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Nicholaus Lemaître


| {Full Name} |
Nicholaus Lemaître

| {Age} |
43

| {Species} |
Human

| {Gender} |
Non-binary

| {Class/subclass} |
Knight-Enchanter Mage



| {Appearance} |
Standing 6' 2" tall, Nicholaus stands alongside others rather with a sense of pride from being an olive-skinned Orlesian. His long, wavy, dark brown hair is complicatedly styled, often in different hairstyles depending on the occasion. While his impressively long, trimmed mustache isn't too touched upon with wax and other products. And often wearing battlemage armor formally from the Orlesian Army, modified to appear similar to armor worn by Inquisition forces. Out of combat, Nicholaus wears casual clothing made originally by manufacturers from Val Royeaux, either brought or gifted to him.

Nicholaus has trimmed eyebrows and dark brown wide eyes with measured, wearing round glasses for reading. His pointed chin, long face, and full lips are defining features in addition to his wide hips. His short torso lacks any chest muscle tone while maintaining his weight to a certain degree.

| {Equipment and Personal Belongings} |
Enchanter Staff
Battlemage Armor

| {Skills} |
Advisor of the Magi - Having been nothing more than a plain old advisor to those illiterate in magic, Nicholaus flourished throughout the years learning much about the practices.

Survivor of The Game - Growing up amongst the nobility of Orlais, it's almost expected that one has a deep understanding and appreciation of The Grand Game. Nicholaus often found himself in the middle of such challenges quite often.

Knowledge Curator - Given there wasn't much a mage could do while stuck in a tower, Nicholaus took to reading history scrolls and books to relieve the boredom.

| {Talents} |
Spear Handling - Despite being a mage, a Knight-Enchanter was expected to engage in melee combat. Nicholaus chose to treat his stave like a spear, unlike a sword, to maintain as much distance as possible.

Nomad - Given his job required constant travel, Nicholaus quickly adjusted to temporary living, always ready to move to different locations without much difficulty.

| {Spells} |
Winter's Grasp
Spirit Blade
Combat Clarity
Fade Shield

| {Home/Family} |
Montsimmard Circle Tower, Orlais.

| {Flaws and limits} |
Calculated Bastard - In order for one to survive the Game, Nicholaus had to be one step ahead of his enemies. That meant doing whatever it took even if it brought forth death to those that crossed him. And even after leaving that life behind him, old habits were still around and often reared its ugly head regardless of the circumstances.

Aging Body - Nicholaus was not getting any younger, and it was beginning to show when his eyes started to get weaker. So far though, he was in decent enough condition to continue fighting for the Wardens.



| {Personality} |
Being from the countryside originally was something engraved into Nicholaus, even as he was sent away to the tower at the unusual age of five. His intense desire for a family was quickly used against him in The Game, where compassion could easily be discarded without remorse. It was something that was quite difficult to let go especially when he got more familiar with the dance. But it could never be crushed. His mask was a deliberate one, in which his clients assumed him to be a calculated, distant mage. Someone who wanted to break free of his confines in the tower and be amongst the nobility. And even though his freedom came with his work, taking off the mask in front of anyone was impossible.

And he paid accordingly when he did let the mask down ever so slightly. Nicholaus relied on his training as a Knight-Enchanter to push through the mental pains alongside his work as an advisor. Combat also provided thrills and the adrenaline rush to his otherwise dull life, though he did not enjoy taking away life from any life form. His mask was now a tightly held safeguard designed to never be let down even at the slightest inconvenience in front of him. But with his time in the Inquisition and the Grey Warden, the mask began to show cracks (age also played a major factor). Nicholaus was facing a dilemma that couldn't be solved with clever tactics or a simple spell trick, and that left him baffled for the first time in decades.

| {Background} |
For much of their early adulthood, Nicholaus Lemaître served as a traveling arcane advisor to noble families across Orlais. They often remained beside their patrons for a few weeks to months, depending on the severity of the commission. But given the usefulness of a knight-enchanter, they mainly dealt with protective roles or the occasional wildlife hunter. It was well-paid and respectable enough to keep the Orlesian Chantry and its Circle of Magi off of their back. That was until the War of the Lions brought forth chaos to the homeland, forcing Nicholaus to get involved.

The Knight-Enchanter was cautious to not align with the crown nor the rebels, an attempt to play both sides of the conflict. It was at this point in Nicholaus' life that the Game was truly dangerous. Lies and deceit were common tactical decisions made to protect their bottom line, which was an occurrent feat to achieve on a daily basis. And after a year of keeping up with the charade grew ever tired of the civil war and the inconvenience it brought forth to the lands. So when news came of the Inquisition and their efforts to secure a truce, it was an opportunity of a lifetime for Nicholaus, a talented mage capable, to offer their services to the cause.

The Breach was more of a threat to the whole world than the Orlesian noble ever could have realized. Nicholaus was part of the platoon that attacked Corypheus and his forces of Red Templars. Not long after it was sealed, and with the world seemingly saved, Orlais soon descended into a new kind of war from the shadows where The Game was ever so essential to one's survival. In the hopes of finding a new sense of normalcy, Nicholaus chose to remain in the Inquisition until it was publicly disbanded by the Exalted Council. So, with no desire to resume their previous occupation, they sought out purpose in the Grey Wardens alongside their fellow comrades.

Nicholaus survived the Joining and quickly adapted to life, having been transferred over to Wheisshaupt to assist the mage teachers with their lessons.
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International Refugee Coalition (IRC)

Location: Current whereabouts pinpoint the main fleet somewhere within the North Atlantic. Smaller fleets are located in the Pacific and Arctic Oceans and the Mediterranean Sea.

History: The world's forgotten victims of the ever-growing threat of climate change were always forced to rebuild on their own. But the idea of branding together truly never stuck on until the beginning of the 2030s. The subtle collapse of the global market, along with the changing climate, led to millions being displaced from their home country. Approximately one billion were climate refugees and lacked the proper representation on the international stage. So, in 2032, the International Refugee Coalition was founded and began assisting refugees who accepted their services without fear of going into debt.

Shortly after the foundation, the IRC began buying off decommissioned ships from various countries that tried to maintain their economies. Container ships, cruise ships, fishing vessels, and tender vessels were common purchases made with the banking accounts of refugees (the ones who willingly volunteered). But they weren't the only types of ships brought. A year later, the decommissioned USS Freedom and HMS Severn became the first naval ships under IRC ownership. And then, they made their biggest purchase with the INS Rajput for four billion US dollars. But then came the Space Wars.

Although far from the continents (where nuclear hellfire was unleashed), the fleet was still left vulnerable once the satellite infrastructure collapsed. In a matter of weeks, things that ships once relied upon were forever lost, reverting back to 18th-century techniques as a means of survival in this brave new world. Millions sought out the IRC in the midst of total collapse, which soon strained the already limited resources. So, the Universal Council for the Displaced (UCD) voted unanimously to cut communications with the outside world and limit their presence to the Arctic Ocean. Their last communication was in 2040 before vanishing seemingly from the face of the Earth.

But in secret, they collaborated with remnants of the United Nations to gather and perverse human knowledge and culture, becoming unofficial conservators of human history. Shortly after losing contact with the UN, they secured and raided the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. Then, cut all forms of communication with the remaining world governments. The IRC remained hidden and isolated, with occasional visits to the mainland for refuel and resupply. However, a rapid change in leadership recently forced a unanimous vote to re-engage with the outside at the beginning of the 2100s.

Culture and beliefs: Life onboard ships was always going to have its challenges, especially in the wake of societal collapse. Ration cards for food and medicine were implemented to maintain the survival of its crew and passengers. While knowledge of ship maintenance and repair was a mandatory learning course for everybody, not just exclusive to the crew. A captain was responsible for the everyday affairs onboard their ship while communicating with the various departments, managing all personnel inventory, and being a representative of the Universal Council for the Displaced (UCD).

Much of the old understanding of seafaring, along with its professions and ranks, survived and was modified to better suit survival. Access to remaining human knowledge and culture allowed for a better understanding of the old world and its numerous issues than arguably any other in the world. That left some to speculate that the International Refugee Coalition was one of the few direct descendants of old-world governance, while the council was more than willing to remain silent on the matter.

Science and technology: The IRC relied heavily upon preserving old marine technology to actively survive in the open seas while adapting gardening and solar power.

Character names: Spokesperson Noémie Mahieu
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BATMAN
WEST SIDE
FIRST FLIGHT - A SIGHT UNLIKE ANY OTHER


West Side always seemed to be overshadowed by its larger neighbor on the lower island in recent decades. The neighborhood had been neglected by city officials in allocating sufficient funding to the area, making it relatively insignificant to both tourists and its own residents. Despite numerous attempts to breathe new life into the neighborhood, promising initiatives often became mired in bureaucratic red tape and were then ultimately forgotten. Quite conveniently, there was no shortage of funding available when it came to renovating several of Old Gotham's historic buildings into luxurious hotels, often complete with chic restaurants or trendy bars. And the blatant neglect all stemmed from one significant reason:

West Side was built for the working class of Gotham.

For Officer James Newman, though, it was going to be a slow night. But he'd take that over patrolling the Narrows or, heaven forbid, East End any day. Besides, the calm made it the perfect opportunity to size up his new partner, Mason Nichols, and decide whether he'd be a headache, a pushover, or a perfect fit for the badge. And so far, while driving along the streets, the rookie cop was leaning every more slightly towards being a big headache.

"So yeah, I want to be able to uphold the law like my father." Mason declared, his voice brimming with pride.

But maybe, just maybe, he could be molded.

"But your father was with the LAPD for about thirty years, right?" James asked, to which Mason nodded.

"Gotham City is a whole different ball game, kid. You've got to watch your step and be aware of any toes you'd be stepping on, or your career in the force will be a rather short one." James warned, his eyes scanning the rookie up and down. The newcomer may have thought he knew a thing or two about Gotham from whoever convinced him to leave sunny LA in favor of the gloomy city. But little did he know what he was truly getting himself into. "I'm sure your father knows all about that."

"I suppose so." Mason shrugged as he turned towards the window, gazing at the deserted street. "He and I haven't talked much in a while."

"Family issues?"

Mason let out a chuckle. "You could say that."

Suddenly, the dispatcher's crackling voice broke in over the radio, interrupting the conversation just as it wasn't getting anywhere. Mason, visibly irritated, shifted his focus to the road, ignoring the ongoing transmission. "Central to any unassigned West Side units. Disorderly conduct reported at Cameron/Bedford Station. Suspect is described as a white male in his 40s, behaving aggressively towards metro security."

Mason grabbed the speaker mic and spoke into it rather quickly, "Dispatch, 1-02. Request received."

James shot a glance at the rookie, sighed in resignation, and made a sharp right toward the station. The early morning was beginning to stir, with people bustling inside their homes as they prepared for the day ahead. Some were already out on the streets while others lingered at bus stops and more yet made their way to subway stations. As they arrived, the identity of the individual became unmistakably clear to James. He was one of the many persistent homeless individuals whom he dealt with regularly despite only living on the streets for just under a year and a half. He stood there wholly soaked, along with his duffle bag filled with belongings, clearly aggravated and mumbling some colorful words towards the nearby security guards.

Stepping out of the patrol car, James marched over to the man, hand ready on the tazer. The homeless man turned at the sound of footsteps, casting a disdainful look in the direction. "You here to make fun of me, officer?"

James managed to maintain his composure, though a soft chuckle slipped out as the question was posed. He was just about to deliver a smug retort when Mason appeared, clutching an unopened emergency blanket. "Here, sir. Hopefully, this will warm you up and get dried off." The rookie said earnestly as he handed over the blanket and then pulled out a small notebook. He made sure to take a short moment to collect himself before asking, "Can you tell us what happened?"

Mason wrote down how the man was waiting for his boyfriend to arrive in the early hours when he was approached by someone working from the city as a cleaner. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he and his belongings were sprayed with cold water. Security promptly intervened but seemed to pay no attention to the unjust act and kicked him out despite paying the fare earlier. That was the story, at least for the moment. And honestly, to Mason, the homeless man's genuine distress and the dramatic display of his drenched bag seemed to make it an open-and-shut case. On the other hand, James was getting increasingly frustrated with his partner's sympathy towards him. The same person who showed apparent disrespect towards police officers, often getting cited for camping outside and then playing the victim card whenever alongside his boyfriend. His antics were getting tiresome for him to be dealing with constantly, and it was going to end now—one way or the other.

"Interesting story, Matty." James chuckled sarcastically, turning his body camera off as he edged closer to the man. "Why don't we let my partner figure out what really happened while you and I have a little heart-to-heart?"

'Matty' shot a fearful look towards the other officer, silently urging him to step in and do anything. Mason met his gaze and contemplated whether he should risk potentially straining his partnership with James. Having just graduated from the academy, he knew that jeopardizing his reputation within the force for some homeless person would be incredibly irresponsible. But that terrified expression on his face propelled him to speak up despite the risks.

"I wasn't done questi-"

"You are now." James cut him off, guiding the homeless man towards a nearby alley before his partner could protest any further. It felt like a warning, firm yet delivered with a touch of kindness but laced with an unmistakable sense of unease beneath the surface. At least, that's what he told himself to rationalize his decision to allow likely an innocent man to be taken, unable to shake off the uncertainty of his partner's intentions. Still, a part of him couldn't help but be grateful that his solidarity remained largely intact. Eager to clear his mind, Mason sought out more details about the incident from the metro security guards waiting nearby to clear his mind off the mess.

But when he returned to the patrol car, Mason was frustrated that he hadn't found anything substantial. Rather than letting the headache of the situation linger, he opted to request the security footage, which the guards were more than willing to provide to the department. Much to his surprise, his partner was nowhere to be seen. He had expected his absence to be brief, but as the morning commuters started pouring into the station, it was clear that something was amiss.

Then, he saw the homeless man from earlier.


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Nicholaus Lemaître

The speech given by the three senior Grey Wardens stirred up a wave of nostalgia within Nicholaus Lemaître. It reminded him of the time spent in the Inquisition, battling alongside comrades against hordes of demons for a just cause. A sense of purpose that abruptly was ripped away in the end, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. Now, though, Nicholaus found a new cause with the Grey Wardens—for the most part. Their usage of blood magic at Adamant Fortress was an indelible stain in its history, one that should never be easily forgotten.

And speaking of blood magic...

Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.

Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."

Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"

"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."

"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.

"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."

Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.

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