A doll-like young man, barely topping 4’10, built petite and inoffensive. His yellow sunshine-and-egg-yolk overcoat hides most of his body, and lends the appearance of a toy head mounted on a pretty-colored napkin. Askin speaks with a low, raspy voice, like chocolate on a cheesegrater, a bit at odds with his delicate height.

No one looks at Askin and thinks, that guy there, that is definitely a nomad. And they’d have a point. He’s never pretended to be a committed fighter, and it shows in his words, actions, and appearance. The upturned, gentle expression of someone who’s avoided suffering most his life lingers around Askin’s face, and his faded soap-sud-colored eyes are framed by heavy eyelids and dark lashes, giving him the look of someone who just woke up, or is about to fall asleep.

Askin’s hair falls in a messy blond bob, and dangling gold earrings hang asymmtric from either ear. When he moves, they make a fun little tinkling sound.

■ Sweet-tempered
■ Carefree (and it takes a lot of effort)
■ Thoughtful
■ Wanderlust
■ Probably too trusting
■ Falls in love easily
■ Puts all his insecurities and fears in a little tiny box, then puts away the box and never ever ever looks at that box again

Askin La Askerrone was born in the long lost Kingdom of Genevieve over one thousand years ago. On the day of his birth, the heavens were aligned—each star was in the right position, each planet was in perfect harmony, and there was probably an eclipse or something going on somewhere in the immediate vicinity. It was a Very Big Deal. He was, after all, according to all rational interpretation of prophecy, the Chosen One.

People expected great things from young Askin, and people believed in him. If you look at Askin, even today, you can tell that this is a boy who was surrounded by love from the moment he was born. On his tenth birthday, when he parents told him his destiny as the Chosen One, he accepted it with a bright and maybe simple-minded smile.

About a week later, Askin left home, ready for his quest. One day, his father told him, you will be the greatest warrior in the land. And we will be so very proud of you.

But Askin soon found he didn’t have much interest in warrioring. He enjoyed more than anything the sidequests of life, talking with lots of strange people and helping with daily troubles and running off on silly errands for them. His trust in strangers backfired one day, several years into a stalled quest, when a traveling wizard offered to show Askin his magic lamp. Askin agreed, and suddenly, with five Words of Power from the wizard, he found himself falling through clouds and empty sky and rushing air. Eventually, he struck the ground. He was trapped.

For a thousand years, Askin wandered a lonely sandbar in the middle of the ocean. Sometimes there were faces in the clear blue sky. Mostly there was just the empty blue. Years came and went staring up at that sky. His mind drifted from him during those centuries in the lamp. It was like a long and restful dream.

Then, after the turn of the second millenia, at a museum somewhere in London, someone pried open the lamp and Askin was free. It was a bizarre next few months, catching up on the new and alien world of the future. And it was fun. There were interviews, and he was a minor celebrity for a short time. The boy out of time. After checking the date, Askin soon realized that the Promised Day, the Day he was Chosen for—the day he would duel the Wizard of Truth and the Seven Lich-Princes and the First of the Dragons—had long since passed. And Askin was left with the sudden strange knowledge that nothing was required of him, nothing was expected of him, and no one needed him anymore.

It hasn’t totally hit him yet that everything he ever knew is gone. You might sometimes catch him make reference to introducing you to his parents, or a marketplace in Genevieve where he and his friends used to play. Askin is very good at brushing these aside though, and quickly stuffing them in that tiny and problematic box, the one in the back of his head where he puts all sorts of annoying and ugly-looking thoughts. Askin has never once inquired to the ultimate destiny of Genevieve. He did, however, once scan a map, and notice that an enormous lake now lies where his city used to be. That was enough for him.

Askin avoids at all costs thinking about the people who probably died because he wasn’t there, and has never subjected himself to learning the exact number. It is possible, if you were spying on him late at night, that you might see him awake, and if you stayed awake with him you would see it sometimes takes a very, very long time for Askin La Askerrone to fall asleep. Maybe that’s why he became a nomad. Despite his overall carefree demeanor, something in the back of Askin’s brain is troubled at the thought of not making a difference in the world.

But at the same time, Askin is legitimately happy. He might feel a bit confused about this, and a bit guilty, but he’s happy.

There is a part of him that goes out to tournaments and Nomad gatherings to learn more about this new and wonderful time. There is another part of him that is excited at meeting new friends. And another part that is deeply lonely, and hopes maybe one of these random strangers will take him on romantic candlelit dinner-dates, and hold him in their arms, and tell him everything that ever was and ever will be is going to be A-fucking-okay. Mostly, he only really acknowledges the first two. Askin is a very carefree person, and it takes a lot of effort to stay that way.

Throughout the last two years in this strange new future, Askin kept with him the magic lamp. From its strangepowers and designs he has learned a great many things. Inside the lamp, he put his greatest treasure.

Despite being born with massive inherent ki, Askin never worked to train or improve it, and never learned to use it in conjunction with martial arts. By the time he became a young adult, he had the ki of a strong nomad, almost the exact amount he was born with, and with no combat prowess to back it up and no knowledge how to use it.

What he lacks in speed, power, or experience, however, he makes up for in versatility and pure unpredictability. The abilities you might see him use are all vastly different and have apparently no rhyme or reason. One moment it’s a wave of freezing cold, the next you’re dizzy with hallucinations, or dodging gunfire.

The truth: Askin doesn’t have any abilities of his own. Like a blank and naked doll that can be dressed up according to whim and convenience. Using the secret magic of the lamp, Askin created ten lesser duplications, powerful brass containers that can trap things in them just as he was trapped. By bottling away weapons and attacks, either outside of combat or in the heat of battle, Askin can make use of a wide spread of powers, and keep his opponents constantly guessing. However, everything he is has to come from others—on his own, Askin is just another face in the crowd.

Askin is not a fighter. He does not understand technique, his ki manipulation is extremely simple, he is physically weak, and all in all doesn’t take fighting nearly as seriously as nomad’s much, much stronger than him. His abilities are extraordinarily versatile, but they all rely on gaining abilities from friends outside of battle, or clever use of an opponent’s power within the flurry of combat—ultimately, Askin has no true power or fighting identity of his own.

Askin also has no good response to someone who can dramatically outspeed him, and if a person can avoid all his attacks and act too quickly for his Dollmaker to block, there's not much he can do. There is also the chance he uses up all his previously stockpiled powers, and ends up only capable of using attacks copied in the middle of battle, which spells bad news for Askin.

It's possible his many centuries in the lamp did something to his head, because Askin seems to have an unhealthily high pain threshold (and difficulty recognizing when he's being seriously hurt), and is prone to zoning out. One of these can be helpful in fights, sometimes, while the other can get him knocked flat on his butt.

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).

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, resulting in 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 he was seeking revenge, at least for right now. Hell, maybe he would drop this whole vendetta or something down the line. Regardless, this was essentially a rags to riches story for Jonas, taken from New York to his new home in Virginia. Apparently the 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 sometimes? Impossible at first, but he got lucky and managed to steal some of their documents. He never did get around to returning them, and much to his horror, he probably wouldn't ever want to return them. Following this discovery, everything was generally the same as he grew and bonded alongside his new family, training, studying, and being considered a potential successor, much to his chagrin.

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, or at least he wished it was. Despite how grand it sounded, he knew 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 transferring to another Hospital as far away from Virginia as possible. 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 as Jonas fought them off and fled his old home behind.

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 many 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.

Of course, it was difficult to survive, considering that he got wrapped up in some stupid incident involving a stone of power or something and with a new group of Nomads as they pursued Oh-One. He couldn't deny it was good money, but it was difficult to keep his head down and out of the limelight, especially with that Justice Moron video taping everything on her robot like it she was making a Home Video. Sparing the details, he played nice enough with the other Nomads, defeated Oh-One with them, and retrieved the power stone.

Honestly, he wanted to dump it somewhere no one could ever find it to avoid another incident like this occurring, but of course, one of the 'enlightened good guys' decided to place this important item into the hands of some kid. Honestly, if something happened and another incident involving this stone happened, they were going to get an earful.

Regardless, having a militia of Nomads at his disposal wasn't so bad. Maybe, just maybe he could accomplish his goals through them now...

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 completing this degree, let alone finishing it very early.
■ 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.

This genteel man in a black dress seems to emanate a peculiar feeling around other people. While appearing naturally fancy at first, there is a possibility of it being due to his uncouth behavior. The One's eyes seem a little too lively for a bitter person such as he, being possibly brighter than a regular neon sign. The One is a heterochromiac, with one eye being green and the other blue. He appears to sport a mostly lean build with a little fat underneath the black dress coat, a clean white formal shirt, and other accessories. On top of his head, he has a somewhat dirt-ridden top hat. On his face, he has a thin-veiled brunette goatee and mustache, with a bald head. On the right side of his neck, he has two large band-aids plastered onto him.

The One prefers to keep his past under wraps, but introduces himself as an uncouth gentleman who has a British accent. The only other thing that is known that he grows increasingly frustrated when outdone by humans, and especially any of those metalfuck "robots, machines, androids." Fuck them, he's superior than such technology.

Beyond that, he also seems to hold some sort of connection to MIRAGE and holds their leader in high disdain, with a burning desire to kill her. His hatred knows no equal as he also is pursuing a series of machines in hopes of destroying them for his own reasons, whether it is to prove himself to someone or for some other hidden agenda, they may not know.

While he did help with bringing out the destruction of Oh-One, he left the Nomads with a threat, that he was coming for "that bitch next" before departing from the scene. Currently, he has been seeking out new challengers in hopes of finding bread crumbs that lead him closer to MIRAGE or those other series of robots. Furthermore, he hopes to encounter Oh-Seven again without her fuckbois to finally destroy her for good.

The One has a... unique way of battling others, being blessed with a slew of sound-based assaults. Needless to say, he does also have a fighting style that involves punches and kicks, but people seldom see that. His preferred method of attack is utilizing, you guessed it, sound. He also has a top hat that launches missiles for some reason, and a walking stick - just a regular old stick mind you, nothing weird or special about it. The One's fighting style involves keeping opponents at bay whilst harassing them with constant stuns and knockdowns. When forced at close range, he will either rocket his fancy ass out of there, or try to melee fight the opponent; it usually ends up being the former. Despite lack of training, The One strangely has the ability to sense ki.

Most of The One's ranged attacks are predictable and leave him in an immobile state, rendering him a sitting duck for the duration of said attack. Along with that, his attacks are mostly sound-based and at range, leaving his options for attack limited, more so inside a vacuum. While he does have a few close ranged attacks, they aren't that powerful unless under certain conditions (save for the Super). Along with that, most of his melee attacks require The One to be un in their faces, which is quite a risky manever since he is just as fragile as Oh-Seven and does not have any defensive options.

= Despite his uncouth behavior, he is currently travelling the world as a flower salesman. It's quite a strange cover, but nevertheless, he has managed to keep his cursing to a minimum when around customers.

A tall, unsmiling woman who breaks 6 feet by a few inches. One visible 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—massive reserves of life energy have prolonged her youth, appearing more like a woman in her late thirties/early forties, though her eye has a certain weariness to its lined and lidded gaze that does not match her appearance.

The condition Verga was born with stains her hair, eyes, eyelids, and nails a valley-lily blue. Her hair falls nearly shoulder length, and the bangs over her face sweep to the side. Behind the hair, an eyepatch covers up a scar and 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.

On the surface, Verga’s wardrobe is 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, heels a bit higher than appropriate for a martial artist and survivalist. A round brass disc buckles a heavy and aesthetic belt. On her sunset blue greatcoat, subtle and intricate floral patterns carve up the collar and the sleeves. Pieces of Verga’s hidden vanity, always poking through.

■ Cold
■ Proud
■ Unsympathetic
■ Single-minded
■ Socially awkward
■ Superstitious
■ Power-hungry
■ 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 of plowing snow and dark forests, and fairy tales whispered over crackling fires.

Verga’s learned how to cut trees and make camp, 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 the upper hand. If given the choice, she felt most at home in the forest, in the winter, in the quiet. One day, decades in the future, she would emerge onto the world stage as a renowned martial artist, but even then she could never feel comfortable in the city or the crowd.

Though Verga’s neighbors were never the affectionate type, and most exchanges, even with family, were short and gruff, she was always appreciated for pulling her own weight, and then some. Verga had been born with a unique condition, siniydusha, the blue ki, which grew easily and logarithmically, and endowed her with enormous strength. 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 village began to seem unbearably small; she stayed out longer and longer on her excursions. 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 strength, it was utterly grueling. 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.

After a run-in with Chinese border patrol and a two-week string of misunderstandings, miscommunications, and fights, Verga was scooped up by a local tai chi master, who recognized her potential, and her lack of affiliation to any other nation or organization.

Her new master would aid her in obtaining Chinese citizenship, and teach her the local languages. And during the next few years, she found exactly what she had wanted for so long—training, purpose, and power.

Tai chi did not agree with her at first. Verga’s hard, inflexible personality made the fluid martial art an ordeal. Years passed. Verga worked, and worked, and at some point that work paid off. Her blue ki grew, ravenously. Success met her in multiple local tournaments. She even began developing her own martial arts style—tai chi, and later arnis, weren’t enough. She would not be satisfied with what things were when she could dream so vividly what they could be.

Verga was not stupid, however, and sometime after surpassing and leaving her old master, she realized it took more to survive in the outside world than martial arts. At 26, she enrolled in a local university.

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

Ryuzo was from money, and it showed. The newest car, newest laptops, newest clothes. And, like Verga, he had quite the ego, though where Verga was reserved, and preferred to speak with her actions, Ryuzo was all talk. Unfortunately, he too was an aspiring Nomad, and had the power to back up his boasts.

Sometimes they sparred, and sometimes Verga would win. Sometimes she would almost win. The loses burned her pride like frostbite. When Ryuzo 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 classmates, including Ryuzo. His successes in the face of her failures frustrated Verga in a way only her early years in tai chi could rival. Their rivalry grew, then one semester peaked when, after gaining the upper hand, Verga lost her temper and very nearly killed him. 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 city, her frustration with her own academic progress, her loathing of Ryuzo. Eventually, she pulled back, not knowing or caring if Ryuzo 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 Ryuzo 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, Ryuzo confided in her that she was the only person to visit him at the hospital. 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. Unfamiliar, ugly territory. Ryuzo, for his part, seemed more reserved. No more taunts, at least.

It took time, but eventually the two took to talking. Ryuzo, despite whatever he said before, was quickly fascinated by Verga’s stories of her upbringing, and listened raptly to her every word. Verga soon found Ryuzo 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, injured egos 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, and 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, a trophy that would combine the best of both of them. 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 years, before anything happened. But within two weeks Verga was pregnant. Under encouragement from Ryuzo, she decided to follow through with it.

Verga put a pause on university and, with a little dissatisfaction, her training. Ryuzo visited regularly. They had arguments over the child’s name, of course, both wanting a name to reference themself over their partner. And during the second trimester, a doctor informed 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—its chance of survival was incredibly slim. A doctor hesitantly gave the option of an abortion, though this wasn’t something Ryuzo or Verga were ready to hear.

They talked. They argued. Martial arts does not prepare you for a looming miscarriage. Ryuzo visited less and less. From the way he talked, you would think Verga wasn’t pregnant at all. In following days, weeks, he made no acknowledgement to her pregnancy, or the Senshinōben, and whenever Verga pressed him he stammered and dodged and half-answered, and usually left early. Verga felt spite germinating inside her, imagining Ryuzo going to classes, pretending she didn’t exist. She had always known he was the weak one. She consulted with doctors on the possibility of an abortion, but something—stubbornness, fear, pride—held her back.

As successful martial artists, the two had funds for extensive medical care and consultation. Eventually, it was decided to C-section the baby and place it in a heavily monitored neonatal intensive care unit. The surgery was a success, but the baby’s condition remained uncertain. Ryuzo continued to avoid her. When the child finally stabilized, it was time for Verga to figure out what it would be called. Ryuzo failed to show, which Verga told herself was inevitable, but it didn’t stop the angry disappointment 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 Ryuzo 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 Ryuzo stormed off. He did not come back until Shippai was half a year old.

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 Verga couldn’t refuse. 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 pain and confusion would be vindicated. Maybe, the guilt would go away.

Where Verga was a cold wall, holding Shippai at arm’s length and pushing the girl silently to grow, no matter the cost, Ryuzo was a constant and anxious 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. It was good to be fighting again, 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 powerlessness before miscarriage, broken hearts, 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 even if she loved her, love wasn’t enough. If anything (and maybe Verga knew this) it made things worse—a mother may be hateful, and that’s a simple, understandable evil, but a mother who loved her daughter—she should’ve known better.

Verga and Ryuzo 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. Ryuzo would became passive aggressive and guilt-slinging, Verga would go cold as stone and speak only curt, harsh indictments. Eventually, the tiny shred of goodwill that had built up with Ryuzo’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, Ryuzo finally succeeded in pulling Verga’s trigger with a comment about her taking his future from him. She ordered Shippai to wait for them by a bench on the hiking trail, and told Ryuzo 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 Ryuzo tried to follow her. By the mountain base, they came to blows. For the first time in a very long while, Ryuzo 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 mountain. But she couldn’t return. Not to China, and not to Shippai, not to Ryuzo. 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. 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 old powers and terrible sorceries. She might occasionally participate in tournaments, a way of maintaining her fortune, but otherwise 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. 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 generally breaks an enemy with the raw aggression of her special moves, then closes in to finish them with her martial arts.

Her style, Tikhiyvolna, is based on her studies of Chinese tai chi and Filipino arnis. Control and adaptability. But 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. 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. She has a certain lack of versatility, as her abilities cannot be easily fine tuned or controlled—they operate at either 0%, or 100%, no middle-ground.

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

Standing at 5’8”, Jasmine tends more towards all-black, punk aesthetics, sporting a crop top t-shirt, very short cutoff jeans over ripped leggings, spiked bracelets, and steel-toed boots. Her skin is slightly paler than her sister’s, and she keeps one side of her jet-black hair short, the other side combed over and hanging down to her neck. Her clear blue eyes are framed by a pair of simple black glasses. She has a relatively thin build with little muscle mass, reflecting an utter lack of training, though she’s got curves where it counts. A plump, mysterious black bat-like creature can always be seen somewhere nearby, with a grin and cackle that suggest that it maybe isn’t a bat.

In combat, she transforms into something between a witch and a magical girl, with a jet black dress, thigh high boots, the classic witch hat and a golden staff with a glowing heart at the tip. The outfit has since been altered, however; the skirt, hat, and leggings have been deliberately torn, and she’s added some of her spiked bracelets in the outfit in an attempt to maintain her own individuality.

Jasmine Breicen’s life was, until recently, very boring. She didn’t really know she was Jasmine yet, and was brought up as the younger brother of her far more impressive sibling, Jill. While Jill was, from an early age, interested in both the family legacy and a variety of STEM fields, Jasmine was… not. And it wasn’t that her family resented her or anything. Jill would just show off some crazy new Ki technique or something like that and Jasmine would simply have nothing to show in return. She was never going to match that, so she never tried, and seeing her sister get all that praise still made her feel like she could never be good enough.

Besides, these Nomads, this culture they dominated… There was something wrong with them. She didn’t want to be one, anyways.

So she largely stopped trying to please, content to just go through the motions until college and her family’s wealth spat her out somewhere good. She made a few attempts to establish herself, mostly artistically, but it was never something that ever really went anywhere.

It was only when she realized she was Jasmine that her life took a drastic change.

Her mom was a witch, she made no secret of that. Her grandmother was a witch. And her grandmother’s mother was a witch. Jasmine’s mom made it seem like her side of the family were witches from birth, and Jill clearly wasn’t a witch, so why, when she came out on her eighteenth birthday, was there a demon chewing her out over trying to skirt the contract?

Well, it turned out that the bloodline pact wasn’t dissolved so much as it was severely altered. Her mother found quite a few legal loopholes in the contract, apparently. Most of it was rewritten; namely, the pact now got passed down to the second-born daughter instead of the first. And no one except Beelzebub was too bothered over that, since as far as they knew, there was no second-born daughter. Until then. Luckily, Jasmine got off easy, and as per conditions, she was allowed a single request from Beelzebub to christen their bond. She asked for a new body, and she got one.

Her life got turned upside-down after then. Her attempt at a college education was quickly foiled when she learned that she had to tend to every one of her patron’s ridiculous missions and requests. So she dropped out and went home. And then her sister got involved in chasing some robot around the world. She almost saw her die in the middle of Antarctica on live TV. That was… Something. It was really something. But it was nothing good.

Jasmine left for Gold City, both to watch over her sister during her recovery, and because Beelzebub had taken a particular interest in the Stones of Power...

Jasmine never learned how to fight hand to hand. Instead, she uses the dark arts, relying on her uncanny agility and the raw power gained through her pact with Beelzebub to come out on top.

Her magic is nothing complex, 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. However, she can only use an aerial spell once before she hits the ground. She prefers to fight in the air, using her strange mix of offense and mobility to hit hard while zipping around the battlefield.

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.

Don’t.

At six feet and three inches, Isabella has an intimidating yet beautiful aura, showing few signs of aging. He has olive-toned 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.

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 destroying the current order and 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 defeated and convinced of the righteous nature of SHINING’s goals, 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.

More recently, he joined Justice Rider Blaze in the fight against Oh-One, assigned as backup and an occasional mentor, as well as to make sure the younger Rider stayed on script. He has since followed her to Gold City after the incident, overseeing Jill’s recovery and sending reports back to SHINING.

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 Axe/Sword combo, Tritone, he can execute opponents with a variety of brutal techniques supplemented by dark magic.

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.

Parsnip, despite being designed as a living, breathing, 'family friendly' mascot was actually designed with a bio-weapon at her base. Her reflexes, stamina, and muscle fiber density are beyond that of a normal human being. She can run faster, sprint farther, jump higher, and fall greater distances without injury. Her sense of hearing is also incredibly sharp and she has something akin to binocular vision at a distance.

Her Ki-levels aren't anything extraordinary and she is 'self-taught' in its usage. Her defenses are rather meager, but her focus on the enhancing has allowed her to learn some deadly methods of enhancing the cutting edges of blades.

Parsnips's fighting style focuses primarily on blades, kicks, and traps. She has a preference for traps and ambushes. When those aren't possible she favors a full frontal assault, rapidly attacking without stopping in order to wear down opponents. Her blades allow her to cleave through all but the strongest of defenses, putting slower defensive focused targets at a disadvantage against her.

What else?

Brown is a weary and worrying figure with sickly pale skin, dull brown hair, and dark bags under her rotten brown colored eyes. The girl has a very gaunt, but very fit athletic figure with well toned muscles. On her back are blackened lines, like darkened blood vessels, covering the length of her spine and radiating outwards across her whole back. The lines can be seen front as well, with some of the dark lines peeking up over her shoulders slightly.

Despite looking like a girl about to enact some violent massacre Brown is usually seen with a smile on her face. Her genuine happiness and positive attitude doesn't mesh well with her appearance, making her look even more threatening and unnerving then normal. Her typical nomad attire is made up of a hole ridden brown jacket, a ragged white shirt, a belt across her chest, brown shorts, and a pair of beaten worn boots.

Brown was the result of two powerful Nomads getting together to create a heir worthy of both of their names. Runsu, the Japanese master of the “PUNISHING FIST” and Verga, founder of the School of the Tranquil Wave fighting style, had been in fierce competition with each other since they met one another.

It was only after a rare heart to heart did they find their feelings for each other as well as their desire to pass on their teachings and strength to a child.

Ditching the complexities and responsibilities of getting married, the two went to work and in just a few months Verga had a fully developed ball of life growing inside her. One trip to the hospital later and the vessel which the two Nomads intended to lay all their legacies on was born.

Or so they thought.

Shortly before their child was born tests informed them that something was wrong with it. The baby had Senshinobēn or “Warrior’s Bane”. A hereditary disease/birth defect that was infamous for enfeebling the offspring of otherwise potent fighters. Instead of inheriting the Ki of their parents, those inflicted with Warrior’s Bane were born with Ki levels lower than even that of regular untrained people.

Devastated by the news Verga and Runsu's excitement over the birth of their child was all but extinguished. The birth of their baby girl was met with frustration and bitter disappointment. In a moment of overwhelming negative emotion their daughter's name was decided.

Shippai.
The Japanese word meaning failure.

Despite how she was born the two insisted on training her. Pushing her from the moment she could walk to be strong and excel in what they were good at. Though the blight was apart of who their daughter was, they weren't willing to accept it. Insisting that the bane could be overcome or even 'fixed' if certain methods or training was applied.

Yet as the years pressed on and their daughter grew older, her Ki levels remained absolutely feeble, and the two began to lose patience. Shippai's parents began to get in disagreements and the positive feelings between them became soured. Those feelings trickled down to Shiappi as her parents struggled to see her as anything but one big failure that took up years of their precious lives and served to mock their efforts to be remembered as powerful fighters.

At just 7 years old the little girl didn’t fully understand what the name they gave her meant, but it didn’t take long for her parents feelings to become clear. One day they woke up Shippai and took her out on a hiking trail far away from their home, far away from everything. Finding a bench along the forest path her parents told Shippai to wait there and left.

They never came back.

For two days she sat and waited for them. Eventually hunger forced her to leave, but she was unable to find her way back home and became lost in the forest. Collapsing amidst the moss and fallen leaves, the little girl was found by a one armed women with fox ears. The women was Matsu, a Kitsune and former nomad who’d been on the rise just a year prior before a match with a particular individual ended with the loss of her arm and the end of her career as a Nomad.

Getting the lost girl something to eat Matsu helped Shippai make her way back home. Upon returning to her house however Shippai found the door locked and through the window she could see it was totally empty.

A nearby realtor explained that the owners of the house had sold the house and it’s contents before separating and heading off to parts unknown.

No number, no message, no remote hint of where they could be. Shippai’s parents were gone.

Abandoned with nowhere to go the little girl didn’t know what else to do but fall to her knees in front of her former home and cry. Unable to bare the sight before her the fox-eared women took the girl back to her home and adopted her as her own.

The first thing Matsu did with her new daughter was give her a proper name. Shippai's old name was thrown away and from then on Matsu began calling her Kasshoku meaning “Brown” like chocolate, hardy Fall leaves, and the life giving soil.

With a new start on life Brown was able to put what happened to her behind her for a while. Living with the kind and loving Kitsune healed her wounded heart. The women, who had no blood relation to her, gave her all the things her parents seemingly refused too. Affection, understanding, gifts, and a true sense of worth and appreciation.

Even when Brown failed, Matsu never scolded her or berated her. All that waited for her when she did something wrong was kind words and concern for her well being.

However despite Matsu's suggestion and encouragement for Brown to attend school and lead a normal life...Brown couldn't. Her parents faces and their words refused to fade into a distant memory. Try as she might everything she did seemed to remind her of what they saw her as, what she was at her very core.

A failure.

A weakling.

An inferior pile of flesh.

The idea that she was born inherently lesser than everyone around her clung to Brown's very core. It filled her with immense, all consuming anger and sadness. At just ten years old Brown began to physically train herself once again. It started by punching trees, pounding the trunks with her bare hands until the wood gave way or her hands did.

Pushing herself to her physical limits, burying herself in pain and bodily strain allowed Brown to briefly forget her problems.

Matsu eventually learned what was troubling her and offered to help train her. However the former Nomad's own style required too much Ki to be of any use to Brown. Despite her best efforts her instruction wasn't enough to give Brown any guidance into how to proceed. Instead she began to encourage Brown to develop her own fighting style and learn anything she could from others.

So Brown began looking for fights. At twelve years old she was starting fights with older children, young Nomad prodigies in training, and small time criminals. With each passing year of hard work her muscles hardened, her resolve bolstered, and her paltry almost nonexistent levels of Ki expanded. At 16 years old however, despite all her hard work, Brown felt the returns on her training were meager at best.

Matsu however encouraged her, saying that the fact her abilities had expanded at all in spite of her condition was a testament to her hard work.

Eventually Brown made the hard decision to leave her wonderful home with her adoptive Mother and travel outside of Japan. Packing very little Brown said goodbye to Matsu before heading out on her own and stowed away aboard a boat leaving Japan.

Brown began to wander from place to place. Fighting in back alley brawls, underground cage matches, and simply throwing down and fighting against gifted fighters flaunting their natural 'talent'. Many of Brown's fights ended in bitter defeat, leaving Brown only with her life and the taste of blood in her mouth. Despite the injures she suffered and the scars that marked her body, Brown continued to push herself.

Slowly she began to accumulate wins. Yet even her victories seemed hollow as the memory of her parents festered inside of her, refusing to let go.

On her journey Brown encountered people that, through their words or their actions, seemed to imply that no matter how hard she worked there were things she could never ever do.

Brown however did everything in her power to unleash her anger on those people, leaving them to choke on their own teeth and struggle to breath with ribs and arms broken like Popsicle sticks.

At twenty two years old Brown found herself still striving to prove her parents wrong. She was determined to become the strongest Nomad in the world. Brown swore she would fight and leave the people born 'better' then her broken and crippled at her feet, robbed of the gifts they mocked her with.

Brown would make her parents regret what they did and admit they were wrong.

No matter who had to die for that to happen.

Now Brown finds herself wrapped up in an unusual adventure. The whispers of stones holding incredible power has drawn the girl in like a moth to the flame. At the back of her mind Brown wonders if the Stones of Power are the key to getting her greatest desire...

Brown’s fighting style is vicious and wholly unrestrained, emulating traditional martial arts to a degree but ultimately boiling down to self-taught bare knuckled improvisation. She focuses on largely Ki-less fighting focused around aggressive close quarters attacks with particular use of hard contact strikes and techniques that abuse her body's natural functions for offence. Her moves have a balance of offence and utility, but leave her at a disadvantage in regards to range and reach.

Brown suffers from a hereditary disease that prevented her from inheriting her parents power and started her off in life with far below average Ki. It took her countless years of brutal training just to get to the point of being above average. Even with her best efforts Brown will always have an unimpressive amount of Ki and will be at a disadvantage against those who were born with plenty of it. On top of that she can be incredibly sensitive and easily manipulated by her own feelings of weakness.

Her fighting style, while being balanced and well ranged, lacks any potent Ki-based abilities. Up against a powerful Ki user or a fighter with specialized defense against martial attacks, Brown's in deep trouble. Most of her techniques actually harm her and have limited uses.

• Brown never properly went to school. She learned a lot on her travels, was home-schooled briefly by Matsu, and is far from stupid, however she is lacking in things others would consider common knowledge.

• Brown is a huge fan of the Parsnip Bunny & Friends show. It was a comfort to her when she was very little and when she was growing up. Even when traveling she did her best to regularly watch it. The abrupt end of the show was incredibly upsetting for Brown.

• Brown LOVES melon bread and really likes snackfood in general.

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
- Proud
- Driven to the point of stubbornness
- Quick to Snark

Margot’s family can trace their origins 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, their blood was spilled on both sides of the conflict, and even more lost their heads to the guillotine. Still, when France needed them, the Coudray family answered. Members marched on Moscow under Napoleon, fought in the trenches of Verdun, and pushed the Nazis from Paris.

Growing up listening to these stories impressed a sense of pride and heritage on Margot. While not as militarily inclined as her forefathers, she took up the family sword-fighting tradition from a young age. While the art had certainly fallen by the wayside on the modern battlefield, no shortage of Nomads fill criminal ranks the world over. A chance encounter and foiling of a mugging convinced her to 'even the odds'. Taking up the mantle 'Renard Bleu', she joined the ranks of amateur vigilantes as she strove to keep alive the ideals of the Musketeers by defending the weak.

Unfortunately, like many other Vigilantes, the rush of fighting and fame proved to be all too alluring. More and more of her time was devoted to showing off her own powers through theatrical interventions in criminal activities, extending to participating in fighting tournaments with others, even making a tidy sum off the winnings. On the streets her interventions became more theatrical, often planning her arrivals to maximize the impact and visibility. However in doing so she broke one of the cardinal rules of vigilantism: Do Not Interfere With A Police Investigation.

While thwarting street level drug deals and robberies were one thing, breaking into Milieu connected offices and businesses was a big no-no. The search for evidence often complicated police investigations by tainting any evidence that was gathered, making it inadmissible in court. Margot did one worse. While investigating a business related to the Comtois family she accidentally blew the cover of an undercover police officer. What started as a simple break-in soon turned into a frantic three way fight between the police, the Comtois, and a handful of vigilantes. When the dust settled, there were multiple casualties on all sides, the DGSE had lost years worth of progress, and the Comtois even managed to sue some of the unmasked vigilantes.

The uproar was immediate. While the public had rallied behind the vigilantes and their fight for the common man, so many dead police soured public outlook towards them. Calls to reign in vigilantes soon forced many to retire or submit to oversight. Margot chose neither, convinced that she had been set up for failure. Fuming, she left France, using her sizable winnings to travel the world, eventually ending up in Gold City on one of her many stops as she considered her options, and do some soul searching.

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 actually has a degree, BS in Economics from Ecole Polytechnique, and her knowledge of the stock market has helped stretch her funds while traveling.

Otsana is an inumimi, meaning that she has a wolf's tail and ears. Her body is covered in scars and tattoos, the most notable of which being a large cross shaped scar on her face. Clothing wise, she wears what could loosely be called 'military' style clothing. Olive green tank tops, shorts, and a crap ton of holsters. She claims that her skimpy clothing is because she is used to much colder weather, which she is, but more than one observer has noted that her clothing leaves others a bit hot and bothered.

Otsana carries several guns and explosives. Otsana uses her guns both as melee weapons and as ranged weapons. She switches between dual wielding one handed weapons and using her machine gun. She's been trained in using her firearms as meele weapons, and they have been hardened accordingly.

Her ki enhances her senses, strength, and durability, letting her use her guns with extreme precision. Additionally she's developed an unusual technique of channeling her Ki through her weapons, putting the 'fire' in 'firearms'. All her shots look like tracer rounds, but are actually miniature fireballs. her ki sensing training came from the army, where it was mainly emphasized to give her a situational awareness of where people are in relation to her, as well as their relative power levels.

■ One Handed: Both Barrels

■ One Handed: Double Tap

■ One Handed: Doorknocker

■ Two Handed: Bloop

■ Two Handed: Boloa-Launcher

■ Two Handed: Dragon's Breath

■ Two Handed: Flash-Bang

■ The Buzzsaw

■ Here's a Present!

■ Everything at Once

Because her different attacks require her to switch weapons so often, anyone that can catch her off guard will be at an advantage. Furthermore, several of her two handed attacks use finite resources that she cannot replace during a fight. She doesn't have any notable movement options; even though she does have a grappling hook, it is too unwieldy to use during a fight.

Additionally she is prone to excess when indulging, giving an opening for foul play. Finally, as theatrical as she is, she often has difficulty in actually finishing people off.

- She wears hearing protection in her ears, which also double as wireless headphones. They are pretty unobtrusive, and keep her from blowing out her eardrums from all the explosions she causes.

Matsu takes the form of a young women around 25 years old. She stands around 5 feet 11 inches and has short cut golden blond hair, the color of freshly cut idyllic wheat. A pair of fox ears sticks up from the top of her head with white fur marking the tips. Her skin as a sunny, fair complexion that gives a wild yet regal air to her even in the most violent and degrading of circumstances. While physically healthy with a lithe, toned athletic figure one would expect to see on a martial artist Matsu is missing her right arm. Severed above the elbow the grievous wound has since scarred over. It remains covered in a folded up sleeve at all times.

Matsu was born in the mountains of Japan in the early 1900s. A part of a litter of twelve steppe Kitsune, mystical fox-like creatures capable of controlling the wind with their tails and shape-shifting. Her youth was spent the same as many other Kitsunes; Toying with humans and pulling all kinds of frustration inducing and unnerving tricks on them. Japan was a beautiful place with a rich culture, however the rather stern disposition of the people made them incredibly gratifying to bother and harass with trickery.

Many Kitsunes well into their nine tails were content with living as mischievous spirits. Matsu however grew bordered and frustrated with her siblings. Seeking to break away from the life other Kitsunes led Matsu looked for something drastic to set herself apart. One day she slipped into a mountain top monastery and caught sight of many monks practicing their martial arts.

Watching from the shadows Matsu felt entranced by the movements and strange elegance of what the humans did. For a time she watched but eventually grew confident enough to try and mimic them, slowly learning on her own until seeking proper instruction. For years afterwards Matsu spent her days studying countless martial arts, filling her days with fights against skilled humans and other other Yokai of Japan.

A great many number of human years passed and Matsu found herself an accomplished fighter. During that time the nation of Japan became embroiled in a great number of wars, including two "World Wars". It was during the second of the two "World Wars" that Matsu witnessed terrible acts of destruction. She became mistrustful, if not somewhat hateful towards militant human organizations after seeing the horrific things done by both the foreign invaders and the native people of her land.

With two cities reduced to ashen graves in brilliant blasts of light and heat, Matsu saw fit to leave Japan and seek what the rest of the world had to offer. On her adventures she was joined by her young sister who was eager to tag along. Decades past and upon reaching her 100th birthday Matsu gained her second tail. Her growth and tales of her fighting prowess earned her the attention of a wonderful mate. At the same time her sister had learned enough from her to go off on her own.

For a time everything for Matsu seemed perfect.

Then one day it all came crashing down.

Matsu encountered a strange being, a werewolf of a most fearsome and viscous demeanor. She came to blows with the werewolf in a clash for her life. Though she survived her fighting ability simply wasn't enough and her arm was cut clean from her body. The loss of the limb destroyed the style she had developed over nearly 100 years and crushed her fighting capability. Her humiliation and near death shamed her mate, causing him to leave her for good.

Around the same time Matsu received word that her sister, who was traveling with a doctor had died under tragic circumstances.

Abandoned, broken, humiliated, and deprived of those she loved Matsu returned to Japan. She settled down in a forest thinking only of escaping the sorrow and sadness she was burdened with. A few years passed and her heart remained wounded.

Then one day, while walking through the woods, Matsu came upon a little girl crying on a forest path near a bench. Comforting the girl, assuming her to simply be lost, Matsu led her out of the woods and tried to help her find her parents. After just a little bit of searching it became clear that her parents had abandoned her and left the country all together.

Unwilling to leave the human girl to fend for herself Matsu took the child in, giving her the name "Brown" to replace the insulting name given to the child at birth. For years the Kitsune lived in the woods with the sickly child. Teaching her, feeding her, and helping her to grow strong while giving her the love she seemed to have been deprived of.

Having Brown in her life made Matsu able to forget the pain of losing her arm, her sister, and the pain of losing her mate and the chance to have a child of her own.

Years passed and Brown eventually sought to leave and travel the world to grow stronger. Matsu allowed her to go with her blessing and a small mountain of packed lunches.

With Brown's absence however came all the doubts, fears, and shame that Matsu had tried so hard to bury with her new found happiness. It became impossible for her not to relive the moment of her humiliating defeat and the death of her sister. Worse yet is Matsu remembered that the little girl she had come to care for was human, and as a Kitsune she was capable of outliving her several dozen times over.

Seeking some means of dashing her fears Matsu began to retrain herself to fight with one arm. Years have passed since that decision and now Matsu finds herself ready to step onto the world stage once more. Eager to support brown and seek a remedy for the pain in her life.

Before the loss of her arm Matsu fought with a fluid mix of martial arts (and similar sects of fightIng) that she had come to learn over her many years of study and travel. With the loss of her right arm however she became unable to use the style effective as it required the use of two functional arms.

Working hard however Matsu has worked to salvage what she learned and re-apply it to her current state of being.

Now Matsu fights using her remaining left arm, legs, her ability to manipulate wind, and her innate kitsune trickery. Her fighting style is fast and relies on precise defence penetrating strikes, deception, and agility. Striking where her enemies are most vulnerable and ‘widening’ those vulnerabilities to abuse further.

Matsu is fast, precise, and skilled. However powerful she may be however in contests of raw strength of overt physical force she will likely lose. Her power and fighting style relies on the precise application of power. Broader demands for physical strength leave her at a disadvantage. The loss of one of her arm also leaves her at something of a disadvantage leaving her right side vulnerable to attacks and difficult to defend under normal circumstances. Her attacks and fighting style usually require close contact to work, meaning fights at a distance are a losing proposition for her

•Matsu is more or less Brown's surrogate mother. As a result she enjoys doting on Brown and is extremely protective of her.

At first glance, one sees 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, stone gray, 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.

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, including an attempt to stop the attack on Cairo. 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 became heavily invested in the fight against Oh-One, regarding the stones as a matter of utmost importance. She only occasionally consorted with other groups in the struggle, however, though she fought with all her might in the final battle. Afterwards, she travelled to Gold City, making sure to keep a close eye on the stone.

Seshat was never formally trained under any formal fighting style. Instead, she fights using a variety of weapons and armor sets with skills that she has accumulated and refined through fighting and studying worldwide over thousands of years, with the odd magic spell thrown in here and there.

To offset her fragility, Seshat uses two layers of armor that she has collected over the years. Instead the armor simply dampening blows, it has been supplemented by her own sealing magic that negates the damage to Seshat herself entirely, transferring that stress into the armor plating itself, until it eventually melts into a series of hieroglyphs on Seshat’s body for a few hours until that magical stress is properly vented. On all layers of armor, she will use her body’s boosters for an extra bit of speed, though she can only really be considered “fast” once the armor is gone.

The third, outer layer is comprised of the weapons and armor plating of various robots, most prominently a high-tech assault rifle, which she uses in conjunction with a few other scavenged pieces of equipment to keep foes at bay at longer ranges.

The second layer of armor could be considered cutting edge and ahead of its time… About a thousand years ago when it was forged, give or take a century or two. Wielding this set of platemail alongside a mighty tower shield and a long spear, Seshat becomes more aggressive, blocking and shunting aside blows with her shield and thrusting deftly with her spear, augmented by the odd shield bash and a couple of magical spells.

Seshat’s final layer is her true form, and with it she fights with strength, speed, and raw magical power echoing the era of the height of her power. Gaining the ability to fly and teleport, Seshat fights both with beauty and desperation reminiscent of a cornered animal, using her arm-mounted laser blade of ki and magical energies. With no armor to protect her aged body, she is beyond fragile in this form.

Seshat can sense ki as well as magical energies, and the visor of her power suit can allow her to see heat signatures as long as it’s active.

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.