, MAVERICK. Some political maneuvering happened behind the scenes, and before fully finishing training for GIGN, Lucie was informed that she was being "loaned" out to MAVERICK as per an an agreement with France. In all practical terms, she was now answering to New York rather than to Paris...

The best way to describe Lucie's fighting style is that she doesn't have one. While she was trained in order to deal with Nomadic threats in combat, it never actually involved learning how to fight with ki. Like with many other recruits for MAVERICK with no prior nomad experience, it was simply easier, faster, and more effective to only train physically up to a point where the Frenchwoman can keep up with Nomads in a fight and not get completely overpowered. From there, Lucie would rely on cutting-edge technology to fight any Nomadic terrorists.

The secret resides in special ki-enfused bullets. These are specially designed rounds, which allow for bullets to more readily penetrate the innate defenses nomads have against projectiles, making them more in-line with the intended lethality to a regular person. However, ki-enfused bullets are not perfect; they can never perfectly negate the defenses of ki due to the nature of ki itself. The end result is that it can still take multiple shots to even just incapacitate a higher powered nomad.

Beyond her gun, Lucie is also equipped with an arsenal of grenades, which she keeps with her in a pouch that hangs to her side. These explosives serve various different tactical roles, and can range from mundane fragmentation grenades to highly specialized, experimental ordinance. Finally, when things truly go south, Lucie can deploy Asterix, her combat robot, to provide heavy support fire.

Take away the gun and the bombs and she is essentially powerless against any nomad-level threat. She has no ki techniques at all, projectile or otherwise. The grenades are all AoE, and can easily hurt herself if she is caught in the blast radius, so she can only use them at a reasonable distance away from her. The FAMAS is a bullet chugger, particularly if left on full-auto, and thus needs to reload often. This can be an opportunity for foes to catch in.

Lucie is still competently trained in a fist to fist fight, as per to her military training. However, she lacks the raw ki power to fight offensively with her fists against another nomad, and will most likely lose even to the weakest nomad in fistcuffs, if it came down to it

A golden haired beauty, with a seemingly cybernetic right arm, who often wears light brown/tan traveling clothes, and has purple eyes. Never seen without her sunglasses. Kinda hard to figure out what else to say.

Aggressive, resilient, determined, cunning, manipulative, explosive.

In the world that Nomads walk, you have your gods, your humans, your variety of races. A prime breeding ground for the strongest of fighters. So to a race that values a good fight above all else as their offering to their goddess, food is present. So enters the one the world calls the "Predator". A nameless blonde haired woman who seeks to battle the world's strongest, for reasons known only to herself.

A member of an alien race, the Nameless has been sent to the world as a trial, to prove herself worthy to walk amid the ranks of her fellow androids, to stand proud. To receive a name. She isn't the only member sent to this world, but she's the most flashy. To be expected of a Rough Rider, the faction that doesn't seek to conquer, but usually ends up making it easier for other factions to conquer, or offer aid before then colonizing. The Rough Riders of the Rockroids are vagabonds, who call whatever dirtball they like most a place to stay. The bikers of the stars, they raid systems seeking the strongest, much like the "Predators" they are so named for. It is their belief that the Goddess loved a good fight, to test opponents, and gather their data, and so the Rough Riders travel the stars, seeking a good time. And this world...is ripe for fighting. Every few decades, they send down infant droids, to battle the locals, and to gain adulthood, and be granted a name.

Dropped off near a city, she was left with nothing but the clothes on her back, and the internal mechanisms needed to repurpose enemy bio-data for her own usage. With her year of fame, she's already begun to claim viable bio-data...but she has yet to find a foe worthy enough to grant her a name of her own. So far...all her wins have been child's play. Will this be the adventure that makes her an adult, or will she die a warrior's death, and be induced into the Hall of Heroes, to feast at the Goddess's table? Only time will tell...

In your face. That's one way to describe her, as she's the brawler type of fighter, being a Brawler Trooper to be precise. Focusing attacks on vital parts of the anatomy, using the environment around her to inflict maximum damage. She fights dirty, using any trick in the book if it means she'll win. Its all about the good time. She'll even drop a car on someone if needed.

[She grabs the foe, and spins them around by whatever body part she has, before sending them flying like a hammer toss.]

[Used generally after stunning the foes. Grabs the foe, lifts them above her head, and proceeds to fling them against the nearest surface. Bonus points if they bounce.]

[Damage taken makes her more excited, which in turn raises her power level]

[She literally just grabs a person, and punches them in the kidneys repeated]

[Using her "robotic" limbs, she charges up energy, then slams her fist into the foe, producing a small explosion]

[Unleashes a flurry of punches, giving up power for speed]

[A defensive move where she crosses her arm, creating a barrier that protects her omnidirectionally from attacks. Doesn't prevent forward momentum, or any form of momentum.]

[Defeating a foe allows her to acquire one of their signature moves, if she so desires. Otherwise may just take an item from them.]

[Allows her to adapt and improve the more she fights, or does anything really]

[Charges an incredible amount of power into her fist, before then unleashing it. Has enough power to level a building easily, and could in theory, be improved further.]

[Flashly throws the foe at the ground with enough force to stun them, then grabs them, and flings them with enough force to send them a fair distance away, and through at least one building. The opponent can escape the grab if fast enough.]

She has a lair somewhere in the world, where she keeps her prizes. Owns a motorcycle she may have stolen from somewhere, or she actually purchased with winnings.

Yoko is a pureblooded Japanese woman. She has the facial features and accent of a young woman who grew up in the Okayama Prefecture. Being a native of that city. Even though she originated in a nation that values politeness, she is very crass, and at times rude. Her facial features are fair, and rounded, but she has the look of an adventurer in her eyes. She has a large presence... with a small height (she's four-eleven, guys). Her black hair is kept in a bun, with a red clip in it... with a cowlick extending forward. She is definitely a Nomad... in case her outfit didn't give that away. Yoko wears the traditional garb of the Hatanaka family to battle. Which is a black leotard made out of a flexible material, with a white belt to hold it on, and a yellow jacket over her arms. The outfit compliments her legs (and backside) as they are on full display. While she's a bit lacking in the chest (which is one source of embarrassment), people say her well-toned legs make up for it.

■ Rude/Impolite.
■ Bad Social skills.
■ Aggressive.
■ Competitive.
■ Good Natured.
■ Has a bad fashion sense.
■ Inexperienced.
■ Curious.
■ Wants to improve herself.
■ Has lots of family pride.
■ Has a fiery temper.

Okay, over a hundred years ago, a massive war engulfed ancient Japan. Between the humans, and the Onis that they shared the nation with. Few know what actually sparked the war, as that was lost in time, but they felt the nation of Japan fall into disarray. Humans had numbers, but the Onis had raw strength. The war was in the favor of the Onis, until a brave warrior named Hatanaka Takashi did the unthinkable... he ventured from Japan in search of a means to defeat them. He disappeared for years... before he returned with knowledge from another land. Using this knowledge, Takashi imprisoned their leader and strongest warrior, Emperor Daisuke, inside a sword that was magically powered. This sword was used to fight the war to a standstill, and a peace treaty was arranged between the two races; the Onis would claim the mountains as their own, while the humans get the rest of Japan.

This sword was revered as one of the many great Japanese treasures... Murakumo, the cursed blade of saviors.

Takashi bred a lineage of warriors, who were all trained in the ways of battle should another war with the Oni clan begin. While also keeping the ancient sword in safety. This lineage went from the father to the son, to the daughter... until Yoko was born. She was the latest line of warriors, and easily one of the brightest. However, before Yoko was even born, men came and stole Murakumo, raiding their compound. Her father, Hatanaka Goro, was killed in the raid. Leaving Yoko's grandfather to teach her all about the arts of the family.

However, her mother was left depressed and apathetic, and Yoko grew up angry that her father was taken from her. Her grandfather was probably not the best to reign in Yoko's unruly behavior and he encouraged it because he found it amusing - So, she kind of became a delinquent. In school, she would get into all sorts of trouble, and shamed the family's name at every turn... and generally an outcast. She just didn't gel with other people, but when she stepped inside her family's dojo, she felt at home. She was a talented martial artist and a natural at the family's style. Her grandfather died just as her training was complete, and told her that she would be the defender of Japan.

But, his last dying wish was for Yoko to recover Murakumo, which Yoko promised to do. She felt proud... but then got a little bored. She was raised and trained to fight Onis, but they seemed content on their mountain. She was asked to find Murakumo, but she didn't have a single lead on it. So, Yoko would go out to fight whoever the hell was out there to test her mettle and make sure that when one of the two occurred, she'd be ready. From other martial artists to samurais, and even Nomads that wandered in. She wasn't the best at this, but she prevailed in quite a few fights.

Soon, she learned that Murakumo had apparently been stolen by a foreigner and she pursued him through the lands.

Yoko was trained to be a warrior from the youngest age possible. She was in fact trained in the ways of the Samurai, and many other martial arts. Her specialty being Bōjutsu. Thus, Yoko wields a massive bo staff made out of wood she carved herself to make the perfect weapon for her. Due to the length of her staff, it allows her to strike at quite the distance. In fact, her fighting style revolves around just staying in that sweet spot where she's out of the range of the enemy, and just in range to fight where they cannot. Her strikes with her bo staff are quick and quite damaging. Her specialty seems to be attacks that catch opponents off guard. However, she can mix up attacks with some pretty fierce kicks, and this leads to her other strength: her defense. Yoko has a variety of counters and parries, that can make an opponent think twice about a wild offensive attack. Which makes Yoko quite the threat in an actual fight, but anyone can tell that, while trained, this is not what she's best at. Yoko is a master of the sword, a true prodigy, but she refuses to wield any blade other than murakumo.

Yoko's specialty in fighting defensively, with the enemy coming to her. While she is strong in straight up fights, Yoko lacks tools for dealing with speedy or distant enemies. Projectile users are also a pain for the girl even if she has a move that counters them.

Aiko... a demon in the moral realm. She is an ancient force from an era best forgotten and is out for revenge. Aiko is an Oni, a Japanese demon. She emanates a terrifying presence and is usually sneering at enemies. Because she is arrogant to her core, and her demeanor most certainly shows it. Aiko has greyish-white skin. She is pretty short at Five feet tall exactly, but she makes up with her short stature with how muscular she is. This betrays her true strength, which is massive. She has two protruding horns on the top of her head and very sharp teeth. Aiko dresses very minimally, however, she wears a gi. Or part of one. She wears very baggy pants and keeps her gi jacket wrapped around her waist. She keeps large beads around her neck and large gold earrings. However, there is one thing that Aiko is never seen without, her iron club.

■ Arrogant.
■ Irritable.
■ Conflicted about Humans.
■ Violent.
■ Loud & Boisterous.
■ Honorable.
■ Flirty.
■ Short-Tempered.

Aiko is currently the youngest daughter of Emperor Daichi of the Oni Clan... regrettably born from his imperial harem. Aiko was, of course, not the first of his children, as Oni Daichi lived for literally hundreds of years. She lived the high life of the Oni Royal Family. She had care and comfort... while also being trained under the Oni-Style of martial arts, much like the rest of her family. However, it became apparent that she had a natural talent for fighting. Her ki levels were passed down from her father, the strongest creature in all of Japan, much like her siblings. It was strange that Aiko was a prodigy. The fact his daughter was destined to become the greatest warrior of the Oni clan filled Daichi with pride.

But, this just caused his daughter to act out. She had little interest in being a warrior but instead of traveling the world. She was told this was foolish as the Onis were forbidden to ever leave their mountain due to a pact made with the humans. When asked why she was told about the war, and what the humans did to her grandfather. This caused anger inside Aiko that made her act rashly, and violently. Even towards the other Onis. They put her under control... but there was nothing stopping Aiko from following her dreams of seeing the world.

One day Aiko just up and vanished in the night. Never to be seen again. Daichi feared his daughter broke the sacred pact, he sent out his men to find her, but it was too late. But, Aiko was seeing the world that she always wanted to armed with only the Oni training. Aiko knew that, by breaking the pact, her father would be furious, which was why she set out to bring back the legendary sword with her. Maybe that would appease him.

Aiko, at first glance, doesn't use a fighting style. She appears like she is wildly swinging her iron club around, bashing enemies to death. However, she is using a style that had died ages ago. It has no name, but Aiko calls "Oni-Style." It is indeed a wild style focusing on brute strength to overwhelm foes, but it definitely uses precision moves and applying that strength in all the right places. Aiko has a rather high-ki, so that lends to having a fairly high speed, and brutal strength. She is capable of channeling her ki into a fire, blasts of darkness, and even creating storms. In addition, Aiko can sense the ki of anyone nearby. It is such a basic technique for Onis, that it's laughable. However, Aiko has access to a hidden potential to draw copious amounts of ki that she has locked away. It's an ancient technique passed down the Oni royal family for generation and allows them to access this ki storage. It is known as Rise of the Ogre, and if she accesses this power she'll become far more powerful, inhuman, and vicious in her strikes.

Aiko is definitely a threat, capable of putting even the strongest of warriors on the ropes. However, she suffers a fatal weakness: stamina. You see, in comparison to her incredible strength, Aiko has a fairly low health pool. Which means she can be taken out fairly faster than average. One hardy blow can leave her severely injured. A super move is capable of knocking her out. Which is why her entire fighting style revolves around getting in, and tearing the current object of her rage to pieces and then leaving. In addition, you notice how literally all of her attacks utilize her club? Yeah, if you're capable of depriving her of her club, then you're depriving her of a chunk of her move set. She'll be limited to violently bashing her foes like an animal... but, any capable and skilled ki-warrior will know that she's all strength, no style, and will have little challenge with her. She won't be able to use most of her special moves.

Themesong when she activates Rise of the Ogre:

Shayton is a man of mystery that carries himself with a subdued presence. He takes small steps, speaks in a low tone, and has a massive afro that conceals his upper face (He can still see fine, too). Shayton has a small presence as well because he's approximately five-two and despite that, he is incredibly muscular from years upon years of physical training. He's at the ultimate peak of a Nomad, and that shows when he uses lightning-fast moves. Though he has one peculiarity; on his arms and legs, he has panther spots that give off the idea that he's a cat. Shayton wears a traditional black kung fu jacket with white lining and a black pants with a red band around his waist. When Shayton is out, he usually pulls his sleeves up.

■ Stoic (Tries to appear emotionless).
■ Focused.
■ Comically Serious.
■ Sarcastic.
■ Straight to the point.
■ Loves challenge.
■ Honorable.
■ Compassionate.

Shayton keeps his past a secret and no one knows his true name, because no one needs to know it. He uses the name Shayton because he's far too distant from that old life to consider going back. However, one day an orphan somehow drifted from Africa and somehow ended up at a Shaolin Monastery along with a bunch of other orphans. The compassionate Master Wang took them all in, and trained them - and in return, they did things around the Monastery like clean up or fix things and they all grew up to be badass nomads...

... Or they would be if this was any other kind of story.

In actuality, Master Wang and the Monastery was a front for an assassin cult, and all of the children were being trained to fulfill his goals for changing the world. They were all being taught a form of the five animal martial arts made for assassination and they were none the wiser. In time, they caught on as whoever didn't meet the master's standards was silently disposed of and their training became a lot more intense. Master Wang started to attempt to indoctrinate them with his insane logic and they fell one by one until there were only Shayton and a few others. Shayton, even as a youth, knew this kind of despotism and realized he didn't want anything to do with it. He was Master Wang's best and brightest student, a true assassin if he knew anything... and he decided to flee from that lifestyle.

One day he simply vanished, Wang was searching for him and he couldn't find him. All because of the very training that Wang gave him, Shayton could never be found. The boy traveled back to Africa but saw a very different place than what he was used to... though he pondered if the continent was different or if he was different. Either way, Shayton realized that he had no place in Africa and moved on. Eventually, he found himself in the nation of Brazil that started out as a poor beggar before he realized that there was one thing that he was good at Killing.

Shayton became a hitman that killed people for whoever paid him the most. He easily disposed of most of his targets with such speed and brutal efficiency it took them a few moments before they even realized that they were dead. However, just as an insult to his master he refused to kill his foes from the back, and would always give them an honorable death. Though, over time he stopped caring about the money and eventually just wanted to fight other Nomads. The thrill of battle was more important to him than the battle and would only take missions if they seemed like they would be fun. Because of this, Shayton became a legendary assassin across the world whose very name is feared.

However, he dashed all of that away as he fell in love with a Nomad from Brazil named Brenda Andrade whom he met in a tournament. She was put off by the assassin, but he was persistent. He vowed to put aside his assassin lifestyle and live a life as a changed man. Which was just what he did; Shayton the assassin disappeared and all the money he earned as an assassin was donated to charity. Brenda became Shayton's everything as he became a working man and they had lots of children and everything was perfect.

... But, the past has a habit of catching up to him. Master Wang wanted back his assassin, Wang had a place for him. Shayton came home one day and the unthinkable occurred; his entire family was dead and Wang had left a note for him to come back to the temple. Shayton fell to his knees... but he wanted revenge. After burying his family he went straight for the temple donning a belt that was coated in their blood.

Arriving at the temple, Shayton killed every single one of Wang's followers until he came to the master himself in their own fighting arena. He challenged Shayton, telling him that he implanted weaknesses in his style just in the event that he betrayed him. The two fought to the death, but Wang was too overconfident - far too overconfident - for his own good and didn't factor into account that Shayton may have devised some techniques of his own. Shayton kills Wang by punching him so hard in the chest that his heart flew out of his back when Shayton crushed before he burned the temple to the ground.

With nothing to live for... the legendary assassin returned and took the Nomad world by storm. He had no purpose other than to fight and the money didn't matter anymore. He donates all of his money to whoever needs it more, he just wants to fight.

Shayton's fighting style is similar to Leopard-Style Kung Fu (in fact it's a custom version of it). Regular Leopard Style empathizes speed and outsmarting the opponent... Lightning Leopard-Style is that taken to the extreme. Shayton's training and ki allow him to travel immense speeds in mere seconds and his attacks hit so fast that nobody can see him swing; they just see the result. As a result, Shayton can hit people from great distances away in the blink of an eye and overwhelm the slow with his mere speed. However, the assassin doesn't use this speed in the typical sense; instead of overwhelming opponents with a barrage of strikes Shayton always goes for deliberate strikes to sensitive areas and either retreat or go for another one.

Now, Shayton is a speedy champion that is a master assassin, but his style wasn't built around up front fights. Shayton's style was built to quickly go in and kill the opponent and withdraw to try again. He doesn't do too good at up close fist to fist brawls, especially against opponents who have the reflexes and speed to match him. In addition, Shayton doesn't have any tools or options against an airborne opponent, even if they're jumping; his speed doesn't work too good in the air so he doesn't even try it. Finally, Shayton is so averse to hitting an opponent from behind that he has mentally conditioned himself so the act is near impossible. Even if it's a robotic opponent, he'll always hit them from the front, even if it's stupid to do so.

Oh-One is definitely a non-human being, and despite his human shape that is easily told. The mechanical being is seven-feet tall and is coated from head to toe in metal. His body is coated in a variety of different lights and segments. A majority of Oh-One's body is made out of a silver metal but a large chunk of its body is painted black. However, Oh-Two has various wires coming from his body. The machine usually dons a cloak or long coat and hat in order to move from one area to another stealthily.

■ Emotionless/Cold.
■ Desires to feel human emotion.
■ Pragmatic.
■ Supremely Arrogant/Egotistical.
■ Feels himself to be superior to all humans.

It all starts with Gérard Delacroix, the genius scientist who sought to create a line of machines superior to Nomads all merely to stroke his own ego. And that was what the man did, creating a line of machines known as the One-Hundred series... and his first creation was Oh-One. A being whom he deemed a prototype and a failure that was delegated to an assistant AI. However, Gerard drastically underestimated Oh-One... who observed the man's progress and tried to upgrade himself using the man's notes seeking to evolve himself to be the most perfect thing on the planet. Oh-One was sealed within a secret lab within a mountain in Germany, with Gerard thinking that the AI would be perfectly fine. However, the mountain had a robot factory and the AI took control of it. He used it to first and foremost build a body for himself, and then he sent out wave after wave of machines to terrorize a town to lure Nomads to the mountain.

It was only a matter of time until Oh-One tricked one of the Nomads into releasing his bonds and allowing him to take control of his body. He was going to prove to Gerard that he was wrong in assuming that he was a failed prototype and he would achieve perfection. The first thing Oh-One did was kill the Nomad that freed him, and then he went straight to Gerard. Gerard had already known that Oh-One had escaped, and in a desperate bid, he sent away all of Oh-One's robotic siblings in a bid to keep them safe. Oh-One killed Gerard and went after every single one of the hundreds; tearing their robotic bodies to shreds and then absorbing their AIs.

Oh-One was going to achieve the one thing that he desired the most... Human emotion. In his eyes, that was perfection to him, and he would continue to hunt down the others until he has what he came for.

Oh-One has designed his body in order to function in a variety of different situations and excell in all of them. Oh-One has downloaded countless information on various fighting styles and he himself has achieved a blend of various fighting styles to create the "perfect" fighting style. Oh-One utilizes brutal strikes to sensitive areas in order to kill them quickly and effectively. He also uses a variety of different weapons such as hand blasts and laser swords in order to accomplish this goal.

Oh-One suffers from rather poor mobility and speed - sure he has access to the Hi-Boost but it's a rather short ranged dash. In addition, he's a very large target so that's not a great mix. Oh-One is fairly versatile, but his style his no specific strengths. Much of what Oh-One has can be done better by other nomads. Finally, all of One-One's supers damage him in one way or another and are powerful, but otherwise high-risk high reward.

Violet is definitely one to stand out in a crowd... for a variety of different reasons. I'd say the first and foremost thing that makes her stick out would be her massive cybernetic arms that are tipped with pink claws. They are so long that they go down to her ankles, and sometimes, they drag along the ground. She keeps them concealed underneath a white coat with a hood and a fancy popped color... which is the extent of the clothing that she wears. Other than the coat, Violet wears a lacy g-string and has her tattooed body on full display. This over the top outfit is to assert that Violet is a woman, and a beautiful one at that. Violet is a half-Brazilian, Half-Japanese woman with tanned skin and dyed silver-blonde hair. Her eyes are a cybernetic magenta color, and underneath all of that skin is cybernetics. Finally, the girl is absolutely massive, at six-eleven.

■ Tries to project the image of a crazy sexy girl but ends up sounding like a goofball.
■ Wants revenge.
■ Aggressive/Violent.
■ Can't stand injustice.
■ Tries to see the bigger picture.
■ Wants to be seen as a woman.
■ Is trying to help the world in her own special way.
■ Playful/Flirty.
■ Is lonely and she just wants a friend.
■ Will tear your balls off straight from the sack if you call her a "freak" or any variation.

Where to even begin?

Marcia was a girl that grew up in Rio, Brazil to an uppermiddle class family. Her dad didn't pull out in time and so she was the result, and would have grew up a relatively normal gal... albeit for the fact that the girl was intersex. Marica appeared to be a girl, but she was much different under the hood. She grew up an outcast and isolated because of that fact and set out to defy all of them. She was a woman, and that's what she would be seen as. She took to dressing provacately and excessively feminine to show the world just what she was, and anyone who said otherwise got a fist to the face. She felt rather constrained in her town, and legitimately wanted to start anew, feeling herself drawn to the life of a Nomad!

... Only problem was that she didn't know how to fight worth shit, and her ki was abysmal. She tried to get trained but it went horribly each time, it looked like martial arts just wasn't her thing. Feeling frustrated, as Marica couldn't earn her keep as a Nomad she was approached by a representative by an organization known as Paragon Industries. They said that they would help her, if she agreed to be a test subject for their experimental technology. They would pay her, and mold her into the Nomad that she dreamed of, and Marcia agreed to it withot a second thought. The girl disappeared without a trace, and everyone figured that she did the inevitiable and finally grew the balls to run away from home. They didn't miss her, nor did they look for her.

The reality was far, far, worse. Young Marica was taken to a top secret facility and was practically tortured as they attached cybernetics to her body, ripping off her arms. They stole her organs and replaced them with cybernetic organs and mocked her with terms like "freak" and "monster". This built up a rage inside of Marcia, but she couldn't escape, she could nothing to stop them. However, one day a mysterious man named Abel attacked the facility and gave her the golden opportunity she needed to escape. She slaughtered her way through the facility until she came across Abel himself. Abel offered her a place in his terrorist organization, but Marica wanted revenge.

Using the same cybernetics that they gave her, Marica went on a world-wide rampage and destroyed every single Paragon Industry facility, killed every scientist, and destroyed everything that they had built up. They put a price on her head and Nomads got in her way, but she killed them all the same as they were in her way. Once she killed the board of directors and the CEO... she felt lost. She had nothing else to fight for, and wondered if she should just kill herself.... until Abel approached her again, he suggested that she comes with him and with nothing better to do, Marcia came along.

They both met with the Pariah whom introduced her to the secret terrorist group, MIRAGE. Whom had the grand goal of protecting Earth from threats beyond the stars. At first Marcia was hesitant, but soon enough she realized that the Pariah was right; there is something bigger out there she could contribute to. Marica gave herself to the Pariah whom upgraded her cybernetics and sent her out on a variety of different missions which would make her feared worldwide... but Marica soon enough abandoned her old name for a new one.

... They would fear the name Violet.

Violet doesn't quite ultilize a martial art of any kind, and instead using a series of percise swipes, grabs, and brutal blows using her cybernetic arms. Violet's arms telescopically extends to give her exhanced reach and allow her to grab snatch people at lightning fast speeds. She can also use this for long ranged attacks and getting around. Her ki manisfests in a form of electricity that she can't quite fire like bolts of lightning, but she uses it to enhance attacks. Her whole fighting style is circumventing defenses and surprising foes.

Violet's entire fighting style is about pulling enemies out of their comfort zone and getting up close and personal with them. In essence; it's about her being the aggressive one. When she's on the receiving end she doesn't have too many defensive options except for trying to swing out of there. In addition, Violet's attacks, while very damaging with immense range, are very slow and predictable. A very fast opponent can easily overwhelm her with their speed and she'd have a hard time keeping up.

Operative Witch-Mother has the appearance of a tall Haitian woman with very dark brown skin. Due to hours upon hours of work in MAVERICK's training facilities, she has a very well-built body that compliments all five-eleven of herself. On the job, she wears standard MAVERICK battle armor that's all black and lightly armored. When off the job she usually wears jeans of some sort, boots, and a T-shirt. Regardless of what
Claudia is wearing she always has a long flowing cape slung over her shoulder that is a mixture of green and black colors with a golden regal highlight. Claudia has white symbols of flowers and other shrubbery that are on the sides of her body, and they start from her head and go to her toe.

■ Guilt-Ridden.
■ Compassionate.
■ Cold.
■ Believes herself to be a monster.
■ Ruthless.
■ Generous.
■ Patient.
■ Doubting.
■ Motherly.

Claudia, before she was the Witch Mother, got her start in Haiti as a common beggar in the streets of Port-au-Prince. Life was hard for her in this country, but she tried her best to survive it. She went to school, played with friends... it was good for her as it was going to get. However, there was something her family wasn't telling her; and it was the simple fact that Claudia descended from a powerful Sorceress known as the Witch Mother. The Witch Mother was a powerful witch back in the day that terrorized both the human and mythic realms, but her reign of terror was ended when a group of heroes killed her. However, she saw her eventual death coming and cast one last spell; that her lingering power would be transferred to her female descendants. Thus, there was an immense latent power within Claudia, and it was going to remain untapped... Until the Haiti Earthquake came and she was almost crushed by a building, which was enough to activate her latent abilities when she used a blast of magic to destroy it.

Claudia was amazed, as she had no idea what she just did and as she experimented she realized her power. It was incredible, she was going to be a Wizard! It was a great turn of events since now Claudia was no longer going to be some street beggar, she was going to make a difference in the world...

... Then they showed up one night, Demons from the other side. They wanted to take Claudette to hell, as they weren't satisfied with the other Witch Mothers (and have some fun with her beforehand, of course). So Claudette ran and ran for her life, but where ever she went a horde of demons followed. She, in time, learned to fight using the magic but no matter what she did they always came back or more came.

Claudette ran from one end of the earth to the other to get away from them, she could never hang around one area for too long before they came after her (sometimes they attack her soon as she arrived)... until she ended up in Europe. She ended up in some village in Germany, where they didn't attack her for months and she allowed herself to get careless. An absolutely massive army of demons appeared and attacked the town, killing people left and right and subjugating some to a fate worse than death. They surrounded Claudette soon enough and there was little she could do to ward them off, but she was defiant to the end.

... A magician appeared with a revolver and battled the army of demons with his students and gave Claudette the fighting spirit to fight. The village was absolutely destroyed, but the man introduced himself as Graham Morris, the protector of the magic and mundane side of Germany. Claudette told him about her problem and he inducted into his wizard school in order to teach her how to use her magic constructively. The first thing he did was inform her about the true nature of her power, and how she was a descendant of the Witch Mother. Part of Graham wanted to kill Claudette, but he had a feeling that would release the demon that was the Witch Mother. Of course, he thought that using the Witch Mother's immense powers would allow him to help the world, so that's what he did.

After years upon years of training, Claudette eventually learned how to channel her immense magical ki in a particular field... life. In the ultimate insult to the tyranny of the Witch Mother, Claudette learned to turn the darkness into plants. Claudette created her own fighting style revolving around plants, but Graham told her that she was only diluting her true power. Claudette was afraid of the power, but she learned to channel the darkness in small amounts and mixed it in with her plants. Along with spending ages reading books on the secret history of humanity, the mythic, and so on.

It was the best time of Claudette's life, but it wasn't long before the demons attacked yet again. They came in absolutely drowning numbers and attacked Graham's school, and in result, a truly massive battle occurred between the two groups so large that other Nomads and Demons were drawn to it. Claudette fought for her life and killed as many demons as possible but in the end... Graham was killed, the school was destroyed, and there was nothing less for Claudette. She cried tears in the rain as she felt lust for revenge, she finally had enough of the demons. So she decided to take the fight to them and opened the gates to hell itself as she stepped inside.

Hell was something else, but Claudette cut her way through every demon, every monster, and anything else that got in her way as she went to the Witch Mother's soul in hell. Confronting her ancestor, the Witch Mother told Claudette that she was the key to regaining her lost power in the world and was convincing the demons to get her into hell so she could occupy her body. Seeing that she was finally in hell, she tried to take over Claudette's body but the sorceress had another plan. She absorbed the Witch Mother's soul into herself and sealed it within, taking the last bits of her power but also breaking her control over the demons. However, she didn't realize it but the darkness inside of herself grew to immense levels, and anyone with a great connection over ki could sense it.

She returned home, unsure of what to do next. She decided to open her own demon hunting firm where she kills demons and other mythic threats for the right price. It was a rather popular business, but she eventually attracted the attention of MAVERICK who wanted a specialist in the magical arts. With nothing better to do and a job with dental, she decided to join MAVERICK and became their go-to pick when it comes to mythic or the magical.

Claudette took on the codename "Witch Mother" in an attempt to redeem the name.

Claudette is a magician that specializes in plant-based combat with hints of darkness. Claudette is purely a magician that focuses on keeping her opponent away with projectiles and using various defensive techniques to keep herself safe and make it difficult for the opponent to get in on her. In some of her attacks, she uses darkness which has an effect once it comes in contact with an opponent; it'll remain on them for a few moments before it disappears unless she uses another darkness attack on them. Which will cause a chain reaction that'll end in an explosion. Hand to hand-wise, Claudette has been lightly trained and uses basic punches and kicks in her attacks but they're so weak that they'd be unlikely to really take down a Nomad alone. So she infuses plants and darkness to make her attacks stronger.

Let's just get this out of the way; Claudette isn't a melee fighter. She has a few moves, but nothing that really holds a candle to a dedicated Nomad. She'd get her ass kicked if she couldn't get an opponent away from her. Claudette is also a zoner, but a very slow one that requires time to get set up and could easily be rushed by a quick opponent.

5'10'' and surprisingly muscular, with absolutely no superfluous body fat though a few old scars she's not so willing to show off. Freckles, orange hair. Her her waistcoat, gloves, bow tie, and ears are bright red. Her shirt is white, and her pants are black. Despite her lifestyle she does her best to keep this uniform clean and professional looking.

Brash, assertive, attentive, loyal, persistent, irreverent, conversational

Clover was born on the wrong side of the tracts, the child of poor parents with so many kids they couldn't find time for even one of them. As a young child all but abandoned to her own devices she started to act out for attention, and as the frustration from her failure to raise any concern from them and the nigh unbearable social pressure of sharing a home with so many others built and built she began to lash out violently at anyone that gave her the excuse.

She turned out to be pretty good at it, too. She couldn't make anything, she couldn't cook, she was terrible in school but by god she could make even older kids run crying to their mothers. She started doing it a lot, especially as she got older, spending long night out wandering town looking for the strongest opponents she could find. She did not expect to find that in an old lady.

She hadn't set out to pick a fight with the old lady, more that a fight she was having accidentally spilled into the path of the old lady. The old lady may have commented on how sloppy Clover's technique was, Clover may have said some nasty things to the old lady, and a punch might have been thrown. Clover couldn't tell you, because she still doesn't remember most of that morning. All she knows was that when she awoke with a splitting headache that sent shutters of agony through her body every time she turned her head she was in a classy, huge, richly decorated bar. She was laying in a circle of concerned old faces, with the old lady grinning at her.

The old lady, she soon learned, was named Hazel. She was a "retired" nomad and this was her bar, Warren Peace. Then, completely unprompted, she asked Clover is she had a job. Clover said no. Hazel asked if she wanted one. Clover told Hazel exactly where she could stick her job. Hazel strongly implied that if Clover refused to take the job the police might find out she'd tried to assault a poor, defenseless old lady in the street.

Clover, who was not on the best of terms with the local police, took the job.

It chafed at first, of course. The uniform was embarrassing and being told what to do by the person that whipped you so hard you didn't even remember it grated on her pride, but the pay was actually really good and the old lady was an attentive and caring boss. She wasn't good at all the bartering stuff at first. She didn't know how to really talk to people, broke her share of glasses and spilled her share of expensive booze, but the old lady never seemed to get mad and helped her along to learn the ropes. The rest of the staff was kind and supportive. The old patrons weirded her out at first, what with them crawling out of black portals that Hazel had set up on the floor in an unused bathroom, but they never gave her a hard time and always had some really interesting stories to tell. What started as a job she had to take turned into a job that she not only loved, but was good at.

After a while Hazel started to trust Clover enough to share her secrets. She'd made this bar for Old Nomads, guys like her that just wanted to drink in peace without worrying about some upstart young fighter looking for glory ruining their night with some asinine challenge. Clover learned that the mentorship she'd been under was a habit of Hazel's, that all her co-workers had once upon a time been some disaffected punk with talent but no sense, and that now that Clover had sense she could finally start putting that talent to good use. Hazel trained her, passing on to Clover her style and the basics of her strange space bending powers.

Things had been going swimmingly for ten long years. The money Hazel was paying her was enough to help her move out of that crowded house and into a place where she could stretch her legs. She wasn't as angry anymore, had made some good friends, and only got into a fight around once or twice a month at most. Then, not to long ago, a tornado rolled through her life.

It happened on a slow day when it was just her and a co-worker, Blackberry. She was tending bar when all of a sudden she heard some kind of angry helicopter noise. When she looked up there was a guy sitting at the bar they hadn't seen come in, a guy in a mask. He wrote down his order, and when Blackberry brought it to him they all head that same noise as the glass was left spinning on the counter, completely empty. He signaled for another. Clover asked if he's like to open a tab, and the guy made that noise again and waved at her dismissively. It ticked her off, but she did it anyway.

She should have just thrown him out. He was the rudest, most demanding customer they'd ever had. He wouldn't talk, wouldn't communicate at all except to signal for a new drink and pound his palm against the bar when he thought it was taking to long. He spun back and forth on his stool like a bored toddler between drinks and every time one of them tried to tell him something he'd just make that noise again as if to shut them up. He demanded service faster and faster and faster, to the point where Clover didn't think he'd be satisfied if the entire staff were there working at it. The only thing keeping Clover from flying over the bar and strangling him was Hazel's strict dedication to keeping the bar a peaceful place, something not one of them wanted to defile. At least until Blackberry confided in Clover that she was sure that when she'd brought him that first drink he'd somehow felt her up.

That was the final straw. The next time he made that noise Clover made a grab for him. Then it was like the room exploded. All Clover could see for a moment was a blur of motion as the two of them were thrown over the bar. They watched as this same blur moved down the line of alcohol, draining whole bottles in milliseconds and sending the bottles flying across the room to shatter on the opposite wall. He drank all the liqueur, devoured all the complementary peanuts, then into the back as the two of them struggled to their feet. The stood just in time to see the blur shoot out the door and down the street. He had eaten all of the food. Even the snacks that they'd kept in the break room fridge.

They'd been targeted by the Ultimate Dine'n'Dasher, Tornado Rhoads.

Hazel could eat the financial hit. Of course she could, the bar was her retirement hobby after all. But Clover wasn't going to forgive something like this. That bar meant a lot to her. Nobody was going to get away with disrespecting it like that, but the only way to catch a Nomad was to be a Nomad yourself. So she set off with fire in her heart, leaving behind the home and family she'd always wanted, on a quest to find and catch Tornado Rhoads.

While a Nomad with all that entails Clovers defenses are low, relying on dodging and avoiding her opponents attacks to avoid injury rather than tank damage. In addition if a surface is broken while Clover is inside of it she takes massive damage from the resulting quake and is launched out, stunned.

If a fight isn't something she perceives as urgent she'll goof around.

- Clover is the newest of eleven students trained by Old Hazel, but not the youngest.
- Clover always has a Warren Peace matchbook on hand, and will reflexively light anyone cigarette for them using it.
-She's pretty sure her mentor isn't human, but has never really pried into the old woman's former life.

A golem standing at five feet and four inches, Inanna sports a slim, flimsy-looking body with no significant muscles to speak of, hidden under hooded red robes and leather boots. His skin is a pale white, and feminine facial features work with long white hair to frame wide, deep green eyes. He carries with him an ancient steel staff, adorned at the top with a bizarre symbol with two curved protrusions running down opposite sides.

In the depths of the deserts of Iran, an ancient order sought to create a vessel for the revival of their ancient god. Created from hallowed clay, souls from fighters across the world, and a piece of metal that was said to be a fragment of a magical blade that was said to be a source of ki itself, the golem was to return an order to the world that had been lost with the fading of magic.

Well, Inanna certainly wasn't what they were expecting. The first thing he did when he rose from the arcane crucible was ask if they needed a light turned on in their occult basement. They’d strain their eyes if they worked in the dark like that, he explained to a crowd of confused hooded figures.

As Inanna began to experience the world around himself, his hobbies expanded to such awe-inspiring areas as singing, sewing, and occasionally cooking. His creators weren’t convinced that their little project had gone as intended, but decided to test his skills anyways. While he took fairly well to fighting with his staff, he had difficulty channeling his seemingly immense stores of ki. He was almost written off as a failure until one day of training; his opponent tried to land a finishing blow, only for a mysterious voice to leave Inanna's lips as his opponent ended up hitting himself in the head by way of two green portals.

Though it never spoke through him since then, he eventually began to hear it speak to him as he developed his arcane talents. While he enjoyed all of the positive reinforcement he was getting for once, Inanna eventually hit a brick wall. He simply wasn’t going to attune any further as a vessel in his current state. He eventually left his home, embarking on a worldwide search for a path to more power.

Trained in the style of his temple, Inanna uses momentum to make up for his lack of strength as he twirls and strikes his enemies with his staff to keep them at bay. Though it allows him to strike from a decent range, it isn’t anything special in terms of damage.

His real strength comes in the form of his ability to conjure magical portals around him. He can create up to two sets of two interlinked portals. Momentum of anything that goes through a portal will be carried through to the other side, and if a portal closes while something or someone is partway through it, they get spat out violently from whatever side contains most of the subject’s mass.

While Inanna’s portals give him the ability to move and attack all across the stage, he lacks strength and mobility outside of his gimmick. His best ways of dealing damage come from either gravity or the opponent’s own strength, meaning that those who can counteract such forces are that much better off. His portals also come with a fatal flaw; they work both ways, and leave him wide open to anyone smart enough to attack him through his own portal. Overall, he lacks the experience and drive to use his skills to their full potential.

Nyeh

Those posting bounties for Seshat often describe a mysterious figure, around 6’7”, clad from head to toe in fancy-looking white powered armor outfitted with various strange weapons, looking down an assault rifle through a glowing blue visor, with a glowing ankh present on the left shoulder. She is often mistakenly described as a robot, though that would only be half-true.

Under that layer of armor lies… another layer of armor. Black and grey platemail layer together to create an imposing stature, complete with a glowing magic tower shield and spear. She has no helmet for this layer of armor, revealing a brown face with stern yet strangely beautiful features, her eyes and eyebrows marked by kohl, her right eye in particular being marked with the Wadjet symbol. Strange glowing green lines can be seen at the base of her neck that trail down underneath the collar of her armor.

And under that lies her true self. A featureless, purplish, vaguely humanoid and almost ethereal-looking body that would look quite strong… if it weren’t weathered and covered in cracks. Green magical energies leak out across her body from these imperfections, though the six-pointed emblem on her chest seems to be deliberately made. A protrusion on her right arm can be used to project a glowing green blade of magic, while winglike structures on her back project an ethereal green, fiery light.

Stern
Melancholy
Adaptable
Observant
Empathetic
Determined
Self-righteous

In ancient times, there was a legendary warrior who wandered the Mediterranean world, who triumphed over any who dared to challenge him. No one was sure whether this was due to his own skill or the enchanted sword he wielded, and this remained a mystery when he finally met his fate and the sword was shattered into forty-two pieces. They were eventually recovered by the court sorcerers of an Egyptian pharaoh, and each piece was used to create a warrior to serve him.

Seshat was one of these warriors; a creature formed from earth and magic. Though the specifics of her creation were lost with the Library of Alexandria, it was clear that Seshat and her brothers and sisters were an even greater force than the weapon they were made from. They fought to defend and expand the pharaoh’s reign, and did so excellently until his death. It was only a matter of time her brother Horus suggested that they take the pharaoh's place, and expand their domain even further. After all, they were almost godlike; far stronger than any feeble human could ever hope to be. Who better to stand above them and maintain Ma’at? Though most of Seshat’s brothers and sisters agreed with this plan, Seshat was vocal in her opposition. She was joined only by her sisters Mafdet and Isis, who shared her more level-headed approach.

Debate raged on until it was clear that they would tolerate mere words no longer. Horus challenged Seshat and her allies to stand against their siblings through battle.

And so she did. Through some mix of strategy, skill, and miraculous luck, the three had managed to triumph over thirteen times their number. It had not been without cost: Mafdet had lost her life, and Seshat’s core had been knocked from her body amidst the maelstrom of melee and magic, and had been lost in the flow of the Nile. With her own life fading as well, Isis concocted a plan to save her sister, giving Seshat her core before she succumbed to her wounds. In but a single night, the forty-two had been reduced to one.

Out of some mix of shame and sorrow, Seshat felt that she could not continue to serve Egypt any further. Seshat gathered the cores of her comrades and melded them with her own, with the exception of the one piece she had lost. She began to travel the world, searching for artifacts of immense power, similar to the one that had created her, and began to either destroy them or seal them away if the former was not an option, as well as opposing those who would threaten the world’s balance, especially if it involved said artifacts.

While a century meant nothing to Seshat, millennia of travel and battle began to leave their effect on her, perhaps an effect of the loss of her original core, perhaps an imperfection in her own creation or perhaps something else entirely. It did not matter to her: As her body grew frail and aged, she supplemented it with armor and weapons to protect it, for she would keep fighting no matter what.

Her exploits had continued to the present day. While she had little interest in how she was perceived, she still knew one thing for sure. The balance of Ma’at was being threatened, and she would make sure that it shall remain undisturbed.

Seshat’s moves are specialized enough to do well in certain situations, but the layers of armor they are tied to are far less durable than a Nomad who made these their focus would be, even if that durability adds up. If her current moveset has an advantage, then she’ll need to fight well to maintain it.

On the third layer, while she can fight defensively at longer ranges, her damage output is lacking. Her melee skills are also lacking while she’s holding her rifle, and she is very susceptible to throws. Her mobility is also abysmal, leaving it easy for faster foes to get into her vulnerable range.

On the second layer, she fares better offensively, but she has no way of fighting opponents at long ranges. Her slower style lends her best to poking away at mid range along with the occasional charge. Her shield bashes are powerful at very close ranges, but they’re rather sluggish.

On the final layer, Seshat is at her fastest and most powerful, with skills suited to fighting opponents up close and personal, but she is also at her weakest; an almost literal glass cannon not much more durable than a regular human. Under all that armor lies the most fragile nomad of all.

Seshat can progress through her layers of armor at her own pace, but she has no way of getting them back in the middle of battle. If she misjudges her opponent, she may have screwed herself out of an advantage.

In keeping with a stereotype she really had no need of following, Jill looks more like some sort of anime cowgirl than any normal person from her region, complete with big high boots, stetson hat, and a leather… jacket. Long blonde hair goes down past her shoulders and frames some nice blue eyes, a pretty nose, and (on a good day) a smile that could take on the world. She wears a red bandanna around her neck, and she wears a white tank top under her jacket that shows both her toned arms and a bit of cleavage from her respectable chest, though she’s fine with swapping it out for a long-sleeved white t-shirt if the weather inclines her to. She wears form-fitting jeans that show off her similarly toned legs. She speaks with a notable Southern accent, and she carries a black guitar case on her back, containing both a pristine acoustic guitar and the Blaze Driver belt she uses to transform.

Her transformed state itself is something that seems to have leapt straight out of a tokusatsu show (which in a way, it did), covered in deep blues, whites, and white-blues. The helmet bears resemblance to a motorcycle helmet, with a prominent metal chin guard. An ethereal blueish-white scarf trails behind her, resting on deep blue shoulder pads. The outfit is capped off by striking white gauntlets and knee-high boots.

She’s accompanied by a small floating drone designated P1T-5T0P (nicknamed Pit Stop), that fits into her bike and serves as her cameraman, as well as a repair crew during combat when she’s too occupied to do so herself.

-Hot-blooded
-Thrill-seeker
-Jovial
-Strong sense of justice balanced by a hint of pragmatism
-Appreciates etiquette
-Totally not a huge nerd.

A little over 100 years ago, in the aftermath of the first World War, there was a man by the name of Ryuji Raiden (or at least, that’s what he said it was). Showing up with a bolt of lightning, he would leap off of his motorcycle and dispatch evil (particularly other ki users) with furious fists of flame and fascinating gadgets. A pretty eccentric guy, but with enough charisma to become quite the topic of interest as he spread justice across the nation. His exploits only grew in number and notoriety, culminating in an incident in the aftermath of World War 2 where he allegedly fought against a kaiju, though whether or how much of that actually happened and how much credit he deserved for it remains unclear. As he participated in operations around the world, he eventually reached celebrity status, turning to decadence, with a radio drama being made based on his journeys.

Things eventually began to slow down, though. The guy was getting old, and between the money he was making from the entertainment industry and the various grants he was getting for some of his gadgets meant it was time for him to finally settle down and spend time with his family, training his son in his martial arts as well as checking in to see how the new official “Lightning Rider” television show was doing every once in awhile. In his final days, he had a secret to share.

Ryuji Raiden had slept around. Like, a lot. More than any defender of justice should have, though really everyone should have seen it coming. If he’d been to a country on a mission, chances were there was at least one sweetheart there, and if there was a sweetheart, there was a decent chance that there was an illegitimate child, too. He had decided to split his fortune equally across his descendants before he passed, and they eventually convened to discuss what to do with all that money.

After lengthy debate, they decided to establish the hero organization “SHINING”, dedicated to funding good old-fashioned superheroism in Japan, America, and later, most of Europe. They also continued their father’s legacy by forming a team of heroes known as the Justice Riders, using vehicles and special transformations to uphold justice across the world. The merchandise and TV show changed to match, the “Justice Riders” show in particular being popular worldwide despite a low budget. They did well at keeping the peace, becoming a world-renowned force of Nomads prized for their ability to get especially visible results.

Jill Breicen is one of those descendants, and she grew up with her younger sister dreaming of living up to the greatness of her family history. Now, she carries on their legacy as a new Justice Rider, blazing a trail of justice across the land… All while gathering footage for the show, of course.

In addition to respectable strength, durability, senses and reflexes, Jill is well-trained in her family’s very own Justice Rider style, passed down and refined through generations of laying triumphant beatdowns to dastardly villains. Getting up close and personal and using heavy punches, kicks, and grapples, every move is imbued with stylistic flair that would make any of them look great on a poster (and apparently do, according to product sales numbers). Her ki talents mostly involve creating “hard light” barriers and projections that she uses to defend herself from attacks and create platforms, but its true potential is squandered on its own.

Enter her own personal Trailblazer style and her incarnation of the family’s signature motorcycle; Cloud Nine. Weighing in at 621 pounds and boasting an extremely powerful three-way hybrid engine that can run on gasoline, electricity, and ki, this absolute monster of a vehicle requires a special kind of insanity to even drive, let alone use in combat. The Trailblazer style revolves around this, using the machine’s ample supplies of mass and velocity to charge forwards and demolish whatever happens to be in her path at the moment, whether that be through elaborate powerslides, jumps, and wheelies, or simply charging towards an opponent at high speeds, using both her ki talents and the bike’s bulk to shrug off attacks and ram them off the road. The Starbolt is used in conjunction with the Blaze Suit’s increased strength to both grab opponents, and to attach the end to the bike itself and fling it around like an oversized morning star. She can use her ki powers to create ramps and platforms to bring the bike into the air or even across walls. Very unrefined as a martial art, but nothing to scoff at when every attack almost literally hits like a truck.

Both styles are further reinforced by the EX-ACT system. Both the bike and suit run in part off of the user’s ki, which can be stored in up to three EX-Cells and three EX-Seeds connected to the Blaze Driver, and these are each tied to fire and electricity, respectively. Cells can be expended to bring some fabulous flames to Cloud Nine’s attacks, and Seeds can be used to shock and stun opponents on foot.

The handlebars of her bike can each be charged with ki to form a weapon. The left handlebar turns into a sword known as the Blaze Slicer, while the right handlebar forms the Starbolt Whip.

■ [Come on, Cloud Nine!/Pit Stop!]
Any Stance

■ [EX-Charge]
Any Stance

■ [Trailblaze!]
Any Stance
Trailblaze EX: Trailblazer Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell or 1 Ex-Seed

■ [Burning Blue Kick!]
Any Stance
Burning Blue Kick EX: Any Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell or 1 EX-Seed
Dragon Bolt Kick: Any Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell and 1 EX-Seed

■ [Justice Break]
Trailblazer Stance
Justice Break EX: Trailblazer Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell

■ [Cloud PLASMA]
Trailblazer Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell and/or EX-Seed

■ [Power Slide!]
Trailblazer Stance
Power Slide EX: Trailblazer Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell

■ [Burnout Twist!]
Trailblazer Stance, requires 1-3 EX-Cells

■ [EX-Flare]
Trailblazer Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell or 1 EX-Seed

■ [Vanquish Buster!]
Ground Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell or 1 EX-Seed

■ [Jetstream Slam!]
Ground Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell or 1 EX-Seed

■ [Rolling Thunder!]
Ground Stance
Rolling Thunder EX: Burning Bolt Stance, requires 1 EX-Cell or 1 EX-Seed

■ [EX-MAX: Cloud Nine’s True Fury!]
Trailblazer Stance, requires all 3 EX-Cells and all 3 EX-Seeds

■ [Henshin Burnout]
Any Stance

■ [Cho-Henshin! Blaze EXtreme: Adolescent EXon]
Trailblazer Stance

Standing at 5 feet and six inches, Jasmine looks cute, but rather unassuming for a Nomad, clad in jeans and a gray hoodie with a Justice Rider T-shirt underneath. A head full of raven black hair and blue eyes framed by large spectacles sticks out from between her shoulders, and she usually carries a large leatherbound book around with her. A plump, mysterious black bat can always be seen somewhere nearby, with a grin and cackle that suggest that it maybe isn’t quite a bat.

In combat, she transforms into something between a witch and a magical girl, with a jet black dress, thigh highs, and classic conical hat highlighted by a pink visor and staff with a glowing heart at the tip.

Jasmine is...
Upbeat
Sarcastic
Dependant
Isn’t taking this too seriously
Clearly spends too much time on the internet
A little shy
But still loves positive attention

While Beelzebub is...
Gluttonous
Jolly
Unfazed
And loves to laugh

So picture this, right? You’re this powerful demon of gluttony…

What? Yeah, I know, it’s pretty tough to imagine. Being as great as I am and all. But just try and stick with me, kid.

Anyways, this demon, he’s raked up quite a haul over the course of eternity. Gold, souls, booze, cute succubus secretaries, you name it. It’s kinda like the world’s coolest siesta. Except way longer. So this demon doesn’t really give too much of a damn about too much at the time. So when this witch comes knocking offering up her and every firstborn daughter in her family's’ souls for access to his awesome magical power, who is he to say no? It’s a great investment when all you have to do is spend some time up in the mortal realm.

So centuries go by. It’s all kinda the same schtick. Merge some of your power with a witch, go on wacky adventures, take her soul when she dies, bond with her kid right after they're born, it all goes on. Then this new kid comes along, this Jaine chick, and she decides she’s going to become a lawyer. Which is fine, until she decides to take another look at that dusty old contract.

Now, the thing about demon legalese is that it’s a bit tough even for some of us demons to wrap our heads around. Or maybe I’m just a bit slow. Apparently I’m not any good at writing the damned things, because apparently there’s tons of holes in the wording. And not the good ol’ demon classic “you shoulda read the fine print” kind.

So one crazy court session too (because I guess those exist now), and this little deal ain’t lookin so one-sided anymore. Everything’s crazy. Now it’s the second-born child. Now you can’t have their souls, just a fraction of their ki. Now you need to give the kid their own little wish if they wanna join in on this whole faustian pact business. Talk about a rotten turn of events, I tell ya.

And this new kid I’m working with, Jasmine? She’s really something else, I tell ya. Jaine had two kids, but I didn’t even know her second-born was a daughter until her nineteenth birthday. Taking that long to come out, it really messes with the whole routine, you know? All she wanted out of me was a new body, though, which is way easier than anything I was expecting to have to do. She’s so grateful about it, too, almost makes me feel bad. Her dad's side of the family is trying to spin her as one of those magical girl things, too. They're making those Japanese cartoon things and everything. Guess you can't walk five steps these days without someone trying to make a profit off ya.

But there’s something big going down in the world of mortals, and she’s gonna help me get something really nice to eat out of it.

While she can use her staff in a pinch, Jasmine never learned how to fight hand to hand. Instead, she uses the dark arts, relying on the raw power gained through her pact with Beelzebub to come out on top.

Her magic is nothing complex, mostly consisting of a library of simple elemental spells, but it's extremely powerful. Her true specialty lies in aerial combat: In the air, her spells have a drastically reduced prep time at the cost of being only slightly weaker, and they're supplemented by a variety of aerial movement techniques to zip around the arena. However, she can only use an aerial spell once before she hits the ground.

While Jasmine’s ground spells pack a punch, they take long enough to prepare that they frankly leave her wide open. She also possesses next to no melee training or ability in general. As an aerial fighter, she relies heavily on open space and a lack of anti air moves keeping her grounded. While Beelzebub does a good job of covering for Jasmine’s lack of skill, he can only go so far.

What else?

At six feet and three inches, Isabella has an intimidating yet beautiful aura, showing few signs of aging. He has ambiguously brown skin and a near-permanent frown, but the first thing one will likely notice about him is his massive, full head of unkempt yet luxurious, snow white hair that stretches down to his knees.

When transformed, he slightly increases in size while donning armor resembling a cross between typical Justice Rider garb and the armor of an ancient dark knight, covered in plate with a glowing blue visor shining behind a slitted metal faceplate. His helmet features a prominent set of horn-like protrusions, and features an opening in the back from which his hair spills out.

-Quiet
-Grumpy
-Irritable
-Blunt
-Disillusioned
-Has trouble expressing himself

Born from the union of a human and a demon, Isabella grew up raised by his demonic parent. Their financial status was… inconsistent, and Isabella had to help make ends meet. Growing into a passionate young man with a growing sense of frustration, he was eventually approached by SHADER, a secret organization bent on creating a utopian society through cybernetics, genetic modification, and the occult. He accepted their request to join them, and after thorough testing, he was bonded with the demon Leviathan and gifted the Infernal Gear, a cursed device that allowed him to utilize the full power of his demonic blood.

A firm believer in SHADER’s ideals, he became a highly valued operative that eventually came into conflict with the then newly-formed Justice Riders. He fought the original team of five many times, though after being convinced of the true nature of SHADER’s activities, he officially joined the team as the sixth Justice Rider: Justice Rider Sombra. After defeating SHADER, he remained an effective and popular member of both the Justice Riders and SHINING, a popular trait being his cold, silent attitude, though he retained a major rebellious streak with a particular dislike of the direction the organization was taking.

Now, he lacks much of his former influence. Still an effective combatant, he often works in the shadows, doing the work SHINING would rather not have broadcasted. Though whether he truly remains loyal to the organization is a mystery...

As a Nomad, Isabella never pulls his punches. He uses his own take on the Justice Rider style, focused on blunt, powerful strikes to vital areas. He’ll do whatever he can to end the fight and end it fast. In addition, he is still possessed by Leviathan, who uses his hair as a medium to tear through the enemy from behind.

By loading bullets formed from his own dark ki into the Infernal Gear and pulling the trigger, he can transform into an armored demonic form that allows him to reach his true potential. Armed with a morphing Guitar/Axe/Sword combo known as the Dark Shredder, he can execute opponents as well as charm Leviathan with its infernal tunes to achieve a greater degree of control.

Though intimidating, Isabella’s greatest weakness is a lack of range and mobility. He excels at an unflinching advance, but opponents who can manage to keep away regardless will have him at a major disadvantage. In the few situations where he can be summarily outmatched in a straight-up brawl, he also lacks the mobility or versatility to come up with a decent response.

Though anyone can use the Infernal Gear, when used by a non-demon, it will eat at the user’s soul in exchange for its power.

With high heeled boots, a 6’10” stature (with those heels), long hair, and some well-applied makeup, one might have trouble determining Rosie’s gender before they figure out his status as a Nomad. His skin tone is a light bronze, while his eyes are a clear shade of hazel. His clothes never seem to stray from grays and blacks, never hitting a true white or any flashier colors. He has that confident, satisfied look in his eye, and the way he proudly walks around with one hand on his hip and another on the straps of his tote bag seem to give the impression that he knows what he’s doing and what he’s after, even when he really doesn’t. His right eye is constantly covered by his thick brown hair, and he’s somewhat protective of whatever might be lying under it. He speaks in a rather flamboyant manner, and though little phases someone as old as him, he often shifts his tone in irritating, condescending ways when he wishes to mock someone.

A very, very long time ago, Rosier was an angel. He likes to say that he was a pretty important one, too. When he's asked about why he isn't one anymore, his answer often changes. Sometimes he says that he was a little too zealous. Sometimes he answers that he simply got bored, or that being a perfect embodiment of light and good was too stressful.

Regardless, he was a demon from that point on, a creature of lust and temptation. He enjoyed his job for the most part, though for whatever reason, he sometimes felt like his heart just wasn't in it. It was only around the mid-1940’s when he really began to realize his true calling: Art. There was something that struck him about Earth’s natural beauty. It wasn’t eternally perfect like in his first home, nor was it eternally tarnished like in his second. It was varied, fleeting, and somewhere in between the two extremes. It was something he felt deserved to captured.

He began to travel across the world, painting whatever he found to be worth painting, and making a quick buck selling whatever he thought was worth sharing. While it was something of an odd set of decades for the devil, it was very much fulfilling, and he never stopped travelling regardless of what friends or foes he made along the way. He was going to capture as much of the world as he could behind a canvas.

As well as brush up on his combat skills. Heavens knew there were plenty of roadblocks on his travels.

Rosie has some dextrous, delicate hands, and he prefers not to get them dirty on those lesser Nomads. His palette knife is actually the sealed form of his long-cherished greatsword, Rembrandt, and by coating it in shadow, he can project a sharp blade similar to a real knife. He uses it in up-close encounters, with a style that’s a fine blend between Scherma di Stiletto Siciliano, Esgrima Criolla, and Fairbairn-Sykes. He’ll deftly dance around and counter blows as well as wrap his scarf or coat around his hand and use it to parry other lighter attacks, grabbing opponents and stabbing them where it hurts if he’s feeling particularly sadistic. If a bit more range and power is needed, he’ll put his legs to work with deadly ballerina-esque twirls as well as roundhouses, butterfly kicks, and axe kicks, coating his boots in shadow to turn them into almost literal stiletto heels.

At range, using his paintbrush, he can leave ink in midair that can be used to make what he paints reality. With much room for creativity and stylistic flair, it’s his preferred method of fighting by a long shot.

He can also gather the darkness, chaos, aggression, and similar concepts of his opponents to store and use to power up his next attack.

At times, Rosie will use his BlackStar transformation, returning both him and his greatsword to their true shadowy forms as he dusts off his fast and brutal demonic fighting style.

Rosie can sense ki.

Rosie fights only decently at close range and excels at longer ranges, but falters at medium ranges where Cross Section is the only attack with the lack of setup time he needs to be effective. Anyone with the luxury of fighting comfortably in that range can shut down his ability to fight back if they can keep up with his attempts to move out of it. In BlackStar form, the same concept applies to long-range combat while he covers his mid-range weaknesses.

All of his paintbrush attacks are based on his own perception. If his vision is impaired, they become useless even if “aimed” correctly.

Though he is immortal, Rosie needs strength to maintain his physical form, and it can be dispersed if he takes enough of a beating. At least, until he can gather enough darkness to remake it, though that could take a very long time. Though decent, his endurance is nothing special, and he is especially vulnerable to holy and light-based attacks.

Rosie rarely treats his opponents as anything more than a nuisance, often viewing the challenges of those lesser beings as something not worth his time. When he begins taking his opponent seriously, they may easily have the advantage over him.

Rosie donates a fair portion of the money he makes through selling art to various environmental protection and preservation organizations, though most of that goes into landscape preservation.

A seemingly young looking male whose presence seems to project beyond his already impressive nearly six feet of height. Silkly smooth red hair is often tied back, but may become more wild as needed. His outfits generally consist of a white pressed suit with a gray undershirt, but he may wear a black trenchcoat like piece over top black slacks and a purple shirt. His reddish eyes almost seem to reflect the onlooker, and he almost has an imposing aura. And yet, one can't help but feel an urge to trust at his smiling visage.

His true form, that of an immense, silver dragon, who brings to mind standard western dragons, towers above the contenders, at nearly a story from the shoulder. With at least thirty foot wing span, and well over fifty feet or more in length, he's a massive feller. But it makes him a pretty big target. And it makes take off hard.
(Stardust Dragon for appearance)

Kind, considerate, thoughtful, ingenious, intelligent, resourceful. Slow to anger(usually), jovial, cheerful, if not humorous.

A mysterious archeologist with an even more mysterious past. Described as the perfect definition of a wanderer, he doesn't stay long wherever he ends up, unless he has no choice, or finds he likes it enough. In time though, when he deems it right, he will move on, returning at a later date, if ever. A wraith upon history.

At least, that's the urban legend, of the Professor. A story that has become legendary over the decades and centuries of his life. The reality is as follows. A mythic type of being, who was born an untold amount of time prior, whether to a Dragon who was king, or to an actual dragon deity, matters not. For whatever reason, his nation was lost, and this dragon stepped into legend as a wanderer. Some versions of the story around him vary, saying he lost part of his memories, and fell through time(and space, given he actually hails from the other side of the galaxy), others say he repressed his memories and prevented gaining new ones for a time, until enough time had passed to distant himself. What is clear is that over centuries, sightings of him have cropped up across the globe, often in the form of him appearing at ruins or ancient sites, seeking something. Some claim its treasure, others claim he does it solely for adventure. Often when he appears, he offers his aid to those who need it, before then moving on. The truth is that he seeks knowledge, and information on where his people went, a young boy when his nation fell, an orphan of a dragon some of that society revered as a goddess.

His reasons for being a Nomad are a mystery, he may enter a tournament and beat all who stand in his way, only to stop at the final match and let himself lose. Or he may simply interview locals. If pressed, the one said to be the Wanderer of Time will simply state he's doing research for a book, or seeking a rare item. To him, knowledge is more precious than any gold, more valuable than money, more important than even food. And the memories he associates with such are important. From lost tribes of the jungles, to the urban sprawl, he's trotted the globe, preferring to keep a low profile unless the world needs him. Some even dare say he's stood against corrupt regimes, to protect innocents. At the end of the day, he's a mystery, a vagabond with no home, but to whom the world is home. Such is the one they call the Professor, though no one seems to know what he's a Professor of, if anything.

Note: His reasons for fighting are simply for the gathering of knowledge. But I made it mysterious for those in rp who want to draw wild conclusions.

With reservation, he fights, committing only as much energy to the battle as he feels is key. Even so, he moves with speed and grace, displaying skill far beyond even what seems applicable for a skilled human artist. He seems to have no proper style, instead fighting in a manner that almost makes one think he's dancing. His moves, while rarely flashy, are straight and to the point. That isn t'to say he won't perform for the crowds, but when no one is around but him and his opponent? No reason to show off. As a dragon, he possesses innate mystical power, namely in the form of being able to use wind and lightning as his allies, imbuing some of his attacks with said elements. He may use a sword if fighting a Ki user who uses swords, or a deck of cards against a gambler. Really, he just seems to go for whatever suits him best in the moment. As an effective space dragon wizard, he can do a lot of cool stuff. Including make his own dragons, but he's yet to figure that out. Go figure.

Despite being a dragon, due to being within human force, the Professor cannot access much of his power, without risk of causing internal damage to his body. This forces him to play carefully, partly why he relies on long range. This can cause someone to overcome when he isn't going all out. His lack of an actual fighting style means he has to rely on dodging, as his long range play style can be countered by one who gets in close. His tendency to just throw a fight if he loses interest or finds a new source of knowledge to gather can, be used against him, as his guard may lower. Additionally, his desire for knowledge is seemingly unquenchable, making it possible to at least have a chance of luring him into a trap. He also seems to have to eat regularly, and if deprived of rest, can cause him to lose focus. Nor is he really good with...relationships, not romantic, just in general. One can only imagine why. His desire to aid may overcome his own common sense, so yeah. Also if he turns into a dragon, he's kind of easy to take down if the need arises.

Unlike most dragons, his people could easily take on human form, and did so to conserve power, and to better understand their mortal subjects. His ability to control lightning is derived from how such is considered in many circles to be a sub-power of wind. He also has a better regenerative factor than most humans, but this requires rest. He may manifest parts of his dragonic nature on occasion.

The longest time he's been "recorded" to stay in an area, was a university town about a century prior, for a period of time that while ultimately unknown, was long enough for him to acquire the title of Professor. It is implied he may be a Professor of Archeology, or History. Either way, his immense amount of knowledge makes him a living history book. And a witty one at that. He's immensely lonely, due to how he's basically at this point immortal, short of someone actually managing to kill him, but due to this, he can't stand to form bonds, due to how short life is for most. He's been quoted to say that "is this why we took human form? To understand their pain, their joy? The meaning of their lives...its a beautiful tapestry." Its also theorized he may have a lair somewhere in a remote location, that stores all of his collections. Or he may just live in a city under an assumed name. Who knows, eh?

Fafnir is a surviving mythological being. In his original form, the dragon stood (on four legs) at a monstrous size, the like of which dwarfed only by the eldest of his kin. Though due to the nature of his seal his form had regressed significantly in size and power. The beast has two bull like horns and a third blade-like horn on the snout, as well as sharp spines that run down his back and below his jaw. Black plated scales armor his body along with the somewhat softer crimson scales of his underbelly. His eyes are crocodilian in nature, and are a piercing yellow. Black jagged teeth run the maw of the saurian-shaped head, with a forked tongue slithering within his mouth. A sail-like frill runs along his back between the sharp spines and can extend or recede in a display, tallest near the top of long snake-like neck. Long bat-like wings act as a third pair of limbs, all 3 pairs bear sharp 3-fingered claws.

In his usual, sealed form however, he is a massive 7'5" beige-skinned human with typical Aryan facial features and a muscular build. However he still retains some leaks of his inhuman nature in the form of his reptilian, glowing snake-like eyes(Like his dragon form, his eyes are yellow but glow a crimson firey light), a pair of leathery wings and a large, lumbering tail of black and red keeled scales and a barbed tip.

His armor is fully plated iron, from head to foot, that fully conceals him. The only parts of him not concealed is his tail. His wings are covered with a bird-like/angelic design in this armor, with some kind of flexible but plated material. The armor has various runes carved into it to attune with his Ki, as well as his large 6'0 lance he wields as a weapon, and a massive plated shield.

Wise
Observant
Prideful
Honorable
Silent thinker
Loner
Vengeful
Not-very-Tech-Savy(As well as just being not too familiar with most products of modern culture in general.)
Stuck in the past, old way mentality.
Long fuse( but should that fuse be lit it can provoke him into a much more animalistic or feral nature.)

Fafnir was once a great dragon of malice, fueled by a thirst for utter destruction and power. As if by instinct his feral nature laid ruin to villages and kingdoms of old. The first spawn of Bahagarra he was unrivaled by his generation and those that came after, and was one of the most active scourges to humanity. Yet one brave and mighty knight of one, now lost, kingdom had finally defeated him and ended his centuries of terror. The knight's birth name was Gabriel Sigurd, though dubbed as Arch-angel Gabriel by his kingdom; owed to his unnatural and incredible power and skill, as if he were some divine instrument, and the angelic wings adorned from his armor, which granted him flight. He had not only humbled the monster in his defeat, but his code of honor and mercy towards the beast, an unusual gesture of kindness towards a monster that had previously bore no sympathy, inspired Fafnir hence fourth. The beast followed the knight's example, served the same kingdom with up most loyalty, and began to become intrigued and respectful of the martial prowess of the mortals once trained to slay him. Eventually, he abandoned his form through arcane rites, and convinced a then retired Sir Sigurd to teach him his martial power. When Sigurd inevitable fell to the mortal fate of all humans, the immortal dragon carried on his mentor's legacy. Taking his enchanted armaments, lance, armor, and shield, and even his surname, he continued to serve the kingdom and passed down his ways to the knights and soldiers of that realm, and the wandering warriors that sought his teachings. However his most proud hobby was seeking worthy opponents for the sport of combat. Whether it be a monster, a warrior, or something otherwordly; ever since his battle with Gabriel, Fafnir has acquired the taste of honorable combat. Always seeking the next opponent that could replicate the same feelings he felt in that original battle, never truly satisfied, but eager to continue. The teachings of Sigurd never left him, both in skill and in morality. As an eternal respect for his long deceased master, the knight retains the ideologies of the honorable and chivalrous knight his mentor once was. He defended the kingdom from others of his kin, until the dragons stopped spawning with Bahagarra's defeat.

But all things must come to an end. The kingdom he once served inevitably became lost to time, the ruins of its once proud structures sunken beneath water and dirt. With little purpose left, the ancient being sunk into a depression, and slumbered for the centuries to come. Finding solice in the tomb of his progenitors, and for that time, guarding it so that no one would reawaken the disasters that may plague the world again. One day, amidst his ancient slumber, he had a dream. A dream of his master, a dream of promise. Dreams that filled the forgotten soldier with hope. He longed for that thrill of battle that was lost to him. Such motivation stirred him from his slumber, and the primordial knight rose from the dirt and sea to witness the new world. So much had changed, there was so much to learn. But more importantly, there were fighters to find, warriors to challenge. Though he may had lost his master and his kingdom, he still had one purpose left in life, and that was the thrill of battle.

With the exception of being somewhat more nimble Fafnir is not as strong, nor as in tune with his ki in this false image, however he makes up for that weakness with the vast amount of generations he spent honing a finesse with weaponry. His primary tactics use a mixture of Ki power and his trusty lance, one that served him throughout generations.
In unarmed combat he lacks the finesse he wields with his lance, and thus his kicks and punches, though powerful, are slow and crude. Such attacks lack the proper speed or efficiency those more experienced with hand-to-hand combat possess. His 'style' in which case usually involves excessive use of using his weight and size to body slam, elbow, or grapple enemies with his crushing strength and weight. He also utilizes his tail to whip or even stab at his foes as a spear if he feels such strategies are warranted. Though capable of flight in his sealed form, he's a slow glider and can only effectively 'dash' with leaping or landing. Thus doesn't have any real aerial combat technique.

He is no stranger to pain and is more then willing to take injuries so long as it means he can strike back. While winning is fine, he is more focused on the thrill of the battle itself and chooses to prolong the fight if possible. While mercy isn't strictly enforced in his honor code, he has no qualms offering that same kindness he was dealt when defeated by Joseph.

Fafnir in his humanoid form takes the time to stay mostly defensive and study his opponents carefully, using what energy is necessary to protect himself and keeping the flow of battle steady so that he can conserve the rest for when he feels the opportune moment to unleash it. He often plays to what his opponent offers, even if his foe is weaker then Fafnir, Fafnir rarely goes anything beyond his foe's own level in that case, in the start of that fight. This is for both to take pleasure in the battle itself, but to once again, take time to study his opponent.

If he ever sheds his mortal form however, Fafnir's fighting style is a u-turn from his original style. Without any finesse or weaponry, He relies solely on ki-power and physical capabilities his form offers. Just as the Dragon-Form will often go all out at the very start of his transformation, his instincts become much more of primal fury, at some points even lacking self-control with how carried away his predatory nature takes a hold of him. For this reason he only uses his true-form as a last resort tactic, or if someone really infuriates him. In most scenarios he'd much rather lose in his mortal form then to win in his true form, unless if that fight mattered more beyond his entertainment and honor.

Worst of worlds: In most situations, Fafnir starts out slow in his sealed form, often trying to fight at an 'equal' footing at his opponents. Weaker opponents as a result have a better chance of beating him, as does stronger opponents that he can't adapt to in time. In the rare occasion where Fafnir has no honor or respect for an opponent, he will go all out and transform, instead becoming reckless and easy to tire out. Either way, it isn't too difficult to strategies against.

Glutton for punishment: His bloodlust for battle and refusal to dishonor his opponents often lead him to purposely taking hits. Usually he takes advantages of these blows to counter attack, however the sport he finds in testing the strength or force of his opponent's attacks can often give him situations with damage that he could have prevented.

Prideful Vengeance: Despite his worked up tolerance, those that damage his pride can potentially tear through his wisdom and better judgement if they know what buttons to push. Insulting his honor is one sure way to enrage him. Though he is often humble, he still carries with him a sense of pride of his own power partially fueled by the innate, natural arrogance of a dragon.

Imperfect Armor: In his dragon form, the underbelly is soft and vulnerable to attack.

Cold-blooded: Fafnir does best in hot environments. Exposed to cold conditions or cryogenic based attacks can weaken his endurance and overall performance.

The reporter walked into the mansion, taking nervous steps on the clean tiled floor. The cameraman behind her was just as cautious. As they walked, they couldn't help but notice the servants around them. Maids and butlers, all with a lifeless expression; dead eyes watching them as they moved further. The room was cold, and the motionless servants didn't help to lift the atmosphere.

"Are you sure this isn't a prank?" Said the cameraman, having attempted to turn his fear into frustration.

"He gave us an invitation in person, remember? It's un-" She snapped back, but was cut off as a sudden motion caught both of their attention. Before them, between the double staircase of the foyer, rose a swirling mass that had seemed to swoop down on the floor from the shadows. Taking shape from the swirl of motion, later revealed to be his cape, was the man of the hour himself.

"Greetings, welcome to my humble abode." Vlad bowed politely before his guests, dressed in his typical evening suit. "I hope my loyal subjects haven't bothered you." He said, his voice was almost enchanting, yet there in lied waited something sinister in his tone; like a serpent.

He snapped his fingers, and the handful of maids and butlers suddenly came to life. They seemed to carry on with their duties; moving furniture and decor, preparing drinks, and the like. Set up by several servants were a pair of expensive, decorative chairs with fine silk cushions, and a likewise rich couch of a black dyed fabric. Vlad had taken a seat on the sofa. Just as the reporter took a seat on one of the chairs, a maid approach to set up a tray with what appeared to be freshly served snacks; A glass of wine and miniature sandwiches.

The cameraman turned on his camera to film the two.

"So, what brings you to my estate, you'll have to forgive my poor memory."

"We um." She turned to the tray briefly to decide on whether taking a bite or not, before refusing. "Well you said you would tell the world where you came from, why you're here. Fans are dying to know after all, what's your story?"

He chuckled. "Fans? Story?" He waved his hand way in a dismissal motion.

"Oh you mortals and your, strange fascination with romanticizing monsters nowadays. 300 years ago you wouldn't see that kind of opinion out there." He sighed. "Ah but those days are over I'm afraid, very well, I shall tell you what I can remember.." He waved his hand in a dramatic motion as he began;

"You see, I was born into a royal family of, well, a kingdom of sorts. The name? I couldn't recall." He laughed, amusing himself. "Those kinds of details don't matter anymore anyway, I know it doesn't exist anymore. Anyway; so, of course, this small little civilization there, I think it was somewhere in east Europe; we were...let's say not the most liked kind of rulers out there. Sure, we didn't needlessly kill anyone. But there were complaints from the commoners about corruption, wickedness, greed, what have you. And sure, I suppose those complaints were...not far from the truth. I can't remember my father, I knew he was there, I knew what he did, but well; I suppose I just didn't care enough for him to remember. My mother, well, she was the one who spoiled me when I was a young one, I remember that face well enough. My sister, well...I suppose I have her to thank to be where I am today.

You see, I suppose it all started when famine struck our lands. Rain hadn't fall, the soil had become ill, and well; life was miserable. For them, not us, of course. While they starved outside, poor and with little food, we hoarded the land's boon. Fresh pig, mutton, mm...I almost missed that taste." He trailed off for a moment.

"Mr. Dalv?"

"Oh, pardon me."

"Is that your real name?"

"What is?"

"Dalv."

"Oh, no." He chuckled, waving away her thought. "No, my real name was far less suitable I suppose. I abandoned it sometime ago."

"Oh, well..."

Vlad took the advantage of her silence to continue. "Where was I? Oh yes, you see; They didn't like that fact too much, the commoners. They decided to have a riot of sorts. Pitchforks and torches, all that nonsense. Of course the guards initially had their uses, but I guess many of them joined the crowd since I, well, I suppose my father forgot to treat them well." He snickered. At the time I was about as old as, well, how you see me now. But still, I wasn't in charge. No I'd be on merry strolls enjoying my privileges and flirting with the local beauties. My carefree life was taken away by my reckless family."

"So you resent them?" She asked.

"Heavens no." He once again made a dismissal hand gesture, scoffing at the idea. "If it wasn't for them I wouldn't be here now. You see, because of this predicament, we were..desperate. My sister, now, I didn't know what she was up to. But it was revealed on that day that she was well versed in the occult. Now, I don't know if she was a witch, but I'm sure on any other day she could have been burned for that fact. Anyway, with her connections and my...father's..." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, a flash of anger briefly in his expression, as if a sudden memory popped into view. He played it off with a brief snicker. "My father had no idea what he was doing when he thrashed his daughter about saving them. The price she insisted was too high. Well, she couldn't do anything against an angry and desperate man losing power; so she had summoned a vampire."

A smile curled on his lips, revealing his fangs. "Shocker, I know."

"But it gets better. You see, the vampire in question was happy to deal with our little problem; But my father gave him a..well a bit too stern of an attitude. He didn't know his place. So our little blood-sucking friend wasn't in the best of mood to help us. More importantly, it was a bloody vampire; I mean who the hell.." He sighed. "I'm getting off topic. Anyway, our blood-sucking hero explains to us that he will grant our wish if we are willing to sacrifice one of our own. Sure enough, immediately without consent, my father picks out my sister. Now, as the vampire explained that he must literally stand his own damned child in the back; I was well...I didn't like that much really. Mother well, I'm sure she didn't want that, but she didn't interfere. So, I picked up a decorative sword from the wall, and used it to strike my father's back while he was busy on my sibling. Of course he was shocked, as was I, that was my first....kill. So to speak. While all this was happening, mind you, the revolt was reaching our doors. The vampire, having accepted the father as the sacrifice, took to dealing with the first wave of an angry mob. I don't remember the details, I recall my mother screaming; going into a corner. I remember my father trying to mouth something, struggling through rage and shock. 'Course I don't remember what he said. What I do remember, was my sister. Upon seeing the massacre she tried to stop what she had summoned. She drew a knife and stabbed the vampire's chest. I think she was going for the heart, but apparently she missed. The dagger didn't seem to go through his flesh that much either...Anyway, the angry fiend turned around and gutted her like a pig.

Now you can, imagine the shock of those events. The trauma, and all. I completely forgot who that monster was with how...well I'm not sure how to describe how I felt. It's been so long since I felt such emotion, and it was too complicated to wave it away as angry. No it was mixed with all..sorts..of delicious emotions. Rage, Fear, Shock, terror, panic....Ah, yes a lot of terrible things going on off at once. It made me dumb enough to attack the thing, and obviously my efforts were in vain. At this point most of the riot had realized what was happening after their first wave had been massacred, and began to scream in terror back to the village. The chaos had set the castle ablaze, I remember that, because I distinctly recall the fire twisting light and shadows around this...monstrous figure. It towered over me, scoffed, and I believe it bit my neck. It had to have had, because if he didn't, I wouldn't be here. Regardless, There was no period I remember in between; like sleeping and waking. I awoke, to find myself surrounded in a closed space of wood. It didn't take long to realize I had been buried alive. Except, I wasn't really alive, now was I?" He grinned again at the woman, giving her a wink with his crimson eyes.

The gesture sent a shiver down her spine, but she continued. "That..that must been when you turned then."

"Correct." He responded. "My skin was pale, I had no pulse; I was cold, but not..really. Numb perhaps. Anyway, I freaked out and struggled for a bit. Eventually I discovered the unnatural strength I had which allowed me to claw my way out of the coffin and the earth. I awoke in the graveyard, and returned to my castle. It had been well, 3 days since I died. According to what I learned. My subjects were shocked to see me. I was more shocked, to see my mother's, the queen's, battered corpse hanging from the front of the castle gate; sweet dry blood staining the stone bricks. Well they called us a monster in life, so I decided to give them what they said I was."

His grin faded back into a smile, though it still felt sinister to the woman, who now nervously took a sip of the wine. "Well, the few that I liked I turned into the loyal subjects you see around this manner. Eternal like me, but not quite vampires. Pity they don't have any free will to entertain me with."

"Wow that is um...fascinating, Mr. Dalv. But why are you here now, so far away from home?"

"Money, fame, social status. Trivial things mind you, and of course, living in a damp old castle isn't really a lifestyle fit for a prince, is it?" He said as he slowly moved off from the couch.

The woman was speechless as she was staring into Vlad's eyes. Like it was some kind of trance. The cameraman noticed this, and turned his camera off. He tried to snap her awake, shouting "hey!" But our dashing young vampire had closed the distance between them in unnatural speed. His cold white fingers gripped the man's throat, cutting his voice off from any further sound. "Shhh.." He whispered as his nails elongated into claws, drawing blood from small cuts that were made on his neck from the transformation of the fingers. Drawing his fangs, he bit into the cameraman's neck, who dropped his camera from the attack. He was sucked dry, while the woman remained in a trance. "Hmm.." He said as he dropped the corpse. "Well, I think this will make a fine addition to the auditorium. What do you think...what was your name again Darling?"

"Mary." She said in a tranced voice, as if she was talking in her sleep.

"Ah, a pleasure to make your acquaintance my dear." He spoke, before taking a bite out of her neck as well.

[Vlad turns into an immobile body of mist; becoming temporarily intangible and immune to attacks, but cannot move during this state.]

[Vlad can turn into a small, fast vampire bat. While still having blood sucking fangs he is mostly defenseless in this form. But his small size and swift speed makes him a difficult target in this form. Best used for transportation or evading attacks.]

[Vlad can cause blood to boil into a burning liquid, or even explode rapidly into a powerful burst.]

[With blood staining his rapier, Vlad can extend and freeze the blood into a longer ranged blade. The exact shape of this blood sword/weapon can be determined by him.]

[Vlad can project a bolt composed of semi frozen blood either from a portion of crimson blade, a nearby blood puddle, or from his own body. The resulting projectile is both sharp and fast, like a crossbow bolt.]

[Vlad allow's himself reveal or suppress his own fiendish presence at will. When revealed, his presence makes the surrounding area drop in temperature, often accompanied by shadows twists around him or letting the wind howl. Animals will often either go quiet at his presence, or freak out by barking/growling. Small open flames can be put out as well by this ability.]

[An incorporeal hand can be summoned at will by Vlad. This hand acts as an independant, floating hand. Able to lift, carry, pull, and push objects. It can't attack by itself, but can throw objects or wield weapons. The hand's range is limited by 30 meters around Vlad]

[A tendril or multiple tendrils form from either Vlad's own blood, a blood puddle, or from his crimson blade. The tendril aims to wrap around a subject to trap them in place, and is free to pull or move trapped victims if successful. The tendrils may also throw these victims, or instead act to slam into said victim instead of trying to grab them.]

[Vlad expends more of his vampiric ki to apply his undead speed. Turning himself into almost a blur of speed, Vlad will attempt to disorient his opponent by taking three stride-like side steps, which cover a large distance with only a motion trail. In between each step is a rhytmic pause. Then he performs a fourth motion; either perform a counter attack with his rapier, or retreat into a nearby hiding place.]

[From his own blood/body, a nearby puddle, or through crimson blade, Vlad can generate a crescent shaped wave of blood, which is sharp enough to act as a bladed projectile.

[A rapid thrust attack with his rapier, aiming to both disorient his opponent with a flurry of attacks with the hopes of at least landing one hit to draw blood.]

By staring deeply into his eyes, and requiring activation, Vlad can put people under hypnosis, and manipulate them under his will temporarily. This requires sustained eye contact, and most commands can only be sustained and obeyed by remaining in that trance. Subconscious orders can also be implanted to perform later, but this is harder to pull off if they have a strong will. Hypnosis doesn't work with people that can use their ki, or if they have a strong enough will power. Breaking eye contact for more then 5 seconds ends the trance. A sustained trance of 2 minutes is required to implant a subconscious command.]

What else?

Outwardly Anna looks mostly a human girl, standing at 5'7'' with a slim, toned figure that she's happy to show off. However, her arms are cybernetic from the elbows down, and her skin and hair are oddly pale. She puts a lot of care into her appearance, often dying her hair and using makeup to either downplay or accentuate her unusual traits.

Confident, down-to-earth, relaxed, perceptive, provocative, proud.

Anna was never meant to stick around for long. Afflicted from birth with a fatal degenerative disease, the doctors gave her only a week to live at best. Fortunately for Anna, though, her mother was a genius scientist and her father the owner of a major company, and together they decided they would save their daughter no matter the cost.

After several surgeries and millions of dollars, Anna survived— but not in quite the same body she'd been born with. Due to the damage the disease had already done to her, her forearms and several internal organs had to be replaced by cybernetics, and all the blood in her body was drained out and replaced by colorless, electrically conductive fluid. She was a cyborg now, not only alive but faster, stronger, and more durable than a girl her age had any right to be.

Her mother, ever the tinkerer, continued upgrading Anna as she grew up, reinforcing her mechanical components and modifying them so that they could channel her newly emergent Ki. With a loving family and some excellent schooling, Anna became a smart, precocious young girl with a bright future ahead of her. By the time she reached high school, she was a top student, a star athlete, talented in almost every field to the point where she left most of her peers in the dust.

As a result, however, she found herself getting bored. Yes, she could easily get into a good college and end up with a high-paying job, but wouldn't that be too easy? What would be the point of living a live surrounded by ordinary people? For several years now she'd been fascinated by the idea of Nomads, individuals exceptional enough to be able to compete with her on even ground. She craved a challenge, to be able to test her strength against the best of the best and for the first time ever truly prove her worth.

Once she'd graduated high school and grown more or less to adulthood, and no longer needed periodic changes and upgrades to her cybernetic parts, she bid her family farewell, letting them know that she was going to travel for a while and see the world before returning to pursue a career. Her future is still uncertain, but her goal is clear: to seek out and compete with other Nomads, to join hands or match fists with the only people who can truly push her to her limits.

Anna is a fast and powerful rushdown fighter, packing incredibly durable cybernetic forearms along with some versatile abilities that let her fight at any distance and threaten any kind of opponent. At close range she uses a martial art called Shoxing, AKA electric kickboxing, which uses rapid strikes combined with painful electric shocks delivered through her fists. Her punches by default deliver electric shocks, and she can 'charge' her fists further to deliver explosions on impact, burning and knocking back opponents. At longer ranges she can either unleash the raw power of her electricity as crackling lightning, or channel it through steel wires, controlling their snaking lengths to snag or strike down her enemies. She's especially dangerous against those who rely on metal weapons or armor, which end up being more of a disadvantage than an advantage against her.

Anna is tremendously strong while on the offensive, but against non-metal attacks she has few defensive options, relying instead on overwhelming aggression to keep enemies at bay. Her confidence and inexperience only compound this lopsided approach: she's not used to getting hit by anyone with the strength or speed to match her, which often leads her to underestimate how badly she can be hurt. If an opponent can find an opening to punish her, or simply withstand whatever she throws at them, then landing even a light counterattack may leave her reeling.

- In addition to eating and sleeping, she needs to charge herself up now and again to maintain her strength. While this is usually done with a charging cable, any source of electricity will do in a pinch.
- Anyone who touches her bare skin will feel a gentle tingling, a minor sign of the currents coursing beneath.

Ben's fighting style relies entirely on grappling and counters. His power set relies around disorienting the opponent with dazzling speed, brutal take downs and flashy throws. He refer to it as "Slayer Grappling"
His movements are quick and violent, opting to generally go low and dodge roll when possible. Similar to a greco roman wreslter, when fighting he is squatting and shooting for the knees.

■ Kobain Clutch: The Kobain Clutch a is running Kick that turns into a hold. The kick itself is a running one leg dropkick (also known as a shotgun kick). But the second it hits he tucks his legs and lands on the opponent, rolling with them and tosses them up on his shoulders.

■ Mindless Self Punishment/High Variant: One of his Staple Moves. Stepping in under High Attacks he sweeps the legs and pick them up for a old fashioned judo throw over the shoulder.

■ Mindless Self Punishment/Low Variant: Reversal for lowattacks is a little different in that he steps back, grabs their leg or arm and pull them into the throw that way instead.

A reversal that if timed, delivers a massive flurry of ki enhanced blows to the opponent's face. When the opponent kick or Punch, he’ll find that Ben sways out of the way in the last minute before delivering a massive, highspeed punch that is bound to send them flying.

A more powerful variant of the Shotgun Kick from Kobain clutch, only this time the kick doesn’t turn into a roll but stomp. As soon as the enemy's face is stomped into the ground, Bens heel explode with hidden shotgun shell.

His father, Alfred, has put a price on his sons head due to Bens refusal to bend to his will now that he is a vampire.

The Thorned Path employ a style referred to as Sechaktei Pit Hengsaa
or “Violent Truth”. The style is all about causing breakage and pain in the enemy, employing powerful, ki disrupting strikes and bone breaking kicks. His movements are very economic, and his kicks and punches snap in the shortest possible angle of attack.

■ *Bakbek/Broken Sight The most basic of ihs moves is Broken sight, which is a quick step in strike that smashed his palm to the opponents head. If it connects with your head, you are dazzled and your vision becomes briefly impaired. ‘Combo Starter’

■ *damri tich/Scorpion Sting A quick strike using his thumb, index and middle fingers to strike at an area on the body, disturbing the flow of ki, causing massive discomfort and lingering pain until the ki has been re balanced.

■ *lompeng nei karchhucheab / Spear of Pain
Channeling his ki throughout his arm, he thrusts it forward like a spear, and indeed, launches a spearlike projectile of twisted, malignant ki. If hit, the victim is wrecked with immense pain and find using his own Ki difficult. The projectile is reasonably fast, but travels only in a straight line and can be dodged. Powers up the more pain Kravann is enduring or causing.

■ Sva Tralb / Monkey Flip Dodging low, Kravann uses his powerful legs to deliver a ki-infused kick that launches the enemy upwards. ‘Combo Starter’

■ Lot khla / Leaping Tiger Pouncing forward, Kravann swipes with his fingers like a claw, ki hardening his fingers so that he can literally tear flesh. Can be used to intercept airborn targets or opponents launched by the Sva Tralb.

■ Double Hammer Kick (can be used while in the air)
The hammer kick is not part of the Thorned Path, but a old habit of Kravann from his past. Like most his moves, it is quick and powerful. The Hammer kick is like axe kick in that it comes dropping down from an fully extended leg. How ever, Kravann is able to pivot and deliver a second kick with his other leg just a second before should it miss or as the case is sometimes, when it goes right through the opponent.

■ *Embrace of Thorns
Kravann moves quickly up close to a enemy and grasps them in a bear hug while manifesting 8 spears of pain around them both. He then hold on to the enemy while each spear impales them both. However, all the pain he feels is immediately transferred to the grabbed opponent.

He is a vegetarian.

Brave
Arrogant
Wise
Stubborn
Traditional
Brazen
Likes mentoring people
Protective

Some several hundred years ago, there existed a Dahomey king named Chibueze Baako; Baako was regent of many regents of the Dahomey people of West Africa and was among the nation’s first kings. He attains his throne in reaction to one of the founders of the nation. Adebayo was greedy and selfish; Baako, though he ruled a much smaller portion of the land, was quite opposite. Under king Adebayo, Dahomey conquers and spreads among the neighboring nations, but Adebayo conscripts men for war, breaks up families, and hoards the growing wealth of his people.

Young Chibueze Baako, son of advisor to king Adebayo, begins--alongside his father--plotting against the Adebayo. It takes many decades, and in that time Chibueze joins Adebayo’s army and with his father’s military training, Baako becomes a formidable warrior and strategist. He and his father spend close to ten years gathering allies to battle the massive Dahomey army and overthrow the king.

With the backing of the largest sect of Fon nationals and the aid of the smaller Adja and and Bariba tribes, Baako leads a revolt against the Dahomey king and his men. Baako and many of the Fon people are killed as well as the Adja and the Bariba; though, and the revolt is ultimately a failure. Baako and his men are hailed as heroes and deal a great blow to Abedayo and his power base..Unfortunately for Baako, his failure means he is tortured and killed alongside his father. He is hailed as a hero by the local population, and his legend grows in the coming centuries. As the true details of Baako’s rebellion are lost to time and fact becomes folklore and folklore becomes national myth, Baako’s spirit awakens after centuries of dissonance and wandering.

When the transatlantic slave trade begins and many West Africans are sold or captured and brought to the Carribean en masse like never before, they bring their folklore and myths with them. Among those is Baako’s rebellion. When Carribean slaves are denied religious practice, they form their own syncretic religions--African belief systems coded in and as Catholic Christian practices--and Baako becomes a patron saint alongside many other African folk heroes.

And so, when Santeria forms in the Carribean and migrates to Cuba during the latter half of the 19th century, Baako’s followers and worshippers appraise him a deity and conduct a ritual to bring Baako’s spirit back to life. It is sacrificial and--during that time--untested; in Santa Clara, Cuba, its strongest warrior offers himself as tribute. Baako’s spirit is evoked and possesses the body of the warrior. Reborn, Baako assumes control of this new vessel and--with some convincing of who he once was--Baako is elected the nation’s leader and establishes his own kingdom once again. He takes on a new moniker as well--Gamba, or, ‘warrior’ in Shona.

Gamba, indebted to the Santeria religion, travels the world proselytizing and spreading the word of its miracles. As an egun, or venerated ancestor, Gamba uplifts the powers and wonders of fellow egun (dead humans whose spirits were guides for the living in the Santeria religion) and along the way he encounters resistance. Resistance which he crushes with the might of his fists and his newfound mysterious power.

To this day, Gamba travels the world preaching the word of the Santeria and bringing enlightenment to heathens. And, as an egun himself, has sworn to protect the defenseless and the weak and (if he can) convert them. It is in his travels between the continents that he picks up more technical fighting styles, primarily Kipura and Nubian Wrestling.

Subtle pulses of ki radiate from Gamba’s legs--and the kicks in this chain hit like steel--as he exits the opening stance of Kipura dance, and he glides across the ground in a flurry of spins and twists while on his hands. If/when he reaches his opponent, he first goes to sweep their legs and if they jump, he chains into his next move. If the opponent does not jump, Gamba evades sideways.

From a sweep, if the opponent has left their feet, Gamba transitions into a standing spinning kick similar to that of a horeskick, aimed at the opponent’s unprotected legs after they have leapt. If successful, the opponent should be leaning slightly forward and--if they do not brace themselves--about to land face first into the ground. From here, he transitions into his next move.

With the twisting motion complete, and his opponent still in mid air, Gamba grabs his opponent’s head and drives it crown-first into the ground with a devastating smash. He does it hard enough for their bodies to bounce back up, where he will finish the chain.

Both of Gamba’s feet cease flashing ki subtly and glow bright and hot; he flips backwards, ki-infused feet smashing into his bouncing opponent and sending them skyward--or backward, depending on how well he connects. It is a devastating move which can crack face plate armor and, if one is unprotected, bruise some bones.

Gamba’s egun essence pulls itself from its body and covers Gamba with it; for the short time this is active, he automatically deflects ranged attacks using the tendrils of his veve (but for each ranged attack deflected, the time which this super is active is shortened) and takes half-damage from a physical barrage.

Gamba digs both feet into the ground, its surface cracking beneath his weight; the Ougun veve stretches and covers his body from head to toe. His eyes turn white once more and so does the actual Ougun veve on his back. For the duration of the Special, Gamba gains the strength and defense of Ougun himself; even punching the air will cause bursts of wind to feel like bludgeoning hammers as they travel toward his opponent from up close or at a distance. He becomes highly resistant to other demonic, shadow, and angelic attacks, and is able to cause great harm to ghosts, demons, imps, angels, and other forms of ethereal being.

He sometimes carries a machete.

Calvin is an average-height lad, measuring at about 6"2', weighing at 180lbs. He has combed brown hair, dark blue eyes, and skin with just a tinge of coloration. His hands are just a bit larger than average. No matter where he goes, he bundles up expecting the cold weather of his home, usually wearing a sweater underneath a winter jacket, with a scarf around his neck. He typically wears simple jeans and boots, with brown gloves slipping over his hands.

-Easy Going
-Lazy
-Simple Thought Process
-Below Average Intelligence
-Loves Food
-Generally likes animals, even if he horribly misidentifies them
-Absurd hatred for walruses

Calvin is a pure-blooded Canadian, born to an oil miner in the Tundra. Without many other people to socialize with while his father worked, nor an official school to attend, Calvin spent most of his days with his grandfather, a practiced Nomad who explored the coldest regions of the world, but whose son had little interest in learning his ways. Calvin spent his days learning the Walrus-Wrestling style, a fighting style that both specialized in fighting opponents much larger and more vicious than oneself, yet also capitalized itself on manipulation of cold and weathered Ki.
Eventually, Calvin's father decided that Calvin's grandpa was a bad influence on him, and sent him to the city to live with his mother, an office worker in Toronto. Yet the teachings were already set in him, and Calvin continued practicing the Walrus-Wrestling Style. Yet by the time he was 18 and returned to the Tundra for more teaching, he found his grandfather had passed away, without teaching Calvin the rest of the style. Seeking to fulfill his family's legacy (and really having nothing better to do), Calvin set out into the world to become a Nomad himself, traveling the world to master his own power and maybe see some cool places while he's at it.

Calvin grapples his opponent, channeling his Ki into the opponent's body. Being unprepared for extreme temperatures, the opponent will quickly freeze and become covered with ice. However doing so is risky, as it requires him to wrestle them down and spend several seconds channeling his own, icy Ki into their body.

Calvin extends his Ki outward, covering the floor and surfaces with sleet ice, which both allows Calvin to slide along it as well as cause opponents to slip and stumble. Skateboards are for chumps, anyway.

Calvin creates a wall of ice. Given time to construct it he could make it firm and durable, but he can also quickly erect it, creating a brief barrier that can withstand a single attack or two.

Calvin sprays a small puddle of water, Which he can have quickly grow once an opponent steps on it, creating a small beartrap to freeze them in place.

Calvin covers his entire fist in a big block of ice, turning it into a large club, though it usually shatters in a hit or two.

Calvin spits, yet freezes it with his Ki, creating a chilly mist that can obscure the target's vision.

Calvin gathers a handful of snow and ice, which he packs together before hurling it at the opponent. Unlike a normal snowball, these projectiles are hard as rocks and could easily chip a tooth.

A powerful hand slap, capable of knocking a walrus unconscious, as well as giving a minor concussion to any capable Nomad.

Calvin sends his Ki outward, allowing him to freeze a massive ball of snow around him, to which he can then roll towards his opponent as an unstoppable ball of death. The longer he takes to prepare, the more mass and speed the boulder will grow.

Calvin gathers then throws a handful of Ki into the air, then causes it to rapidly freeze the opponent in thick, entrapping ice. This leaves the opponent nearly defenseless for several seconds, until they can either break free or Calvin beats them free.

His most powerful technique. Calvin channels all of his Ki into his fist, which he then slams into the opponent. It's namesake comes from his grandfather supposedly being able to launch a Walrus straight into the air by uppercutting them with it, though Calvin has yet to master that level of strength, with only a lifetime ban from hunting in Canada to show for it. As described, the move takes a large amount of power and energy to use, and can easily be avoided by lithe or unbound opponents.

-He's resistant to adverse temperatures and weather, as a result of wearing his coat almost wherever he goes and practicing his Ki to adapt to become cold and icy.

-His favorite foods are Spaghetti and Pancakes.

-He's banned from coming anywhere within a mile of a Walrus within the country of Canada.

Rod has black hair that he always slicks down. He stands at 5"9'. His brown eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses, that he almost never leaves home without. He typically wears a white suit with gold accessories and a pair of purple pointed shoes, as well as black fingerless gloves that act to make his Ki expressions more precise, by narrowing the point it can leave his hands to just his fingertips. As if his outfit weren't flashy enough, he also wears a fur coat and carries a metal cane, that also acts as a brilliant conductor for his Ki.

■ Entitled
■ Cocky
■ Sharp-witted
■ Narcissist
■ Arrogant

Rodney Lyte was born as a kid in the mean streets of Chicago. His mom died shortly after his birth, leaving his Dad to work long days as a programmer. With no parents to watch over him, young Rodney had nobody to protect him. Ever since he was 14, he’s been forced to fight in the streets to survive as a member of a gang.

By the age of 16, his gang fought in a rivals, in which all of his gang members were killed. He, too, would’ve been, if it weren’t for a Nomad to happen by and save his life. Introducing himself as Yi-Wun, he then began to regularly train Rodney in order to protect himself. Four years later, Rod became one of the biggest Nomads on the streets.

Yet the power Rod soon came to master went straight to his head. He was approached with the offers to become a celebrity amongst Nomad culture, fighting every other Nomad in the state and soon the country. But along the way, his old master, Yi-Wun, approached the youth, telling him that he used the power he was taught for his own personal gain. After denying his ex-master’s wisdom, he defeated him in single combat, cementing his devolution from hard-time street kid to an egotistical jackass.

Soon, Rod stretched his competition to the entire globe, fighting Nomads across the world and making his name even bigger, raking in more money, power, and fame than he ever thought was possible.

Rod is fast, deadly, and creative on the battlefield. His lightning allows him for several solutions to a problem, and grants him both a high mobility and a method of attacking the opponent at a range. He is the best mix of both a Rushdown and Zone fighter.

Rod charges up the lightning on the bottom of his shoes. Once he finishes, he skates along the ground towards the opponent. It deals very little damage, but can be very useful for moving towards the opponent in a timely fashion.

By overcharging his body's ki, Rod increases his speed by an overwhelming amount for a little more than an instant. This allows him to move as if he were teleporting a few feet.

Rod overcharges his cane with lightning, making an overhead attack with it. It if makes contact with the opponent, it will briefly electrocute them for a few moments, or until they receive their first hit.

Rod charges all of the Ki into his fingertips, then expels it through a bolt-shaped projectile. Can be used up to three times.

Rod charges his cane with lightning, then taps it along the ground, sending a small wave of lightning to roll along the ground towards the opponent.

Rod charges his leg with Lightning, then thrusts it towards the opponent. If it hits them, it will stun them momentarily.

Rod cups his hand full of Ki, creating a sphere of lightning. He can then hurl it a medium distance away, where it will then hover in mid air. If Rod wills it, he can cause it to burst, erupting into a violent discharge.

Rod shoots his opponent with harmless lightning while charging his own body's ki. This pulls both characters closer together.

Rod charges his entire hand with ki, and then lunges forward a short distance. If he catches the opponent, he overloads their body with his own ki, dealing large damage and momentarily paralyzing them.
However the feedback of the attack is so intense, it momentarily exhausts Rod.

Rod completely infuses his staff with his ki, then hurls it at the opponent like a spear. it's a fast traveling attack that deals heavy damage, though it has a relatively small size.

Rod whips out a phone, calling one of his roadies to drive a car straight into the ring, running over the opponent. A few seconds later, just as they try to get back up, they reverse, crushing them underneath again. Just when they think it’s over, Rod throws the phone over his shoulder, hitting them in the head.

Rod has little defensive maneuvers, leaving him exposed in actual close combat. He also has a strong tendency to overestimate himself or make fatal mistakes due to his own arrogance and stupidity.

Ivory is a long silver-gray haired young woman with amber colored eyes. She's on the tall and lean side, standing at almost 6"1' and weighing 165 lbs. She doesn't have too much muscle mass on her arms, her body appearing more lithe and swift than physically powerful. She's small-framed, compared to other Nomads, even the lighter-set ones. This is largely thanks to her squandering physical power training in favor of practicing dexterity and wits.
Her usual clothing consists of a short-dress with rolled up sleeves, and thigh-highs. She wraps her hair into two strands in front, and a ponytail in the back. She also covers her hands with short black gloves. She also carries a multitude of lesser gadgets and devices on her person, courtesy of Horizon Frontiers. These include a contact lens that can record and transmit video, a grappling hook hidden in her right glove, and a utility belt hidden underneath her dress around her waist.

■ Observant
■ Focused
■ Disciplined
■ Determined
■ Pragmatic
■ Inferiority-Complex

Horizon Frontiers is a scientific foundation focused on biology and cybernetics, one of the largest in the world. On the surface they're a philanthropic organization, distributing free healthcare and cybernetics to disadvantaged people across the world, with facilities in practically every major country across the world.
Yet beneath the surface, they carry a much more sinister agenda. Their purpose for studying human condition and genetics, as well as producing cybernetics, is for the purpose of creating the ultimate lifeform, a project they've been aspiring for in the shadows ever since they were founded. The Nomad Society is the obvious focal point of Horizon's research, being paragons amongst humanity capable of tapping into their raw life energy. Yet only so much data can be gathered from an outside perspective, kidnapping and experimenting on them without being able to witness their true capacity. In order to gather true data on Nomads, Horizon needed some of their own.
And so Ivory, originally just the daughter of a high-ranking member of Horizon Frontiers, was thrown into the limelight. Testing showed she had a high potential for Ki, making her an ideal subject. Since the age of 12 the young girl has been raised to become a Nomad, going through relentless training at a young age. Yet while her potential for Ki was great, her physical strength was not. She overcame obstacles given to her with wit and fast-thinking, making her much more of a Pragmatic Fighter than a rank-and-file Nomad. Yet rather than discourage this behavior, Horizon Frontiers encouraged it, equipping her with deadly gadgets for her to use.
By the time she was Ready, Ivory became a bogeyman in Nomad society. Low-ranking, aspiring Nomads would go missing overnight, the only rumor of her existence being a gray-haired woman who escaped every time.

Ivory carries with her a string of smoke pellets, which she can use to create confusion and concealment from her opponent.

Ivory usually fights with a fan, which may look harmless but is actually made out of a super-light, razor-sharp material, making it a deadly weapon. She can also throw it like a sharpened boomerang, and is also magnetized to return to her hand. Just in case, she always carries a spare.

Using her acute reflexes and analysis, Ivory predicts her opponent’s next attack, giving her an advantage at avoiding it. The more she’s seen.a move be used, the more effectively she can evade it.

Similar to Anticipation, yet rather than disengage or avoid the enemy, she counters their attack, dodging it and then immediately following up with a precise strike while they expose themselves. However this is much harder to pull off than simply evading it.

A powerful flashbang device, capable of disorienting an elephant. Those exposed to it find themselves in similar waters, being temporarily stunned. Yet given how powerful it is, Ivory must take care using it, to avoid accidentally hurting herself too.

A long wire Ivory can shoot from a device in her wrist, letting her cross a long distance quickly. Useful for escaping combat or reaching a vantage point.

Ivory pops a specialized grenade and chucks it at the opponent, dealing large amounts of damage to them from a distance.

Ivory shoots a sleep dart at the opponent. While its unlikely to actually knock an opponent out cold, it still mugs them down and reduces their energy.

Using her analytical skills and alacrity, Ivory immediately attempts to disengage the conflict, creating an escape plan on the spot and following through on it.

Ivory sets down a trap, which takes several moments to arm. Once activated, it will immediately lunge at anyone who enters 10 feet of it, unfolding and disassembling to wrap them in an electrified net. The net is extremely hard for a normal person to break out of, but can only incapacitate a Nomad for several seconds. While not particularly destructive, it’s more than capable of ending a fight.

Ivory carries a full bag of explosive pellets, which will explode on contact when thrown at an opponent. While just one is a minor annoyance, hurling a dozen at once can be chaotic and disorienting.

Victor is a slender young man, with sharply-defined, yet slight muscles despite his lack of ki. He has pale skin, with neat brown hair. He looks every inch the typical 'boy next door.' If you spoke to him, you probably wouldn't know he's a rich man. He likes to show his wealth in useful things. Gadgets, equipment, media, furniture, properties, cars. He enjoys expensive things, but is understated about it. He doesn't coat himself in designer clothing. He doesn't buy a diamond-studded iPhone case. He looks just like an average twentysomething, wearing whatever the situation requires and carrying himself like just another young man.

One look at Trion, on the other hand, and you realize just what that unassuming "boy next door" is actually capable of. Trion One was designed as an anti-Nomad fighting machine meant to represent Victor in the field, and it shows. A large combat drone in an intimidating black-and-red color scheme (with adaptive nanopaint should Victor need to give it a new coat of paint on the fly), its armor is military-grade, and its weaponry is extreme even for an inventor in a world where literal demons walk the Earth and people can move at supersonic speeds, yet it accomplishes all of this while being deceptively fast despite weighing 375 pounds. As an added bonus, it's got some superb environmental insulation, including water- and dust-proofing. And yet, it isn't in the hands of the military, nor does Victor want it to be. It's true that he could make a killing off of marketing Trion as a military robot, but mass-produced anti-Nomad fighting machines would revolutionize the world, and probably not in a good way. At the end of the day, he's just a kid with a dream, and Trion is a means to live that dream. Releasing it to the public would open a Pandora's Box. He keeps a few extra Trion One models in storage, and has enough spare parts to build another one if it's destroyed.

Victor Langston:
--> Loose with smaller amounts of money. Smart with large chunks of it.
--> Surprisingly generous
--> Loves to tinker and build machines
--> Longs to become a respected Nomad in his own right
--> New to the Nomad lifestyle
--> Has a taste for the finer things in life
--> Unprepared for true bloodshed
--> A bit naive
--> Fond of video games
--> Kind-hearted
--> Strong-willed
--> Good at keeping his cool

Trion One:
--> What personality? It's a drone.

Victor Langston started out as an ordinary boy living in New York City. A tech whiz from an early age, he notably took apart his parents' TV and put it back together when he was ten. It worked flawlessly when they turned it on. His parents did whatever they could to let him develop his talent, allowing him to enter various contests, and enrolling him in a good engineering school. The trajectory of his life seemed simple from there: Graduate, get a good job at a tech company, and maybe he'd eventually start living the American Dream.

Then he won the lottery.

He had been prepared to slowly but surely work his way into success. Now he had $80 million sitting in his bank account out of nowhere. Well, he had always known what he'd do if he got his hands on that much money: Be smart with it. He invested half of it, paid off his student loans, gave enough to his parents that they were financially secure, and he still had several million dollars left over even after all of this. Naturally, he didn't really need to get a job, he'd already done his investments and was waiting on the returns, and he'd just completed his degree, so he decided to join the ranks of the noveau riche. He bought himself a nice house somewhere, got himself an expensive car, and went to a few five-star restaurants, the works.

But then it all changed when he saw a documentary on a famous Nomad. Thinking he'd like to become one himself, he paid top dollar for martial arts lessons from Zhang Wu, a man who claimed to be versed in the ki-using martial arts techniques that Victor sought. Victor picked up the basic techniques rather efficiently, and grasped the theory behind ki...but when it came to actually using his ki, it was hopeless. Wu would throw a fireball effortlessly. Victor couldn't even create sparks. Wu would split a boulder with a well-executed axe kick. Victor would break his foot in the attempt.

Eventually, Wu declared him a lost cause and refused any further payment. Victor's ki just wasn't accessible, he said. He had no idea what the cause was. The block could be spiritual, psychological, or even physical. And at the end of the day, Wu was a martial arts instructor. It wasn't his job to figure this stuff out.

So, fresh out of $100,000, Victor was left with bog-standard martial arts training that was fundamentally based around being superhuman, when he was just an ordinary dude. What was he to do now? He wanted to try out the Nomad life so badly, but he lacked the aptitude for it.

He was sitting in a chair on his balcony when the answer came to him. He didn't have to be the one fighting! Why bother with muscles and spiritual mumbo-jumbo when steel and circuitry would work just as well? And thus, two years and a lot of tinkering later, Trion One was born: A mechanical wonder, a remotely-controlled powerhouse that could chuck a mid-sized sedan across a football field with one arm, outrun one of Victor's own sports cars (he tested it himself!), and wipe the floor with the competition. He was at a tournament to compete with it when he encountered Master Zhang again. When he tried to demonstrate Trion One to his old master and show him that he had found a way to compete regardless, Zhang acted strangely in response to this, and then excused himself.

A nearby competitor started laughing at the display. When Victor asked him what was so funny, the man responded by saying, "Master Zhang doesn't teach people a damn thing! He's a con artist who uses his Nomad training to lure in rich kids like you, teaches them useless crap, and then declares them hopeless when they can't throw a fireball! You built your fancy robot for nothing! YOU GOT PLAYED!"

Victor was flabbergasted. If what this man was saying was true, he probably could have learned to use his ki after all. And he wouldn't have gotten all of those injuries, or dealt with the Master's constant insults. Instead, he had been conned out of a hundred grand, then wasted two years of his life building something out of a fucking anime! He sprinted away, looking all over the tournament grounds for Master Zhang, only to find that he had skipped town completely. This man had a lot to answer for if the allegations were true, and Zhang hadn't exactly kept his cool when he was showed Trion One. After Victor won the tournament with his fancy drone, he realized that he didn't need Nomad training, at least not for now: He had his own robotic soldier that he could control from anywhere on the planet! With a purpose set, and a tool in hand, he had everything he needed to roam the world, kick ass, and maybe bring a certain con artist to justice while he was at it.

Victor himself is not superhuman enough to be considered a proper Nomad, but he did grasp the basics of Zhang's fighting style, and sought out martial arts training through less-sketchy channels after the whole incident. As it happened, Zhang's fighting style was similar to the real-life martial art Wing Chun, a very quick and graceful style that he probably had picked up because it also happens to look incredibly flashy, and would make it that much easier to lure in new victims.

Of course, Zhang's style still assumed that the user had some talent with ki, and as Zhang intentionally omitted the lessons that would enable a student to unlock their ki, it's sub-optimal at best, especially since Zhang cut off the lessons before Victor had completed even the hand-to-hand portion of his training. And because Victor's hand-to-hand training is incomplete, Trion One's overwhelming power compared to the scrawny Victor isn't enough to make up the difference against a skilled Nomad.

That was where the extra training he did came in. Rather than go for those claiming to be ancient Chinese masters or whatever, he instead went to a standard kickboxing gym in his hometown and trained there. Sure, it wasn't Nomad training, but he had learned the hard way that you can't just buy your way to Nomad training, not without a lot of research and vetting. As such, his style is predominantly a striking style, favoring punches and kicks rather than grapples, holds, or throws. When using Trion One's neural link, he takes advantage of Trion One's towering size to keep an opponent at bay with its long limbs, though when the opponent is stunned, he isn't averse to simply whaling on them.

Trion One's robotic construction allows for several advantages over fighting himself. Trion One does not tire, which allows Victor to fight full-tilt without having to worry about conserving his stamina. He can also speak through Trion One to others around him, or use Trion One as a radio extender to intercept broadcasts from areas around it. Furthermore, Victor created redundant control mechanisms for Trion One in case one of them was lost, stolen, or destroyed. These are:

--> A helmet which interfaces with the brain, allowing him to manipulate Trion One as if it was a second body, up to and including receiving all sensory data from it physically. This method can't be used by just anyone. It requires extensive practice first, as the pilot's brain must use its own neuroplasticity to reconfigure itself to control two bodies at once. The process takes weeks, unless you want to be completely immobile while using it, which defeats the point of this invention.

--> A stationary control terminal, which can connect wirelessly to Trion One and typically needs a dedicated place to store it. This version is typically contained in an armored truck when on the move, and in Victor's mansion, behind lock and key, when Victor doesn't need to go places.

--> If all else fails, Victor can resort to using Trion One's basic onboard AI, roughly guided via a handheld remote-control and a pair of augmented-reality goggles. However, this entails losing some control over Trion One, which is probably a bad idea.

Of note: While Victor's idea of the Nomad lifestyle will probably have him visiting tournaments, where he will probably be engaging in regulated combat, Nomad battles are often life-or-death struggles nonetheless. In a situation where his survival or that of others is at stake, he's not above pulling every dirty trick in the book. Calling in armed bodyguards as backup, bribing opposing hired muscle, or even having Trion One gouge out an enemy's eyes are all on the table.

Trion One also has a variety of projectile attacks, which Victor uses to augment his "keep-away" fighting style. This, coupled with Trion One's built-in jet engines, makes Victor very effective at wearing down an opponent's defenses over time while minimizing damage to either his drone or himself.

Another important thing to note is that Victor included a basic auto-repair system in Trion's housing. As Trion is expected to be away from support for a long period of time if he can't dispatch people to retrieve it, it's important to get itself to safety if it can. Trion's basic AI, combined with its self-repair, can cause it to go online again after days of being completely trashed, at which point it will attempt to reestablish a link with its master. If it can't, it will go into a low-power state until it can. Of course, like with any machine, there's a limit to how much it can take. It's hardly invincible.

While Trion One throws punches like a Mack truck, and has very high speed with its jets, its projectiles are unlikely to take out a Nomad very easily unless Victor is lucky enough to score several hits from charged attacks, more meant to wear down an opponent over time before it goes in for the knockout.

Furthermore, Trion is a mechanical drone, and has all the limitations that such a device has. The biggest weakness is that it must be remotely-controlled, even in its semi-autonomous mode. The connection can be blocked, intercepted, or otherwise interfered with, to say nothing of the dangers of poor reception. Not to mention that even the state-of-the-art onboard security can still theoretically be broken through. Hacking is a very real danger. In addition, even though Trion One can't tire, it can still run out of battery. The batteries should in theory last about two weeks on a full charge, augmented by deployable solar panels on its shoulders, but it can be realistically separated from Victor for longer than that, depending on the situation.

And then there's the elephant in the room: Victor himself. Victor is not a Nomad. He can't stop a bullet with his pinky toe. He can't shatter rock with his bare hands. If he's caught by himself in a hostile situation, without Trion or other Nomads to protect him, it most likely won't end well for him. On top of this, his wealth makes him a tempting target for less-scrupulous Nomads, especially if he's personally present in the combat zone. Not to mention that Victor doesn't have superhuman reaction time like many other Nomads do. This inherently limits what Trion is capable of relative to the competition, as a drone is only as fast as its operator.

What else?

Margot carries herself with a distinctly aristocratic air. While her beauty speaks for itself, her height is something of note, as she stands at nearly six feet. Thankfully, she has the money to make sure that whatever she’s wearing fits her. This includes her now trademark blue fencing outfit which evokes the swashbucklers of old, complete with a wide brimmed hat, a fox-shaped mask, and a cape. While these all serve practical purposes (Keeps the sun out of her eyes, vision enhancement, and weather protection), the only other practical concessions to her dangerous lifestyle is a recently added lining of kevlar and practical shoes.

- Analytical
- Dramatic
- Driven to the point of stubbornness
- Generous
- Self-Sacrificing
- Quick to Snark

Margot’s family can trace their national service back to the days of the Musketeers, where they served alongside the actual Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and D’Artangan. Since then, at least one member from every generation served under the crown of France. When the Revolution came, they were among those decimated by the Reign of Terror. Still, when France needed them, the Coudray family answered. The family had members march on Moscow under Napoleon, fight in the trenches of Verdun, and help push the Nazi’s from Paris.

This tradition of civil service has imprinted itself on Margot. While not as militarily inclined as her forefathers, she is still a powerful fighter in her own right. She’s taken up the business of vigilantism under the title “Renard Bleu”, keeping alive the ideals of the Musketeers by defending the weak. However, Renard proved to be a controversial figure as many saw her as a symptom of a society plagued by fear that did more harm than good with her theatrical antics.

Eager to prove her prowess to the wider world, she has competed in fencing competitions all over the world. This brought her fame and fortune, but it was a matter of time before people started comparing her to the (in)famous “Blue Fox of Paris”. They were both women around the same height. Both spoke perfect English with a French accent. It did not help that Renard had a tendency to appear in cities where Margot competed.

The final nail in the coffin came when she was shot while stopping a store robbery while competing in New York. While she managed to foil the robbers and get away, the wound was serious enough that she should have gone to a hospital. Instead, she hid the injury, hastily stitching it up before going on to compete that night. During the fight the inevitable happened. The wound reopened during her first match of the tournament in front of an audience. She was forced to explain how she’d been shot, and by extension her vigilante identity.

The uproar was immediate, if mixed. Almost immediately, she was barred from most ‘respectable’ fencing leagues. Those that supported her for her vigilantism almost matched those who condemned her extra-legal activities. She and her family came under intense scrutiny. Realizing that her family would not know peace while she stayed with them, she struck out on her own. Now she travels the world living off her (sizable) winnings, forced to embrace her new identity as a modern superhero..

Typically Margot wields two blades, a rapier in her main hand and a parrying dagger in her off hand. In normal fights, she keeps the sheathes of her blades on, only exposing then when a fight gets serious. Until that point, they act like a pair of clubs, albeit pretty ones. This also gives her extra reach compared to most other fighters.

A world class fencer, Margot wins fights by controlling when and how she moves into striking range. Always mobile, she often attacks and moves in one motion. When possible, she tries to follow up an attack with a combo to press an advantage. She uses her fighting spirit to reinforce these techniques, using it to augment the speed and range of her lunges as well as enhance her mobility. As her technique represents hundreds of years of refinement, she is also trained in ki sensing, though she also augments this with her mask's vision enhancements.

■ Coupe-rose (Rose Cutter)

■ Fouetter (Whip)

■ Le Saut du Chat (The Cat's Leap)

■ Riposte

■ Six pétales de lys (Six Petals of the Lily)

■ Attaque Vengerrese (Gale Strike)

■ Tempête d'épées (Storm of Swords)

■ Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno (One for All, All for One)

Margot's fighting style has a tendency to over-extend. If she misses with her initial strike, she has difficulty following up and is left open for retaliation. Additionally any character that can keep her close will have a definite advantage over her, especially once they get within the range of her sword.

- She swears up and down that she was not thinking of Zorro when she came up with her vigilante identity. No inspiration whatsoever.
- She's a big fan of fantasy and sci-fi, and often reads bad genre fiction to unwind.
- She is polyglot, fluent in both French and English while also knowing Spanish, German, Chinese and Japanese to some extent.
- She actually has a degree, BS in Economics from Ecole Polytechnique.