Rui looks unremarkable, but only at first glance. There’s little in regard of seeing her as a fighter due to her quite diminutive frame. She’s above average in height but her arms and build feel lacking in comparison to most brawlers. Rui doesn’t strive to be sinewy either, she’s comfortable in her wiry style if that. What she lacks in body mass she makes up for flare in her appearance, she has such distinct features and clothing that it’s hard not to command attention from potential onlookers. Her hair is a dizzying lime green, casting an aura when caught in the blaze of the sun. If the sun wasn’t enough to cast it’s light, the intensity in her yellow eyes was more than enough to account for. All resting on a crème colored surface devoid of any blemish or imperfection.

Her hair is usually seen pulled back and tied in a pony tail, falling to the just at the small of her back, to avoid any kind of hair pulling or wisps of her obstructing her vision. Red earrings hang from her ears and no make up is worn, relying on her natural beauty to carry the load. Despite her small frame she does have quite the buxom bust, only emphasized by her battle regalia. Skintight blue pants/leggings cling to her body forming a second skin, pinned under a deep purple leotard tight around the neck. The purple and blue combination is pulled together with a long orange sash fastened securely around her waist by an emerald. Matching deep purple arm warmers extend from her fingers all the way to midway up the bicep. White shoes pulled over her leggings complete her simple fit.

Rui keeps two gourds strapped to her waist as well that are attached to her fingers by string and rings. Serving as a way to keep her from getting parched or sober, but also serving as a weapon as well. The gourds themselves are heavily imbued with Ki from the first moments of creation to now. This has made them far removed from being brittle as she can also channel ki constantly into them if need be. The wire attached to the gourds allows for high velocity projectiles similar to that of an enlarge yo-yo.

Just about any negative adjective could be attributed to Rui. Her demure presence is ruined the moment she opens her mouth. The beauty she emanates fades with the vulgarity and consequent belches that erupt from the bellows of her stomach. She’s rude, arrogant, incredibly violent and peevish. Having a filter was never a concept in her mind, alcohol only served as a vehicle to let those words flow out faster. Egging on her opponents or calling them offensive names isn’t beyond or underneath her either and more or less falls under strategy and general sentiments.

Her passionate ire is also manifested into giving her a fiery warriors spirit and battle tenacity; to say she was a sore loser is a far cry from what else could be said. Competition was born into her and has naturally led her to seek stronger opponents. She hasn’t met an opponent she could not smack down nor suffered a loss that left her on the brink or the throws of retirement. Losing was almost alien to her now that she was a tenured veteran in the arena. Fighting has been the only thing to ever bring her joy and negate the drivel that spews out of her mouth like a cesspool.

She isn’t completely inhuman, emotions other than anger and joy encapsulate her persons as well. She feels pain, mental and physical, as much as anyone else. She doesn’t necessarily warm up to anyone nor does she have a soft side, but she will cry and experience negative emotions from time to time.

Rui was born and raised in Hokkaido, Japan. Specifically on the shore which meant harsh winters, which were most of the times outside of July, were much harsher than had they been inland. This meant that Rui was constantly cold and relied on multiple layers and the heat that warmed their home and the bottoms of the floors from the furnace located underneath and out back of their home akin to that of royalty back in the day. However, the family was far from royalty, rather her father was a fisherman. He worked catching and netting fish on a commercial liner he owned with shellfish and arthropods on his off time too. He spent countless hours at sea and when he arrived, drank himself into a coma which Rui never clearly understood. Drinking to unconsciousness was behavior reserved for salary men in Tokyo and her father was far from that. Regardless she and her mom exchanged responsibilities of cleaning up after him and tucking him into bed before he repeated the next day like clockwork.

Her mother on the other hand was a preschool teacher for an insanely tiny school located on the coast off the beaches of Hokkaido. This allowed her to supervise her daughter until she was at a comfortable enough age that she could stay home and watch herself. Some days she would accompany her dad on the ship and help where she could, but she was still far too young to be anything more than a hindrance. So she stayed home, in that she became addicted to the modest CRT TV that had seen more years than her at this point. Rui burned through all of her fathers B&W VHS tapes about samurai and martial art greats from his youth that now passed the torch onto her. One day she went from simply just watching for the umpteenth time to mimicking the movements of the actors. In place of a katana was an unsullied cucumber and in replacement of a body was her pillow.

She took herself to school and joined several clubs, but the most prevalent being the Kendo and Karate club. Her mother found these clubs too manly for a homely girl like Rui, believing archery would have been more becoming of her. Her father, however, reciprocated his daughters fascination with the two. Years would go by and her skills would increase and she’d find herself winning medals for local competitions that only amassed a showing of maybe less than a dozen children. Not much in the way of competition, but she was still able to flex her non existent muscles. Her father found it important to curate a strong body to match her strong center of will for fighting. She trained on his boat, using the ropes and bars for sailing to use as her personal gym.

Rui never looked at alcohol nor did she want to taint her body with such toxins, but the craving for her fathers inventory steadily increased day by day until she was unsure she could handle another day longer without the imbibing of the bitter ichor. She would wait until she was of age, but for now she would travel far from home to attend her high school from her prestigious entrance exam scores. It was a whole new world, she had only seen a shallow square of the world meanwhile there was a Mecca of technology and entertainment as far as the eye could see. While she was obsessed with her ancient samurai stories and movies the kids around her focused on the Justice Riders and being recruited by the SHINING. Rui found the classics better than what ever far fetched bullshit this was.

Rui stumbled in the beginning, not used to there being a higher level of technique. She found her footing shortly and climbed the ranks of the fighting world in Sapporo, both in school and also illegally in the trenches of the city. Her grades took a sharp turn in favor of becoming a delinquent, the top delinquent really, which brought negative publicity and the eye of the SHINING. They set a meeting with her and explained to her what she was, a nomad. Her mind could barely wrap around the meaning but she could feel the presence of Ki they constantly mentioned. She signed her soul away over to corporate greed in exchange for mastering her Ki. She shot up in publicity and popularity across the prefectures of japan, forgetting her roots and life at school.

Her thirst for alcohol finally took its toll when she had both the money and ability to buy her own to relax her from the exhausting weight of being a corporate entities caricature. One drink a night turned into vicious alcoholism, yet it made her stronger and her ki more focused. She unfortunately could not stay sober for the public eye and became a disgraced hero, losing any and all contract to SHINING. Defeated she returned home where her parents accepted her with open arms and more importantly taught her why alcohol had seemed as necessary as water. She bided her time at home before rejecting the title of nomad and taking on something more familiar, Ronin. She was disgraced and had no master so she would seek them out and destroy. For the next few years she would roam around from country to country seeking out opponents. It wasn’t until she found the flyer for the tournament in Brazil did she finally find a sense of purpose once more.

Rui’s fighting style is twofold and relies on a very specific mechanic that revolves around what makes her uniquely a nomad. Unlike most people, Rui has an extra organ in her body that operates like a secondary stomach. A sack that unlike holding and digesting food, holds and breaks down alcohol. As a specialized organ the breakdown of alcohol is broken down much slower and remains active in the system for much longer. Normally this would inhibit anyone from doing anything, keeping them in a dangerous state of inebriation, but Rui has mastered the careful tipping point that her organ provides. Rui keeps her organ at the precipice of being full, without hitting the brim. She requires the alcohol in her body to perform the abilities and martial arts she’s specialized herself in. The more she burns the more she sweats which releases a slight alcoholic vapor. If she rapidly burns through her reserves she instantly becomes hung over and her martial arts suffers by becoming slower and more predictable.

To keep her levels manageable she’ll constantly sip from her gourds during battle, conserving the liquor until fully depleted. She possess two gourds for specific reasons, one gourd contains 白金 (Shirogane) which is light/clear alcohol from rice and the other containing 黒鉄 (Kurogane) which is a dark and heavy liquor mostly consisting of wheat and barley. Filling up on Shirogane grants her incredible fluidity, speed, and unpredictability in her movements. What she loses in strength and durability in this mode she makes up for agility and grapples. Filling up on Kurogane grants her immense strength and durability, she becomes almost unmovable and the ability to deal terrifying damage from strikes and blows. If all else fails she can consume and mix both liquors giving way to both attributes, but causing immense strain on her body and evaporating from her system at an accelerated rate.

While these two are her dominate fighting styles, they both utilize the martial arts she’s practiced. Originally, she pursued kendo and karate, but kendo had been shelved to focus on hand-to-hand. Eventually due to her drinking style she sought the ancient martial art from China known as zuì quán (drunken boxing/drunken arts) both the Buddhist and Daoist style as a well as the Northern and Southern fist. The practice mimicked the moves of a drunken fighter, Rui was actually drunk most of the time, leading her to elevate the martial arts and infuse hints of almost everything East Asian. Overall she relies on powerful strikes and grappling, she prefers to use her unpredictability and fluid movements to be a gap closer, but will control medium to long range with her gourds.

Beyond her fist she also relies on her gourds, not just for providing her with her liquor but as weapons themselves. As mentioned before they are attached to her hands by wires and strings giving her easy access. The gourds can move and grind off the wires giving them a high velocity allowing them to be used as a weapon similar to the Chinese Meteor Hammer.

Rui is an excellent close ranged fighter and master grappler which leaves her no stranger to being up close and personal. And while most of her skills are ways to combat distance or close it, she does not have many tools in her kit to defend against an onslaught of long range barrages. Her other weakness stems from her fighting style. She must be constantly aware of her ki displacement in her specialized organ and in her gourds to really maximize her skills in battle. She’s no push over when she is sober but she feels a bit more antiquated when she has to fight like that.

Have you ever seen someone catch a fish diving off the side of a ship in the dead of winter?

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.

While he has the outward appearance of the strong, silent type, Isabella is a rather socially awkward person, and has difficulty with interacting with others. He is unsure of how to forge and maintain connections and refrains from speaking when he has nothing to say.

Under the surface, he struggles with depression and his own sense of self-worth, leading to a variety of self-destructive tendencies both in and out of fights.

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 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 SHADER’s defeat, 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 Jill in participating in the Fighting Carnival, assigned as her mentor as well as to make sure the younger Rider stays on script, and tends to spend a mysterious amount of time conversing with medical personnel when he’s not at a bar. While he’s said nothing of his intentions for the prize, it’s anyone’s guess as to what he’d do if he got his hands on it.

As a Nomad, Isabella never pulls his punches. He uses his own style influenced by his street fighting youth and refined by revolutionary training, focused on blunt, powerful strikes to vital areas. Bearing resemblance to Krav Maga, 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 with powerful grapples.

Isabella’s transformation device is the Infernal Gear, one of the oldest recorded examples of what is referred to by occult enthusiasts as dark tech. Supposedly created to signify the union between man and demon some time in the middle ages, it found its way into SHADER’s hands in 19XX and remained with Isabella after the organization’s downfall. A morphing, infinite weapon that embodies the impossible geometries of Hell, it serves as a powerful firearm and can bond with a wielder of demonic blood, encasing them in plate armor enchanted by dark magic and granting them a morphing axe/sword weapon known as Tritone, allowing Isabella to execute opponents with powerful strikes aided by his own sorcery.

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.

Small, messy helmet shaped brown hair, ill-fitting combat equipment. If there was an antithesis to every single aspect of what one would think of in a Nomad, it would be Lucas Miller. His baby face and perpetually nervous expression do little to add to his aura, save for complimenting his wiry frame. He does bare various scars and bandages of past fights, but rather than make him look like a seasoned warrior they more so serve as a roadmap of the abuse he has endured on his journey.

Lucas' gear caps off all of this by being not well fitted to his size, extremely cheap and with obvious signs of patchwork. Lucas wears an oversized shirt with the graphic print of a dragon and tiger in battle clearly worn from time and chipping all over - in addition to the small holes dotting other areas of the shirt indicating this is his only one for combat. His hand wraps are worn and rough as is the knee pads and single elbow pad he always wears (not that they do him much good, defensively speaking), all of this tied together with some old wrestling tights of his father complete with a pair of rough looking leather boots.

You don’t wanna mess with this guy.

Timid: The boy is under-confident and passive to an almost absurd degree, cultivated over years of being a victim. While he will object to treatment he dislikes he rarely meaningfully resists it, especially if coming from someone he does care about such as his father trying to push him into the life of a Nomad in the first place. Lucas is usually paranoid on some level that everyone (not including his dad) is seconds away from attacking or insulting him and so tends to mumble and stutter over his words, always trying desperately not to offend.

Brave: Lucas is, bar-none, the most cowardly member of the cast. Yet, in spite of this, he does possess a good heart and will always try to do the right thing even if it almost causes his legs to buckle from fear. In times of genuine crisis he is even able to stomach his own insecurities to a certain extent to help someone in need - not that it has improved his physical performance, normally.

Hidden Depths: Despite what the above two traits may have you believe, Lucas is perfectly calm and low-key privately, but when forced out into the world he is a few inches away from losing hair over the stress. In spite of all this, his father Perry is fully convinced that somewhere inside of his son is a strength far beyond anything any Nomad can hope to match. So far, there is little evidence of this being the case.

Lucas Miller could, charitably, be considered the joke character among everybody - trained fighter and not. A shy, timid, stuttering and under-confident youth effectively dragged into the Nomad lifestyle from his overbearing father. “Showtime” Perry Miller was a testament to the belief that you can have a career in something even if you have no talent whatsoever. A short, slightly pudgy and balding-in-his-early-twenties “Nomad” who lost quite literally every fight he’d ever been in, yet still carried a charisma and presence as if he were a worldwide superstar. To his credit, he did brand himself like crazy to some limited, likely ironic, success. He also made it an entire career of being mercilessly beaten but never once actually losing via K.O.

Near the end of his illustrious career he settled down with a woman several leagues above him in just about every conceivable fashion, even having a child with her - which had to have been an act of God considering the performance Perry is alleged to have given. Their relationship was a short one after their son was born, she was a woman with a lust for life and a strong desire not to be tied down to anything and he was, well, “Showtime” Perry Miller. Rather than abandon or alienate the baby he had effectively been dumped with however, Perry actually proved to be a rather competent dad, at least when it came to basic needs and ensuring his son had his support.

Too much support, as it would turn out. Young Lucas was not particularly intellectual and not obviously physically gifted in any way, yet Perry strongly encouraged him to take up martial arts as an extracurricular activity. Somehow, despite having a “historic” father of the industry, Lucas did not take naturally to the pastime at all. He hesitated in attacking people, had zero drive or desire and years of bullying had honed him to succumb to self-defeat before the match would even begin. Through rampant self-delusion and sheer belief in his son, Perry continued to and still does believe his boy to be a martial arts prodigy still cultivating his skills. A belief that was seemingly justified after one particular incident after high school, his son’s first “tournament” match.

Lucas, solely as a joke, was invited to take part in the Philadelphia Invitational as part of an exhibition fight to kickstart the show. His opponent? The previous year’s Grand Champion. Lucas begged, pleaded, pitched a fit and hid in the crevice all to avoid this fight but Perry had zero intention of letting an opportunity like this pass him by, er, pass them by. So, on went the match. Predictably, the entirety of it was spent by Lucas getting beaten to a pulp - prolonged by his trademark Miller Toughness that gave him the same affinity for avoiding being knocked out as his father - until one moment in the match, where his opponent wound up for the match ending strike that would send Lucas flying headfirst out of the building, where Lucas stumbled forward and slipped on the mat. He flew upwards, back of the head smacking against the floor as his leg flew upwards and caught the Champ with a savage kick right to the jaw. His opponent was sent careening upwards before crumpling to a heap on the floor, much to everyone’s stunned silence, the match went to Lucas Miller. It is reported that Perry allegedly did multiple laps around the entire building, screaming his head off. (Despite the victory, it did little for Lucas' reputation due to it obviously being dumb luck and an incident where, as Lucas was being dragged off by paramedics, he uttered "I'm going to Bizby Land." at one of the journalists. Other fighters consistently refer to him as Bizby or mockingly ask "how was it?")

Since then, Lucas has received numerous offers from folks seeing him as a sort of special attraction, much to his extreme displeasure. Most of these, Lucas was able to put his foot down or talk Perry out of (mostly by arguing about the need to protect “his brand” or any other language Perry understood) until one particular offer came by post. An invitation to the illustrious World Fighting Carnival. There were no words to be said, no actions that could be taken that would dissuade Perry Miller from forcing his son to seize this, admittedly considerable, opportunity. Within the week, Lucas’ bags were packed and his plane ticket was purchased (they could only afford the one). He was Brazil bound.

All of this has left Lucas an emotional wreck, not helping are his recent troubles sleeping and other strange issues. Like a voice, calling out to him from within. Like some sort of exposure therapy, a part of him is hopeful that this trip will help him to figure himself out. At the very least, make his Dad happy.

Lucas has trained for several years to be a fighter. You would not know that if I did not tell you.

A combination of being incompetently trained, having zero drive and an extreme fear of pretty much every opponent results in Lucas being absurdly bad at martial arts. His reaction speeds are slow on account of his timid nature, his signatures mostly have low range and adaptability and nothing he does packs as much of a punch due to his fear holding back his entire move-set.

What Lucas does have is a well tuned ability to take utterly disgusting amounts of punishment. He can be beaten, submitted or knocked out of a ring sure, but good luck ever leaving him down for the count. Obviously this is small comfort to him as he’d much rather the fight be over a lot quicker than it usually is, but it is a strength nonetheless.

Lucas' actual fighting style is best described as someone emulating moves and mannerisms seen from video games and shonen anime. To his credit, they are fairly close to the source material and tend to serve him a bit better than any move taught by Perry.

There are, slight, glimpses that Lucas might actually be significantly more capable if he really tried. As said his signature moves and specials all have pathetically low range behind them but his offensive manoeuvres such as his fireball are recorded to be more damaging than the average ki projectile. Likewise, while a fluke, he did manage to knock out a Champion Nomad with a single strike. The actual likelihood of this potential being cultivated at all however is exceedingly low.

Where exactly would you like to begin?

As was lightly hinted at, Lucas is fearful of any kind of provocation and therefore holds back the strength of a lot of his moves. All of his special moves leave him open even if successful or otherwise have some sort of glaring drawback thanks to improper training and a backwards mindset about fighting. His range isn’t very far and his damage output is lacking making him struggle at seemingly any range at all.

Again, he can take a considerable amount of punishment even in comparison to your average Nomad but he can’t actually do anything with that.

If all of that weren’t enough, he’s been struggling as of late with issues of fatigue or some sort of vertigo, an effect he describes as his veins seizing up and disorienting him. He and Perry have tried several different treatments and medications but thus far nothing has worked.

■ Lucas has been banned from the Neogaf forums four times.

■ Lucas is very camera shy, particularly after the Bizby Land incident. It graduates his shy stutter to outright incomprehensible babbling until he stops talking altogether and looks like a deer in headlights.

Dignity. Poise. Elegance. Really good hair. These are all aspects that are paramount in the presentation of someone of high social standing, such as Florian.

Florian’s facial features are delicate enough to seem almost artificial (partially true, he always has a little bit of foundation, just to get a base, you see) with zero blemishes on his skin and a perfectly manicured physique meant for speed and power, all topped off with his impressive head of dark red hair. Conditioned, coiffed and styled at the front into a fairly large widows peak fringe - which he enjoys running his hands through when flashing an award winning smile and noble chuckle.

His outfit is equally ornate - and mildly impractical - featuring a collared white and green frock coat adorned with gold lining and embroidery, and knotwork patterning on the tails. The coat is worn over a formal suit made up of white pleated trousers tucked into black riding boots and a formal charcoal and green buttoned vest, typically with a cravat tucked in at the top of the shirt. Over the coat he also wears matching coloured epaulettes and consistently wears a pair of white gloves, the last thing a man of his stature can afford is to get sick after all.

Annoying: There truly is no other word for it. Florian is obnoxious, arrogant, condescending and demeaning. All of these traits together would be one thing, but the worst of it is that Florian is not aware he is any of these things. His arrogance is justified because of course he is the best and everyone else is below his league, he’s not insulting he’s merely truthful, people don’t dislike him they are in fact his closest friends. Trying to tell him otherwise is futile as he is simultaneously so deluded and so vain that he’ll merely think you’re just jealous or trying to jest with him. Deep deep down he is aware he can, sometimes, be a *bit* much, but tries to downplay it as much as possible, otherwise he would not be perfect!

Driven: Part of what makes Florian so much to deal with is that he holds everything and everyone, himself included, to impossibly high standards. This does mean that he gives everything, no matter how pointlessly mundane, his absolute best as he believes that there’s always something he can learn or use to better himself from it. It’s even granted him more maturity in certain circumstances than one might expect, even if it comes from a place of ego. If he loses a fight for example, it’s not because his opponent is better, it just means Florian - as the greatest Nomad - hasn’t reached his full potential yet and needs to try harder. Part of this mindset is the feeling growing up, nurtured by a distant and abusive father, that he needs to earn love and respect through constant grit and self improvement, part of it is his complete misunderstanding of what his role in life is supposed to even be.

Well Meaning: Should someone be able to be in the presence of Florian long enough to not want to strangle his neck, it becomes clear that he is fundamentally a very lonely and socially stunted young man desperately looking for some sort of purpose to his life. Even in spite of his ludicrously upper class upbringing, he is naturally good intentioned and tries to be respectful of everyone regardless of their background. He is just bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, baaaaaaad at it.

Daniel Wessington was a self-made man, that we are aware of. Truthfully he came out of nowhere, documentation proving him to be a former blue collar worker before an unexpected windfall of cash led to him rising the ranks of the weapons company he worked for, from a simple salesperson all the way to a member of the board. It was not enough.

Soon his vision, guile and ruthless business tactics had his company - in all but name - buying up smaller weapon companies left and right, subsuming them into one larger and larger entity that would be rebranded into one of the main megacorporations alongside the likes of SHINING or Horizon Frontiers, dubbing it: Minerva Defense Logistics. Now the CEO of the company, Wessington felt the need to begin creating a dynasty, or at least the pretence of creating one. He moved his - primary - home to Switzerland where he would move on with frightening speed to marry a Swiss supermodel named Maria and, from there, creating a “family”. From that whirlwind of life came Florian.

To an outsider’s perspective, Florian’s life would seem to be a charmed one. To an extent that was accurate, he never wanted for anything material and enjoyed every benefit you could conceive of that came from being the son of one of the most powerful people on earth. But one thing became clear from the moment he was born, he never had his father’s love. Daniel was distant and abusive, not always verbally so. Seeming to resent the very idea of having to be a father, while his wife proved to be a nurturing and caring element that kept Florian from becoming the same kind of man as his father, or worse.

In spite of this, as he grew older, Florian seemed to believe more and more that it was a personal failing on his part that he only had one loving parent. He decided to remedy that by growing into the greatest version of himself that was physically, emotionally and intellectually possible. Initially he began digesting everything he could regarding business, weapons manufacturing and Minerva itself. When that failed to impress (due slightly in part to Florian more-so parroting terms and ideas rather than actually internalising them in any meaningful way) Florian began trying to figure out what he was passionate about in life. Archery, polo, golf, cooking, all of it he studied with relentless dedication but none of it truly inspired him.

His answer came in his mid-teens, when a group of would-be criminals kidnapped the young master during a holiday and intended to ransom him off for a big payday. Instead, the naive sixteen year old awakened to his latent potential and handed them all their asses, before heading back home to a hysterical mother and staff and a father who was not even aware he’d been missing. It didn’t matter to Florian, he had found his calling in life!

Soon after, he began training in just about any form of combat he could consider, hiring some of the best practitioners money could buy to hone and develop his skills. Florian proved to be a prodigious pupil and a quick study, even surpassing some of his masters in a matter of months. One issue he did face however was a wall in his ki, no matter how much he trained and developed, it never seemed to raise above a level slightly below average. While he was able to dominate the local and statewide tournaments with ease on pure skill alone, he was beginning to run into issues as his sights set on stronger and stronger opponents. His answer came when using his father’s pull to commission a refined version of a technology used by a famous Nomad from the television that Minerva had a hand in co-developing with Horizon Frontiers. This device amped up his ki and soon enough, Florian Wessington The First began carving a place into the world of martial arts.

His father is, at best, indifferent about the entire affair. Seemingly only caring insofar as it keeps Florian occupied and away from him, but Florian meanwhile is convinced it is the answer to finding his place in life. He’s even used it as a chance to field test Minerva technologies and do brand PR work for the company, efforts which have aided it in a notable way but not once has any of it gone mentioned.

But now, with the World Fighting Carnival in Brazil offering prestige on an unprecedented scale along with an exceedingly valuable power stone to boot. It would appear Florian has found the silver bullet needed to achieve his goals, all while being able to bring good will and civility to his Nomadic peers.

Florian may give the impression of a foppish coward more concerned with looking good than performing well, however his style is an outright inverse of that perception. Florian operates as a rushdown type combatant, trained extensively in several different martial arts and forms of weaponry and equipped with numerous tools that allow him to close gaps, harass from afar and break open guards with various mix-ups in order to chain together combos to highly damaging effect.

While not particularly impressive in terms of natural ki, Florian is capable of moving quickly for long periods of time due to his rigorous daily training programmes and swapping between various complex moves at a moments notice without losing a step.

This is supplemented by the EX-System Basilisk, a gauntlet courtesy of Minerva Defense Logistics R&D team and a refined version of the similar EX-System used by Jill Breicen. The tech allows Florian’s normally mediocre ki to be boosted beyond its limits and allow him to create full on weapons and minor constructs, significantly expanding his repertoire and furthering his options for getting in an opponent’s face.

Florian has a very well balanced kit and a lot of options for being a nuisance for opponents whatever the range as well as ways to get up close and personal where he shines. The issue is that’s really only where he shines, at medium and especially long range he can provide offence but it’s easily predicted and more meant for continued pressure than an actual reply to ranged opponents. Furthermore, despite his rushdown style, Florian’s damage output is predicated more on chaining his moves into one another or into long strings of combos rather than the moves themselves, should he be cut off then he can’t really dish out the same kind of power as other Nomads.

Also, while Florian’s defence is not bad, it’s only as far as his natural ki allows, it can’t be improved by the Basilisk system, making him a bit less hardy than other Nomads.

Lastly, Florian is far from helpless without his Basilisk System but he clearly does rely on it, if it should be broken or at least damaged, it can lock him out of most of his move-set, making him much easier to deal with.

■ While Florian was born in and considers himself Swiss first and foremost, his accent is mostly American with a hint of French beneath. It only serves to make everything he says sound more smug.

■ While disliked by most for good reason and outright hated by his father, Florian has a genuinely loving relationship with his mother and gets on surprisingly well with his waitstaff and contacts within Minerva who often show genuine loyalty to him in turn. It is one of his very few grounding elements as a person.

■ Florian wrote and self-published his own book: “The 37 Tenants of Florian Wessington I”, which details the key virtues and mannerisms one should have or aspire to as part of the noble class.

Carries a certain sense of unearthliness about her, not of the 'oooh she's so unnaturally pretty' way but the 'she doesn't look like a real person' kind of way. Looks pretty young, is kind of short, and carries herself with certainty.

The rather paradoxical combination of someone who's high energy and arrogant, and also lazy and low effort. Quick to flaunt the power she holds as a Hermit above others, she has a tendency to proclaim herself superior to all while also being reticent to prove it - she'd talk about having mystic power beyond comprehension and then show it off by making some fire appear, for example. She can be dilligent and hard-working, but this usually requires a more material or grand reward than simply self-improvement. Likes to sleep a lot. A bit gullible, very trusting - at least she's usually very friendly past her tendency to brag, and gets along with pretty much anyone.

In the time of the Tang, under the rulership of Emperor Zhangwu, there was a girl born to a prefectural governor, despite his good judgment. Yazhu's early life was characterized by idle amusement and grooming to be married off, as she was already set aside to marry some minor minister's newborn son before she was even three. This lifestyle, and the opulence that came from living in the household of a realtively important government official, was well suited to someone with her lacksadaisical temperament. She had no complaints, to be honest. It's kind of expected for people to mope about having no control over your life, but really, she was well fed and didn't have to worry about much besides improving her calligraphy. Life was good.

This, naturally, had to be fucked up by her own hand. When she was 15, her father had someone as a guest at his estate, a strange-looking man who wore clothes far less resplendent than that of the usual folk who visited. She was curious, and apparently she was curious enough to take a random gourd from his belongings and drink its contents. Several days of pure agony later, she was given the worst news of her life: she had consumed an elixir meant for the Emperor himself, was now immortal and could live off nothing but air and dew for an eternity...and, most horrifying of all, she had unlocked powerful magical potential that could only be utilized with ceaseless training that she would begin immediately.

Needless to say, this ruined her plans for the next few years.

Her transgression was grave, the idea that some random girl had drank a potion that had taken over a century to distill and ferment just because she thought it'd be interesting was honestly worth the death penalty, but her father spared her with some quick words and bargaining. Instead, she would be taken under the wing of the strange man, who was secretly a hermit by the name of Qiao, and learn the secrets of the Tao and cultivate herself until she could rebrew that elixir on her own. It was going to be the work of centuries of mind-numbing practice and study, but the other route here was 'beheading' so her options were limited.

Her master's tutelage went well, her best efforts to shirk it notwithstanding - she had a natural talent for this that outpaced her own lack of work ethic! Yazhu had already gained a grasp of the mystic arts as used in combat and developed her martial prowess, such was the all-powerful elixir that she had taken. Still, it wasn't all the drink; her training had shaped her to become a nominally better human being. She eventually grew to take her trade somewhat seriously, and she grew prideful of her status as a hermit.

It was about twenty years into her training that tragedy struck. Her master was well overdue for actually delivering the elixir she had drank, so late that the reigning Emperor had been replaced four times, and the current Emperor Wuzong actually cared enough about immortality to make Qiao pay for being holding out so long. Soldiers raided the mountainside cave that the two dwelled in, more than either could handle alone, and before he was killed Qiao saved Yazhu's life. Using powerful magic to bind her existence into a pocket dimension hidden in a stone column, she would only be able to free herself when she had mastered her own mental state and understood how to unbind it. After mourning the loss of her master, Yazhu proceeded to somehow find a way to sleep in this immaterial existence and did so for the next 1158 years.

About one year ago, she was returned to the material world after a mining company cracked open the stone pillar she resided in, freeing her after untold time. Unlike most ancient imprisoned entities she was generally agreeable! Now, armed with what she managed to learn before now, and a newfound enthusiasm for life, Yazhu is slowly adapting to modern life. Her ultimate goals: to prove the superiority of her way, to create that elixir that has given her so much trouble, and to live up to her family name and face full-life consequences!

Her body has been molded by the power of the Taoist arts, and this alone grants her a few important inhuman abilities: she is considerably hardier and more resilient to damage (but far from immune), she can whip her limbs around at great speed, she needs nothing but air to survive indefinitely, her body is as light as a 9 pound sack of potatoes, and she is able to fly, sort of. This method of flight could be more described as "walking on air", which means it doesn't tend to grant her any benefit to speed, only traversal. Beyond that, her practice allows her to be a capable magician with a wide repretoire of spells at her command. None of these are useful in combat besides the ones listed below, by the way, as it requires way too much prep to work when getting hit in the face - it's just a general 'she can use magic to do random stuff when not fighting' kind of warning, you know? Subject to GM approval.

She's been kept out of the loop for the last thousand+ years and has only just started to get a grasp on the ways of modern life - she could tell you what a phone is and might be able to operate it, but she'll still assume it's a mirror enchanted with alchemical silver. Despite her talents she is kind of stupid, and her agreeable personality means she's quick to place her trust in people who don't deserve it. While nowhere near as pathologically lazy as she used to be, she still looks for the quickest path to success instead of the most reliable, and can find herself slacking without much prompting. For the matter of physical weakness, she's a capable fighter, but a pure martial artist can easily overpower her in strength, and just about anyone can throw her around like a ragdoll because of her supernatural lightness.

I dunno.

Rosie’s form shifts and changes regularly, but there are a few general constants. Their skin is toned an ambiguous shade of bronze, and they have deep hazel eyes contoured with expertly-applied makeup, though one of their eyes is perpetually covered by their head of thick, well-kept brown hair that goes down past their hips. They typically wear tight, dark gray pants, an understated gray coat, black gloves, and a stylish black beret. No matter how they appear, they always seem to radiate a quiet aura of otherworldly beauty.

Despite their status and history in the grand cosmic order, Rosie is a mellow, unambitious person. They have little attachment to worldly desires and would generally prefer to pursue their passion. Still, they have an exceeding capacity for empathy and emotional intelligence, and become the most invested when concerned with the wellbeing of those they care about.

In battle, they share the same detached demeanor, though they let their playful side show. They often take a particular interest in seeing what their opponent can do, not for the sake of expertly studying and countering their movements, but for the sheer fun of experiencing what they’re capable of.

A very, very long time ago, Rosier was an angel. They like to say that they were a pretty important one, too. When they’re asked about why they aren’t one anymore, their answer often changes. Sometimes they say that they were a little too zealous. Sometimes they answer that they simply got bored, or that being a perfect embodiment of light and good was too stressful.

Regardless, they were a demon from that point on, a creature of lust and temptation. They enjoyed their job for the most part, though for whatever reason, they sometimes felt like their heart just wasn't in it. It was only around the mid-19XX’s when they really began to realize their true calling: Art. There was something that struck them about Earth’s natural beauty. It wasn’t eternally perfect like in their first home, nor was it eternally tarnished like in their second. It was varied, fleeting, and somewhere in between the two extremes. It was something they felt deserved to be captured.

They began to travel across the world, painting whatever they found to be worth painting, and making a quick buck selling whatever they thought was worth sharing. While it was something of an odd set of decades for the devil, it was very much fulfilling, and they never stopped traveling regardless of what friends or foes they made along the way, though they often settled for the occasional bit of mercenary work or similar odd jobs.

That is, until they fell in love with a particularly infamous hero.

And had a child.

Parenting was certainly a strange new experience for Rosie, especially since the father never stuck around. Nevertheless, they loved their son Isabella in a way they had never loved anything or anyone before, and they shifted their efforts towards parenting until he was old enough to leave the nest. Well, perhaps he went through a lot after he left it, but… it was a complicated situation. One that Rosie was never quite sure how to navigate.

Afterwards, Rosie returned to their usual routine; artistry occasionally supplemented by more lucrative side jobs. In a strangely high-profile move, they’ve signed up for the World Fighting Carnival. What could a demon want with a Power Stone? Probably nothing good.

Rosie’s fighting style is typically as smooth and fluid as they are themselves; they can stay light on their feet with swaying dodges and graceful swings of the knife in one moment, only for their opponent to find themselves with a heel on their throat or that knife in their back the next. It’s all about finesse and well-applied force, switching from serenity to brutality whenever the opportunity presents itself. They typically use their palette knife (actually the sealed form of their greatsword, Rembrandt), coated in shadow magic to turn it into a proper blade. Though if a bit more range and power is needed, they’re perfectly comfortable using the same magic to turn their boots into literal stiletto heels, putting their fantastic legs to work with a variety of kicks.

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

When they get motivated, they’ll typically unseal the magics binding their immortal being, returning both themself and their greatsword to their true shadowy forms as they brush off their fast and brutal demonic fighting style.

As an ancient being, Rosie is well-trained in being able to sense all varieties of ki and magical energy.

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 they need to be effective. Anyone with the luxury of fighting comfortably in that range can shut down Rosie’s ability to fight back if they can keep up with their attempts to move out of it. In demon form, the same concept applies to long-range combat while they cover their mid-range weaknesses.

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

Though they are immortal, Rosie needs strength to maintain their physical form, and it can be dispersed if they take enough of a beating. At least, until they can gather enough power to remake it. Though decent, their endurance is nothing special, and they are especially vulnerable to blessed attacks.

Rosie rarely takes fights seriously; being immortal, they rarely find stakes even in what others might consider a life or death battle. By the time they do start taking it seriously, the opponent may already have the upper hand.

Locke's whole look and demeanour just screams "Punk Brat". Coming in at 5' 10" with a medium build of 195lbs, the Grinning Wolf loves to wear anything street and grungy. He sports a shock of black hair like a spikey mohawk though his most striking facial features are his red eyes that glow in the heat of battle as well as canine-like teeth, both of which he inherited from the Oni Demon spirit - Areru.

Piercings adorn his ears, though good luck putting him in anything formal; probably a better chance giving a cat a bath. His arms and hands can morph into sharpened claws that are joined with the black and red fur of the wolf within. As the heat of battle rises, his eyes begin to glow crimson and that toothy, confident grin grows even wider.

Brash, reckless, aggressive. Any one of these could be used to describe Locke... though the truth of the matter is he's always loved fighting even before his soul was intertwined with Areru. At first, he simply was just a punk of a kid... While he never sought out a fight, he'd always be the first to rush in to protect himself or his friends instead of using his words. As he got older, the chance to take on more and better fighters arose and the call was simply too loud for him to ignore.

Nowadays... Well not much has changed. Locke will never say no to a fight, even if he has no chance of winning. This headstrong attitude, coupled with the burning spirit of combat that feeds both him and Areru, has landed him in trouble too often for comfort though he rarely learns his lesson. Fighting is fun to him, especially in a competitive environment despite the fact he's never formally trained. He thinks everyone should get as fired up as he does. How could they not!? During a fight, he gets pumped up and aggressive, enjoying the thrill though when all is said and done, he'll hold up a hand and thank someone for the fight.

While Areru would love it, stomping someone doesn't bring satisfaction. The taste of blood in his mouth, his lungs firing on all cylinders, his muscles burning with effort, the aching of bruises... These are the sensations that provide Locke with all the thrill he could possibly want. The closer the fight, the more fun it is. Anything else is irrelevant. The only thing that could get Locke as excited as the possibility of a fight is the possibility of a good meal! Afterall, technically he's got two beings to fuel so that just means eating even more!

Locke Marruk grew up in Pennsylvania, though even in youth he would show a penchant for disregarding authority to do what he thought was right. Despite his parents' best efforts, he simply couldn't stay out of trouble. It was hard for young Locke to not jump into a scrap when he saw an injustice be carried out, especially when a teacher or adult wouldn't do anything. He got bounced around schools due to these 'behavioural issues' and it took a few years before Locke would be able to tone it down... for a while.

Amazingly, Locke avoided incidents enough to be able to join a fantastic geography trip to Japan. Locke wasn't exactly into 'a bunch of rocks and hills and stuff' but a chance to visit another country was exciting enough. His class got a chance to visit various mountains as well as cave systems. It was on one of these underground tours that Locke heard something. A whisper in the darkness... beckoning him.

Locke split off from the class without notice and began to explore the cave himself, following the voice. He wasn't sure how long he was stumbling in the darkness. Must've been hours, at least but Locke continued nonetheless. It wasn't until a misplaced step sent him tumbling down towards what he had been searching for. Pale, spectral light illuminated the pit from ancient torches that littered a stone pedestal in a circle. In the middle, an old Urn with an incredible presence.

"Ahh... You're the one that heard me?" The voice was clearly coming from the urn. Locke was in confusion though when he looked up to see where he fell from, there was only darkness. The voice explained that Locke cannot free himself from the depths, and that it was a Japanese spirit trapped in the urn. There was a billion questions Locke wanted to ask... like how it knew English or how it was talking to him in the first place, but those things didn't seem to matter right now. Trivial knowledge compared to what he was caught up in. The Spirit introduced itself as Areru and offered a deal. Locke couldn't escape without the spirit's help and the spirit would be trapped in the jar without Locke's help.

Initially Locke refused, attempting to climb the sheer rock face himself. However, after too many times falling back down as well as some clever taunting from the spirit, Locke marched towards the Urn and threw the lid off in frustration. Black, ashy smoke spilled out from the ornate ceramic vessel as the form of a red and black wolf would begin to form with a sadistic grin. It dove into Locke's chest and a surge of sensations washed over Locke's body. The last thing he remembered were the torch's lights snuffing themselves out.

When he came to, he found himself gorging on the raw flesh of a wild boar. In horror, he reeled back from the corpse before clocking in the surrounding forest. He heard Areru's voice in his head, clearer and louder than before. "You took back control!?" It became apparent that this wasn't a part of the Demon Spirit's plan. Locke looked down to see the shapes of wild claws replacing his arms as well as a splattering of blood. Locke and Areru argued in the wilderness... though eventually... an agreement was reached.

Areru did in fact use his power to help Locke escape though he planned to keep the boy's body as his new vessel. Locke's fighting spirit was a lot more powerful than Areru first thought, though this revelation excited him. Areru explained that he was still a spirit, though one of a powerful Oni demon that was trapped thousands of years ago. He would continue to lend Locke his strength and abilities, as long as he remained fed and content. It worked for Locke though he knew that he couldn't lose control. If the unchained power of Areru could scale out of the pit with ease and kill wild animals with ease then who knows what would happen if he lost control with innocent people around?

Over the years, Locke and Areru constantly switched between butting heads and working together. Locke isolated himself from modern life to learn more about his new abilities and on how to keep Areru's full viciousness at bay. It seemed fighting and combat brought great satisfaction to Areru though he was only interested in senseless slaughter. Eventually they reached an agreement. If Locke can find good fights, their bargain would continue. And who finds themselves getting into all sorts of fights? Nomads, of course! Even luckier, the League of Bounty Hunters didn't exactly require a formal education to join so Locke could make money as well. He signed up in an office in Japan and got to work. Despite being young, the strength from Areru and a childhood of fighting made him a strong rookie Hunter. He wrote a letter to his parents explaining that he was alive but couldn't come home.

Locke travelled from place to place and eventually back to America where he learned that the Fighting Carnival was coming... as well as something about a Stone of Power. Prize be damned, just think of who he might be able to fight!

Locke is a street brawler, through and through. With no formal training or techniques, as well as the power of Areru backing him up, his movements and attacks become unpredictable. His punches and kicks are wild and enjoys the benefit of having increased agility which helps him dodge and leap into the fight easier. Blocking an attack is an afterthought, and Locke would much rather trade blows than play on the backfoot. His fighting style is dependent on setting the pace and pressuring his opponent with various strikes into either relenting their own defence or to back off entirely.

He can also summon certain aspects of Areru's physical form to replace his own such as sharp claws for slashing attacks or a tail that can be used to sweep legs or provide an actual blocking technique. However, the biggest aspect to how Locke fights is the manifestation of his fiery spirit. If Locke gets 'Fired Up!' enough, he will temporarily relax his reigns of Areru and let the animalistic spirit come forth which will enhance his attacks.. though this requires a fight goes on long enough that Locke reaches this point without already being defeated.

Locke's over-aggressive and physical style leaves him open from over-extension and vulnerable from ranged attacks, especially anything that can keep him at bay. Locke hates being cornered and struggles to find a flow when he can't dictate the pace himself. Without the lack of a fighting style, his moves can become inconsistent and sloppy.

He also has an incomplete understanding of Ki and it's uses, unaware that he uses Areru's Ki for his power and lacks any form of a ranged attack. This forces Locke to get up close and personal and has to throw himself into the thick of it to be effective.

Will undoubtedly be your friend if you offer him good food or a good fight.

A determined soul from just the look of it - despite the aura of focus and determination, she gives off a VERY strong unapproachable vibe. It's likely due to her constantly scowling and staying off to the side - keeping her eyes open on everyone as she moves. The young woman is likely not to be the center of the stage unless she needs to be, and keeps to herself as she wanders through the streets. The only time you'll likely see her talking is when she's getting a bowl of ramen or something. Despite coming from a country known for its politeness, she is crass at best and outright rude at worse. However, Yoko walks with confidence and strength behind every step, people can tell that she knows what she's doing...

... Despite her small stature. Yoko is a very small woman at five feet even and oddly enough most of that height seems to come from her legs. Don't think too hard about it. She's a pureblooded Japanese woman and that's not just obvious from the weird little gi that she walks around in. Her facial features are rounded and pudgy - some might consider them "cute", but you'll get whacked upside the head with her stick. She keeps her black hair in a bun with a band and a bright red pin... and a cowlick that sticks out forward.

The most notable part of Yoko's appearance is her attire... she always wears the Hatanaka family gi, as she was raised wearing it, and if you see her wearing something else - it's probably dirty. It starts with a shiny black leotard with a yellow jacket on top of it and Yoko keeps her forearms bandaged up. The most notable part of her traditional family gi is that... it keeps her legs on full display. She keeps telling people it was the gi that her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather saved Japan in and it has the purpose of keeping her legs free and nimble. She walks around in sandals that wrap around her legs and long white socks.

Bad Social Skills: To say the least, the young Hatanaka was kept hidden from the world and her primary purpose in life was to train to become a warrior befitting of her family name. While she is a prodigy when it comes to the blade, it came at the cost of her social skills. Unlike the politeness the Japanese are stereotypically known for; Yoko is very rude, obstinate, and firey. She isn't exactly antisocial at all, but she's definitely terrible at it. Yoko is also a bit lacking in sense.

Prideful: Yoko was raised with the idea that the Hatanaka family are the greatest warriors in the world - and she's definitely not letting go of that. There is a ton of pride in the Hatanaka family name and she's going to live up to it if it is the last thing the girl does! This has made her stupidly competitive and willingly rush head-on into situations that other people would avoid just to stroke her ego.

Good-Natured: However, underneath it all, Yoko aspires to help and protect Japan from danger. While she's only interested in Japan, she's open to going out and being a positive influence on the world. Even though she's... really not good at it because she tends to misinterpret things and let her ego get the best of her. However, the Hatanaka is out here doing her best.

A true prodigy at the blade, a true samurai... however, dude to her feelings of unworthiness, she refuses to wield any blade other than the legendary Murakumo. Instead, Yoko wields a staff for now, which she is proficient in but nowhere near as dangerous as with a blade. Due to its length; Yoko is able to strike at opponents at increased distances and she uses this to her advantage. The Hatanaka's version of Bōjutsu mainly involves keeping the enemy at a range and whittling down at them with precise strikes at their organs. Its a mainly defensive-oriented style with a few aggressive tricks that Yoko has added in. Despite mainly being trained in weaponry, Yoko has a few hand-to-hand tricks in case a weapon is not available... its really just not her specialty.

The issue with the Hatanaka style is that it's made to counter the blitz-like Oni style of combat. Meaning, she excels at defensive situations where she can keep the opponent in her sweet spot but falls short against opponents that stay outside of that range or faster opponents. Projectiles are just not easy for her to deal with.