Andrew // Graves LOCALE // The City of Thorinn TIME // Noon
Blood is a thick, vile thing. It's sickly warmness is a grim reminder of the ending of life and the fleeting nature of a failing spirit. The crimson liquid pools in great quantities, forming a lake of putrid death beneath the corpse of the fallen. Humanity is so very fragile, is it not? Despite man's endless struggle to advance, improve and go beyond what they are currently capable of, human life can still be snuffed out with a swift blow to the heart. A mere sharp knife can destroy decades of potential growth in the blink of an eye. What a thought it is that the same species that stepped foot on another celestial body withers away like a flower strangled by a bed of thorns. Warriors seek to cultivate their life taking skills, and make use of human frailty for profit and glory. They train their bodies to the maximum in order to eviscerate other lesser creatures. A man that has the strength and knowledge to end anyone they come across is burdened with a single, searing question: 'What right have I to kill? Who am I determine what life deserves to be torn asunder by these calloused, powerful palms?'
These are the thoughts of a man at arms.
But not the thoughts of Graves Bludd, genocidal maniac, ruthless bounty hunter and murderer extraordinaire in the virtual world of Pariah. The giant form of the Blood Knight stepped forth from the shining arcane light of the gate platform. The hulking warrior lumbered down the steps of the teleportation pad and entered the crowded streets of the settlement of Thorinn. Crowds of people, both NPC and Wayfarer alike, shuffled along the cobblestone roads that ran all throughout the city. The population of the outlying colony was surprisingly dense; and the news of a recent dungeon cropping up had drawn numerous players to the out of the way urban center in search of gold and glory. Bludd himself had caught wind of the presence of the crypt through a vulgar, bitchy healer he'd run a couple of instances with a few times before. The woman was an annoying asshat but she made better company than most. She tended to have fairly reliable medicinal skills, too, so Graves couldn't complain about the grating dancer too much.
The hulking form of the gargantuan tank shoved past a gaggle of gossips. He had little regard for the people of Aetheria, to be truthful. They were a bunch of scripts and programs that offered him money in exchange for his services and little else. He treated players marginally better, stepping out of the way of obvious clumps of them; not because he thought they mattered or any bullshit like that, but because he knew a group of 'em could kick his ass three ways from Sunday. Don't get Graves wrong, though. He wasn't afraid to pick a fight with someone over something as arbitrary and stupid as them being in his way when he was trying to walk. In fact, he had gotten into plenty of scuffles over less. However, the unarmored tank knew that even he, being the badass that he was, couldn't handle an organized party of three or four other players. Dying all the way out in Thorrin to some no name lowlifes was not an embarrassment Graves wished to subject himself to. So, he continued on, pushing past the sea of people and making a beeline for the Guild of Acquisitions.
Graves didn't know the layout of the city too well. He had studied a map of the place before. He knew the basics, like which direction the town square lied in. However, the specifics were lost on him. Bludd just continued straight until he caught sight of the building's sign, indicating that to be the city's guild. He confirmed that it was the place when he saw the mob of players standing around in the grass next to the flagpoles that people had jerryrigged to denote that they were looking to group up. It wasn't a system Graves used often. He despised working with other people, especially unreliable pubbies. However, he also despised people that tried to get to know him- Graves didn't play Pariah to make friends, so he walked a fine...fine line when it came to who he was willing to work with. That said, Bludd thought he could get at least a handful more runs out of Elian before she overstayed her welcome.
"Yo, Dendrophile? You out here?" The Blood Knight called out, his sharp voice booming over the square. He got more than a few looks from people for his volume and strange vernacular. A hateful scowl drove those curious eyes away from him, however, as Graves wandered the Lefig Lawn in search of his would be companion. He asked a handful of helpful looking individuals if they had seen her around recently.
"You seen a pointy eared whore around here? No? Alright, thanks Fuckface."
"Yeah, an elf. Like the ones Santa uses, but duller. Her nose's the size of a- Are you walking away from me?!"
"Asshats. Yes, I'm talking to you two. Have either of you bitchboys seen-"
Suffice to say, Graves couldn't get anyone to point her out for him. It was frustrating to say the least. Why was everyone so selfish these days? There was a time where he could yell at a random stranger, call them an inbred monkey, and they would happily point him in the direction of whatever he happened to be looking for. Sure, the Bounty Hunter was a little tactless. His manners could definitely use a little work. That didn't mean everyone should ignore him! It was incredibly rude of them to be sure. With a huff, Bludd decided he'd find the elf on his own. "Eeeelffff? Dancing panzy? Heellooo?" Maybe he should've invested in some sort of long range communication device...but that meant giving someone the ability to bother him any time they wanted, and that sounded like ass- so Graves would have to pass and stick to yelling really loudly.
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // The City of Thorinn TIME // Morning
Graves was growing increasingly annoyed with the influx of players on Lefig Lawn. The crowds were as thick as a forest, and made finding the singular tiny elf girl a near impossible task akin to looking for a needle in a haystack. In his irritation, the gigantic tank bulldozed his way through anyone too slow or too stupid to get out of his way. His tactless and rude behavior earned him a number of crude remarks and curses aimed in his direction, but the Mutilator of Men was too annoyed with his current predicament to care what a couple of worthless hacks said. His search was going nowhere fast. For all the ground he was managing to cover, Graves didn't see any sign of the prancing tree hugger or the crowd of mooks she'd invariably gathered for their little excursion into the nearby dungeon that had recently cropped up outside of Thorinn. It was at times like these that the hermit warrior almost considered forgoing his communications black out and picking up one of those fancy-smancy ear pieces that were all the rage these days. It only took a moment's interaction with another living, breathing person for Bludd to remember why he had refused to take one in the first place. People were a waste of his time. He didn't quite see the irony in hating interacting with other people in an MMO of all things.
It was during one of his many turn arounds that the broad shouldered monster of a man felt something prick against his back. Graves let out a surprised and not at all manly help, swinging around to face whomever had forced such a humiliating sound from his lips. His fist was raised and he was ready to deck the dumb bastard that had done it- yet, no sign of the perpetrator could be found. "Huh?" The Blood Knight blinked, confusion overtaking his blind rage. Only a moment passed before the attacker revealed herself, calling out to Graves from out of his line of sight. He ground his teeth together, towering over the ranger woman like a mountain before an ant. Not only had she poked him and embarrassed him so, she had the audacity to demand she join his group in exchange for Elian's whereabouts. The stranger didn't ask. She demanded. Nay, more than that, she was practically extorting him. Fury burned in the heart of the intrepid anti-hero. He considered his options carefully; the most prominent of which was to ram his knuckles into those flawless teeth of hers. His first instinct, as appealing as it sounded, was a bad idea. 'If I hit a pretty little thing like that I'm gonna have two dozen basement dwelling wannabe white knights on my ass in five seconds flat.'
The tank begrudgingly unclenched his jaw and took a second to breathe. After calming himself down, Graves leaned forward and got within a few inches of Mirage's face. "Fine," He replied, venom dripping from every word, "But on one condition: don't call me sweetheart again. If you do, I'm shoving my fist through your face- and we don't want to ruin the only thing you've got going for you, do we?" After hopefully proving his point and putting the fear of God into the woman, Bludd stood straight once more. "Now where'd you see the elf, hick?"
Luckily for the Blood Knight, he wouldn't have to rely on his new unwanted companion to find the dancer. Graves head swiveled in the direction the coarse sound came from, his eyes naturally attracted to the golden fan waving in the sunlight. "Ha, found her! You weren't much help." Bludd started toward Elian, shoving everyone out of his way as he made a direct beeline to her side, cutting a swath in the crowds as he did. The bullheaded fighter looked between the many people that were hanging around Elian's LFG flag, his frown deepening. Were they all coming with? Graves knew that clearing a dungeon with a small party was quite difficult, but he preferred the challenge over having to spend time with even a remotely large group of people.
It didn't take more than a few seconds for him to find someone among them to hate. His disgusted gaze fell upon the baseball cap wearing steroid infused buffoon. The asshole spoke like a stereotypical neckbearded fedora tipping fuckboy you'd find skulking internet forums. "I think I'm gonna puke." Graves muttered to Mirage in his usual hateful tone. "Were you dropped on your head as a kid or is your inability to speak properly a preexisting condition?" Some might say that Graves was being a tad too aggressive. They might say that maybe he should calm down a little, and take the moron's 'leet speak' as a light hearted joke. Some people might deserve a quick kick in the ass for questioning Bludd.
Thael wasn't the only one the bare-chested tank took issue with. The owner of the fiery flying snake spirit looked like she was a spaz too. Graves had little patience for people like that; he could only hope her antics were merely a temporary affair brought on by insanity or a heat stroke. He wasn't sure how much more he could bear if it turned out the fire mage was usually so...Ugh. The rest of them didn't seem to be nearly as irritating as the first two, thankfully. Elian was always a handful, but the woman was a damn good healer so he wasn't going to complain too much. The straight laced knight that introduced himself as Hawkwood wasn't awful. Bludd had met many less agreeable people than he. The fencer had thus far said very little, which automatically promoted her to the Blood Knight's favorite- or, more acurrately, least loathed. The goggle toting guy talked too much. And his face was kind of annoying. Other than that, there wasn't a great deal for Bludd to complain about.
"I'm Graves." He grunted. Better to get introductions out of the way so he didn't have to speak to all of them individually. "The hick's coming along too." Bludd jutted a thumb behind him.
C L A I R E L I L Y Q U I N N ◼ 0 1 / 02 / 1 9 9 4 ( 23) ◼ F E M A L E ◼V E N A R I
"Not all monsters have fangs and claws."
▼ A P P E A R A N C E:
"Is it wrong that I find pleasure in a monster's screams?"
//STATS:
◼ HEIGHT |5'5"
◼ WEIGHT |135 pounds
◼ BUILD |Athletic, Muscular
◼ HAIR COLOR |Blonde
◼ EYE COLOR |Blue
◼ TATTOOS |Currently, the young Venari huntress possesses two tattoos. The first is Odin's Illusionary Rune, a symbol for camouflage and deception. It adorns the underside of her left wrist. The second is the Gapaldur, meaning success in combat, and it rests upon the back of her neck.
//DESCRIPTION:
Whenever anyone is asked to describe Claire's appearance in a single word, they typically answer with 'intimidating' or 'strong.' Claire has spent the last several years enduring a grueling training regime in order to turn her body into a living weapon. Under the guidance of Scribe Kletus Rex and the journal left behind by her father, Noctis has developed herself to the peak of human capability. Her upper body is bulky and solid thanks to regular boxing lessons at Invictus Gym. Claire's well defined arms and shoulders are supported by a powerful core sculpted to perfection. Upper body strength isn't all that's needed to win a fight, however, and Miss Quinn knows this well. She runs constantly to help build up her endurance and speed, allowing her to move faster for longer while patrolling the city's streets. She also takes acrobatics classes on the weekends; while she's still quite the amateur gymnast, Noctis's Vis enhanced body is still capable of incredible feats of agility when she puts her mind to it. Four years of intensive training, strict dieting and regimented physical preparation has given Claire the tools necessary to turn into the monster hunter her father had always wanted her to be.
Outside of her physique, Claire is typically described as short and pretty. The young Venari doesn't smile often, and is quite standoffish. It isn't often that anyone outside of Rex or Pierre sees the girl loosen up and enjoy herself. Her cold, passive aggressive appearance drives most people away, leaving Miss Quinn with few friends or acquaintances outside of the people that help her in her mission. Claire likes to keep her dirty blonde hair down whenever she's not working. During the hunt, however, it's better for her to have it up in a bun to keep her golden locks out of her face. In regards to clothing, Claire has a fondness for darker shades. She likes to wear a combination of jeans, a light jacket and a graphic tee on most days.
▼ B I O G R A P H Y:
"The world still needs the Venari."
Thune Quinn was a hunter with no equal. He possessed a level of skill that few men could hope to ever achieve in their life time, and the knowledge he gathered through decades of experience made him one of the most potent warriors the Venari had since the Witch trials. Quinn was born in the late sixties, and introduced to the world of the Venari by a friend of his uncle when he was thirteen years old. The old guard was long gone, wiped out hundreds of years ago by the Witch hunters that had betrayed them. But a pocket of them survived, continuing to watch over the world from the shadows. The young Thune proved to be a prodigy; he earned the respect of the council with his tenacity and drive to be the best of the best. As the years passed on and he grew into adulthood, Thune joined the ranks of the hunters and gained a reputation for his skill at arms and dedication to learning his enemies. Even with their numbers waning, Thune and his few remaining brothers in arms carried on the legacy of the Venari with pride. They remained vigilant, even in the face of the emergence of the Hyperhumans in the late 80s. There was an intense debate between the remaining Venari about how they should classify these new humans; were they to be hunted like the Draoi and the Hellions, or accepted as the next step in humanity’s growth as a species? Thune was a part of the latter camp and encouraged cooperation with the Hyperhumans. He firmly believed these superpowered beings would help reinvigorate the Venari’s fight against the darkness.
In the early nineties, Thune moved to the newly formed Crescent City and set up shop with a handful of other Venari, including his friend Kletus Rex. The place was thought to be a hub for Hellion activity, and Quinn was hell bent on eradicating the otherworldly threat in its entirety. He was in the height of his carreer when he met the gorgeous Annabethe Yukianessa, a fiery Irish woman that had immigrated to the States a few years prior. Thune was baffled by how enamored he was with her. For the first time in his life, the Venari hunter found something he’d rather do than work. The two started dating, and Thune’s performance on the field dropped significantly. He slacked in his training. He missed out on guild meetings. He even started to smile. The two were wed within a year of meeting one another. Thune elected to never speak of his ‘other’ life to his wife, believing that to do so would put her in incredible danger. In 1994, Annabethe gave birth to a baby girl they named Claire. Thune dove back into his work to earn money to provide for his new family, leaving Annabethe to raise Claire mostly on her own. He was still around and tried to help when he could, but his job took up a large portion of his time and required most of his attention.
Claire’s early life was mostly uneventful. She didn’t have too many friends, but stayed out of trouble for the most part. Her brother, Charlie, was born when she was three. Claire wasn’t ecstatic to have to share the house with a stinky brat, but there were worse things in the world than her new baby brother. Dad tended to disappear on business trips quite often, lasting anywhere from a week to a month. When he was home, Thune often vanished into his study downstairs and only came up for dinner. He was distant. Sometimes, he came off as cold. Claire sometimes wondered if the man actually loved her or her family. Life continued as normal for awhile. It was good, if a little bit boring. Everything changed in 2004. Claire was sitting in the kitchen across from her father and finishing up her schoolwork when she heard a knock on the front door. She paid it no mind at first- probably just someone coming by to visit mom. The severity of the situation only hit when she heard her mother scream. Dad was out of his chair in an instant. He told Claire to find somewhere to hide, and ordered her not to leave that spot until he came to get her. She did as she was told, finding the best hiding spot she knew. Claire would never forget the horrendous sounds that assaulted her ears as she cowered in fear, praying she wasn’t found. The thirteen year old girl had to listen while her baby brother was torn apart by a monster. She didn’t know how long she stayed there. It felt like time had stopped after everything went silent. The police eventually found Claire nearly eighteen hours later- she hadn’t made a peep the entire time.
Claire didn’t have any living relatives to go to, so she was taken in by Alice Grace, an old friend of the family. Words cannot describe how destroyed that little girl was. Fear devoured her from the inside out, eating away her innocence. It no longer felt like she was truly alive; Claire existed in a strange limbo, like floating in a dark abyss, where all hope was choked to death until nothing remained but primal terror. Every time she tried to sleep, Claire’s mind was assaulted by the screams of her dying family. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could glimpse is what she imagined had happened to them. The dark terrified her. Putting her anywhere dark for even a second would leave Claire in a crying, anxious mess, only recovering hours later. She didn’t speak about what happened to her for two years. Any attempt to get her to open up was met by unmatched fear. She refused to speak to any therapist Grace sent her to. As the years went by and Claire floated through the remainder of her schooling, she changed. The frightened little girl was twisted into something…dark. Fear turned to anger. She became increasingly hostile to everyone around her. She got into countless brawls at school. Even the smallest slight was enough to send Claire into a violent rage. Miss Quinn’s attempt to cope with what happened to her shattered what few relationships she still had, driving everyone away with her hostility.
At the age of eighteen, she turned her rage away from those around her and toward the unknown individual that had murdered everyone she loved. She tried, at first, to see what the police knew. Her questions went unanswered by them- her case had gone cold awhile ago. The condolences they offered were a slap in the face. With the police failing her, Claire returned to the scene of the crime. The house had remained untouched for the last five years, aside from the blood being cleaned up and the bodies cremated. She tore the place apart looking for clues- even the smallest hint letting her know who or what had done it would help. She wanted to find the man that did it. She wanted closure. Her search eventually led her down to her father’s study. Claire wasn’t usually allowed down there, especially when dad wasn’t home. After rummaging through the place, she came to a disturbing conclusion: her dad didn’t actually have a job. None of the documentation she found said anything about work. The most tangible things were the travel notices and emails shared with coworkers. Yet, even those were mostly nonsense that looked like a thinly veiled attempt to cover up the fact that he didn’t actually DO anything.
Everything Claire believed about her father came into question when she accidentally stumbled upon a switch beneath his desk that opened up a hidden passageway behind the bookshelf. The passage led to a wide open room that wasn’t on the house’s floor plans. The walls were lined with weapons from across time. There were glass cases displaying strange hooded costumes, suits of armor and intricately designed medieval weapons. A massive computer with technology far ahead of its time sat at the far wall. Claire couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was all doing down there. Why did her father have a secret room filled with this stuff? Her attempts to get past the computer’s password failed, so she went about looking through the filing cabinets and drawers. That was when she discovered a leather bound journal hand written by her father. The book was addressed directly to Claire. It explained everything about her father that Claire could have possibly wondered. She learned of the Venari, and Thune’s job as a hunter. She learned of the Hellions and the Draoi that he fought against every time he left on a ‘business trip.’ She even learned of her father’s struggle with having to keep distant from his family in order to protect them from what he was doing. The journal told Claire that her father predicted his own death. It said that she’d one day have to take up the mantle and walk in his stead. The world still needed the Venari. Thune wrote that he planned to leave some kind of hint for Claire, so that she would find this book after he had passed. It seemed Claire had only stumbled upon it now out of dumb luck- or, perhaps, destiny.
The book led her to searching for the other Venari that Thune had worked with. Claire was disturbed to find that all but one of them had died since her father had fallen; all within a few years of one another. She sought out the man named Kletus Rex, eventually finding him in a small mechanic’s shop in Somerset. The old scribe tried to run her off at first. He claimed he had retired, and that the Venari were dead. Claire was wasting her time by trying to dig up what should be remained buried. The girl refused to listen. She demanded answers, and returned there every day for three weeks until eventually the old man cracked. He told her everything he knew about her father and what he had been up to. She learned of his private life in the darkness, of his shadow war against the world’s last remaining monsters. The Venari were dying off in droves, and had been in steady decline for hundreds of years. Claire shared the journal with Kletus. He didn’t seem surprised that Thune had written such a thing; his old partner had spoken at length about rebuilding the Venari and returning them to their glory days. He laughed when Claire said she wanted to become a hunter just like her dad. It was a ridiculous notion.
Only, Miss Quinn never let it drop. She fought tooth and nail to convince the man to train her. Rex broke down once more and decided to go through with it. Using the vast knowledge the master hunter had left behind for his daughter, Kletus began educating the girl. She started her physical training at Invictus Gym. With the help of the gym’s owner, ex Golden Gloves champion Jean Pierre and renowned amateur boxing coach, Claire turned herself into a living weapon. She spent the next four years rigorously studying the Venari’s hunting methods, and rebuilding her body from the ground up for the purposes of combat. Her drive was incredible. Both Kletus and Jean were amazed by the girl’s tenacity. She refused to quit or slow down, always striving to improve herself. She never forgot what motivated her: every time she lay down to sleep, their terror-filled voices reminded her why she went through with the taxing training regime. The self torture changed her from an angry teen to a dedicated young woman. Kletus held a mock trial for apprenticeship that she passed with flying colors. He gave Quinn her first Vis tattoo. It was made with what little ink he had left over from his time as a scribe, gifting her the strength of a Valkyrie.
Her first hunt was more frustrating than dangerous. She had to chase down an invisible Sigbin that was messing with some locals in Los Paraíso. Claire had to track the little bastard back to its nest using nothing but its wretched smell. Killing it was surprisingly easy. Rex had made it sound like killing something was one of the hardest things in the world. Her prey bagged, Claire returned back to Kletus. He applied her second tattoo, gifting her the Sigbin’s invisibility powers. It was then that she decided on the alias Noctis, after the Latin word for night. She thought it was appropriate. She’s been at this whole ‘hunter’ thing for less than a year now. The number of Hellions and Draoi in Crescent City is, as one might expect, very low. Still, Claire’s excited for what lies ahead. Maybe she’ll finally be able to use her newfound skills to track down the thing that killed her family. She would make that monster pay for what it did to them. To her.
▼ M O T I V A T I O N / O B J E C T I V E:
"I won't back down. Not now, not ever!"
Claire is driven by an intense desire to avenge the death of her family. Her rage consumed her whole being, darkening a once bright soul until it was pitch black. The monster that tore her family apart had taken everything from Claire. It had ripped her heart from her chest and crushed it in its disgusting maw, fundamentally changing who she was forever. That little girl had felt so helpless. What sick reality did she live in that a child had to listen to the tormented screams of her mother and baby brother while she cowered, praying that the demonic beast would not find her? For awhile, she felt lost- purposeless. That changed when Claire discovered who her father really was. Equipped with the knowledge of the Venari, the relentless Noctis now seeks to cleanse the world of the Hellions. The darkness will be purged, and the creatures of the night utterly eradicated. Never again should a child have to feel so helpless. Never again.
▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
"Think you can hit me? Try it. I dare you."
//ABILITIES:
◼ Invisibility |By channeling the power of Vis contained within her tattoo of Odin's rune, Noctis is capable of temporarily vanishing from sight. This isn't a form of camouflage but rather true invisibility, removing Claire from the spectrum of light in its entirety. She becomes untraceable through any conventional or natural means, allowing her many unique opportunities to act that otherwise would not be practical or even possible.
◼ Enhanced Physiology |The Gapaldur symbol Claire wears was made with the blood of a Valkyrie. The Norse angel of battle possessed incredible physical attributes that have, in part, been passed down to the Venari huntress. Her strength, speed, endurance and natural durability have all increased three fold. Complimented well by her own physique, the Vis of the Hellion allows Miss Quinn to stand toe to toe with enemies few humans could hope to fight on equal footing.
//SKILLS:
◼ Boxing |A Venari hunter must be prepared for every scenario. In the ideal world, Claire would never have to get into close quarters with anything that has knives for fingers or limbs as large as tree trunks. However, not every hunt ends cleanly. On the off chance that Noctis finds herself trapped in hand to hand with a superior foe, she's come prepared with approximately four years of boxing experience. Her time with Austin Gates at the Invictus Gym has taught the huntress how to throw and how to take a punch.
◼ Acrobatics |A major part of any hunt is the chase. It is absolutely vital that Claire knows how to traverse any environment in order to pursue her foe and vanquish it. To this end, Noctis recently took up a couple of gymnastics classes and begun applying what she's learned in an Urban setting, running across the rooftops and scaling the sides of buildings to hone her craft. She still has plenty to learn. But, in time, the young warrior will be able to move across Crescent City like a master acrobat.
◼ Deadeye |Claire is a natural deadeye when it comes to shooting. Her training with Kletus has helped cultivate this affinity, leading to Noctis being a crack shot with a firearm or her usual crossbow.
//LIMITATIONS:
◼ Conditional Invisibility |Unlike the Sigbin she killed to make the tattoo, Noctis cannot remain in her stealth form for very long at all. It's duration is short, lasting a minute or two at best before requiring a certain span of time dependent on how long she used the power for it to recharge. This means that there are moments where she is visible and, therefore, vulnerable to being spotted. Aside from that, her invisibility does not make her undetectable by the other four senses. She can still be heard, felt, smelled or...tasted.
◼ Peaked |Despite her enhanced physiology, Claire still has limits. She's caped out near the peak of human ability- but can go no further. She's a better athlete than most; however, don't expect her to outrun Usain Bolt or have the strength of a powerlifter. The best of mankind is still able to outclass her in their specialized areas.
◼ Amateur |Notic is one of the only new Venari uplifted in the past decades, and she's quite possibly the last. She lacks a proper teacher, having only an old Scribe and the book left by her father to guide her through her future hunts. Her inexperience could very well be the death of her.
//WEAKNESSES:
◼ Still Human |Noctis is still vulnerable to anything a human is: bullets, fire, knives and a powerful knock to the head can do her in just like anybody else. It might take a little more umph to finish the job.
◼ Easily Manipulated |Claire's conviction is a two edged sword. She's willing to do anything to destroy the monstrosities that terrorize the world. A man with a silver tongue and knowledge of who Claire is would find it an easy task to turn her to his side, provided he promises to somehow advance her mission. Noctis' moral compass isn't well defined yet. She's willing to do things that that be illegal or, in some cases, even cruel, in the name of the hunt- and someone with an agenda could make use of this.
▼ N O T E S:
"Am...am I becoming what I hate?"
//SUPPORTING CAST:
▼ ALLIES
◼ Kletus Rex |A former Venari scribe turned mechanic. He acts as Claire's master and teacher.
◼ Jean Pierre |Once upon a time, Jean was a Golden Gloves boxing champion with a promising career ahead of him. After an injury to his leg, however, he lost his ability to fight in the ring. He figured that he had too many years left in him to retire, so he opened up a boxing club named Invictus Gym. Claire comes to him for boxing lessons. He believes she's a vigilante but doesn't know anything about the Venari or the monsters they hunt.
▼ FRIENDS
◼ Jackson Wallace |One of the fighters at the gym. He has some weird obsession with Claire and refuses to leave her alone, despite her repeated attempts to push him away. At this point Noctis has given up on him ever going away, so she's accepted him as one of her only friends.
◼ Alice Grace |A friend of the family. Claire has been living with her since her family was murdered over ten years ago. Alice is happy to provide for Miss Quinn, though recently she has been urging the girl to get a job and perhaps think about going back to school.
▼ ENEMIES
◼ Him |The man who killed her family is Claire's worst enemy. She can't wait for the day that some lead to who he might be pops up, so that she can extract vengeance for her fallen loved ones. Noctis is obsessed with discovering his identity.
//STOMPING GROUNDS
◼ Invictus Gym |Built over fifteen years ago by retired boxer Jean Pierre, Invictus is a small local boxing club in the Lower East Side of Larissa. The club is frequented mostly by the poor residents of the East Side. It struggles financially due to Pierre's desire to help the local kids stay out of trouble.
◼ Rex's Motor Garage |Rex's Motor Garage is the self owned workplace of Kletus Rex, the former Venari scribe turned mechanic. It's located in Somerset, not far from where Claire's squatting with Grace.
◼ Grace's Apartment|Home to Alice Grace, Claire's childhood friend turned legal guardian. Claire calls the place home whenever she isn't off with Kletus or Jean.
◼ The Room|The Room is what Claire's nicknamed her father's secret armory. She uses it as her base of operations.
//PARAPHERNALIA
◼ Weapons |Noctis' primary weapon of choice is the crossbow her father used to use. The weapon has a lever for quick, easy reloads during high stress situations. It has a draw weight of 150 lbs and is designed to kill big game, making it effective against most enemies Claire will run in to. Her secondary weapons consist of a pair of Glock 19s.
◼ Outfit |When hunting dangerous creatures of the night, it pays to come well prepared. Claire wears a modified version of the Venari uniform her father used to use. It consists of a leather hooded trench coat with armored plating on vital areas, a ballistic vest and cargo pants. She prefers darker clothing to assist her in staying hidden from sight during night time operation. Noctis keeps a quiver on her hip for easy access to bolts when using her crossbow. To conceal her identity, Claire typically wraps a shemagh scarf around the lower half of her face. Her attire, while nothing too special, works well for her.
◼ Equipment |What equipment the Venari huntress chooses to carry with her depends upon the conditions she predicts she'll be hunting in and the monster she's chasing. Rex provides her with any necessary materials necessary for dealing with a specific threat, though she usually carries silver and iron tipped bolts with her due to their usefulness against many different magical threats. Smoke bombs, a flare, medical supplies, a grappling hook, blinding pellets and a taser are also kept on her person during hunts.
◼ Other |Claire has a couple of other items dear to her. The book that her father left behind being one of them. The journal has taught her almost everything she knows about the Venari, and how to hunt. It contains a detailed list of every known Hellion and how to defeat them, among other things that Thune deemed necessary information. It isn't just a book about the Venari, either. It was a love letter from a father to his daughter. Miss Quinn learned more about Thune from that book than she had from the actual man himself. The other item is a sword she found among his equipment. She wasn't sure how to use it and couldn't find anyone so far who could teach her, so it remains back at The Room, gathering dust.
Torrents of heavy rain fell from the sky, drenching the dark streets of Crescent City. It was early enough in the morning that the urban center was devoid of much activity. A month's worth of downpour drove most of the city's citizens indoors. Los Paraíso’s Avenue Rogue was an exception to the rule. Business boomed for the seedier trades that infested Los Paradiso's underbelly. Predictions that the end times were coming upon them stirred up the basest desires in man, dragging out their worst qualities for all to see. It disgusted Claire. She'd seen the worst humanity had to offer in the past month. While neighborhoods were flooding and fear hung over the city like a dark cloud, gangsters were taking advantage of the chaos. They peddled drugs, looted stores and indulged themselves while the police were stretched too thin to do a damn thing about it.
'What am I even doing up here?' The young Venari huntress dejectedly wondered to herself. Water slipped down her weatherproofed outer coat as she crouched atop a roof top overlooking the street below. Claire was freezing cold. The cold wind whipped against her face, prompted Noctis to pull her scarf tighter in a vain attempt to keep somewhat warm. This wasn't the first time she had these kind of thoughts. Claire had been actively searching out Hellion activity for the past year and had only encountered a single Sigbin. The little creature had been criminally easy to beat, once she figured out it was dumber than a box of rocks. There hadn't been any legitimate monster sighting since then. Claire had to wonder if it was all really worth her time. Four years of the most intensive training she had ever undergone for...what? To sit in the rain every night, hoping that something would happen? Claire could be doing something productive. She could be at the gym, or looking for a job, or finishing her college application. But instead of moving her life forward, Miss Quinn thought her time was better served patrolling the city for scary monsters.
'This couldn't be what dad wanted for me.' Claire reasoned. 'His book made it seem like the world was going to fall apart without the Venari. I must be doing something wrong. But what?'
The woman's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an alarm breaking the monotony of the night. She stood up from her crouched position and moved to the other side of the roof, leaning over the edge to hopefully get a look at what was happening. Sure enough, Claire was given a perfect vantage point of the situation unfolding below her. A gang of drunk thugs were throwing rocks through a store's window front. Vandalism quickly turned to theft as they climbed through the windows and started to loot the empty stores. Contempt built up in the huntress's bosom, but she remained where she was. Claire didn't like watching them steal with impunity; however, it wasn't her job to deal with it. She wasn't about to go pick a fight to help protect someone else's stuff. Calling the police was a waste of time. They wouldn't get there until these guys were long gone, and the cops didn't have time to investigate something so trivial when the city was falling to pieces elsewhere. 'Sucks to be them.' Miss Quinn thought with a shrug, preparing to return to her perch.
A loud voice calling out stopped her in her tracks. Gangsters appeared from the various alleyways, converging on the looters. Oddly enough, Claire's contempt boiled even more. The Crew was just there to protect their turf; they didn't give a damn about stopping a crime in progress. Just another reason for Noctis to hate what Crescent City was becoming. 'Maybe all the scum will end up killing each other. Wouldn't that be great?' The huntress casually leaned against the side of the roof, watching the situation devolve to violence. There was a certain morbid entertainment that came with watching scumbags beat the ever loving shit out of each other. The feeling that they deserved it made it...easier to look over the obvious moral quandary that came with enjoying violence. Combat sports had always held a visceral, primal entertainment value. From the gladiator fights of the ancient days to dog fighting and even professional mixed martial arts and boxing, man had a fascination with seeing things bleed. Claire was no different. She hadn't the smallest desire to stop them. 'It's better this way. No innocent people get hurt if these bastards are too busy hurting each other.'
Any sick joy the Venari found in the situation drained when a voice bellowed out that didn't belong. Claire's eyes darted across the battlefield, falling on a short feminine figure clad in...was that a ballistic vest? 'Oh my God.' Claire sighed. 'You have got to be kidding me.' It was one thing to watch a bunch of degenerate punks beating the snot out of one another. It was another thing entirely to watch them wail on some...judging on her size, young woman, who was way in over her head. Unless she was packing a Hype gene, that chick was committing suicide. 'Get out of there you moron. You can't do anything here.' Her internalized begging did nothing to stop the hooded figure from picking up a rock and chucking it at one of the thugs. She scored a direct hit. Congrats! Now you've killed yourself. Nice job.
It only took two hits to knock the girl down. Claire's dismay mounted, but she did not leave the edge of the roof top. 'Not my fight.' She reminded herself. The gangsters had surrounded her, and were starting to kick the wannabe vigilante while she was down. Noctis could practically feel the blows as she stood stark still, watching the beat down unfold in front of her. 'You brought this on yourself.' The Venari could feel her hands shaking. A pressure was building up in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. A powerful feeling of guilt washed over Claire. She was sitting there, watching an innocent person die...and doing nothing about it. Despite the victim's sheer stupidity, it was clear the woman was trying to do the right thing- and Claire's apathy would allow her to die for that. 'What the fuck am I doing?'
Noctis leapt from the roof of the short building before she could give it a second thought. If she remained there and watched this person die, the guilt would devour her whole. She was angry. Furious, even. But not at the lowlifes that hit and kicked and beat the poor girl. No, Claire was angry at herself. She had been willing to sit back and watch that woman and only just brought herself to do something about it. Her feet hit the asphalt with a crashed, knocking up the water that had gathered on the street thanks to the constant rain. Any normal person's legs would've been shattered on impact; Claire was a little wobbly, but her Valkyerian durability made breaking her bones a herculean task. Shadows encroached upon her muscled form, enveloping Noctis in darkness. She vanished from sight in less than a second, turning totally invisible to the human eye. Claire moved around the fight. It was an easy task to stay quiet with all the commotion going on.
Claire circled around to the hooded woman's side. She was...very surprised to find the supposed victim not only back on her feet, but the crowd of gangsters retreating to regroup. 'How the hell are you even alive, much less scaring them off?' She had to shake her confusion off. That was a question that could be asked of the stranger later. For now, there was work to be done. The shadows left Claire's form, allowing the light to once again encompass the huntress. She appeared behind the charging woman out of seemingly thin air. Noctis quickly pulled both of her pistols from the holsters on her hips. She brought them up, aiming them into the crowd of violent scumbags. 'Their lives mean nothing.' Noctis picked her targets, careful to keep a wide berth of the reckless vigilante. She took aim at center mass. Four thunderous bangs erupted, bright flashes lighting up the early morning with each consecutive shot.
Claire had always wondered what it was like to kill a man. She wouldn't have to wonder for much longer.
The resounding of shot drove the rats back into the darkness. Claire held off the temptation to fire into the scattering crowd. Even in her rage, the woman knew that wanton murder wasn't going to make the city any better. Tempering her fury, Noctis lowered her firearms and allowed the human filth retreat. They would live to kill another day, no doubt. 'It doesn't matter.' Claire reminded herself, her ears still ringing from the thundering of her pistols moments earlier. 'They aren't my problem.' She hadn't set out that morning planning to hunt down thugs and criminals. Claire had merely happened upon the scene and decided to intervene to help...whoever this was, out. Where they went after her strike or what they chose to do was of little consequence to her personally. Someone else might have to deal with them, sure; but Noctis had other priorities. The sun wasn't going to rise for a couple of hours, so the young Venari huntress still had a few hours to kill before she got to sleep. That probably meant more wandering the rooftops hoping to come across signs of supernatural activity. Her late night activities for the past eight months had turned the college aged girl into a nocturnal creature. It was a rare sight indeed to see the woman up and about before the clock struck three PM.
Claire lazily turned her mind away from what she was going to do with the rest of her night. There was a body to deal with. It was...strange. She had expected her reaction to ending a life to be so much more visceral. Quinn had imagined her legs growing weak, her heart racing and her stomach threatening to send bile up her throat. Kletus had told her a thousand times how awful it was to kill a man, or something resembling a man. She had been mentally preparing herself to fight off the nightmares that would undoubtedly follow the horrific event. She was supposed to wake up in a cold sweat every night for months, her victim's face plastered behind her eyelids every time she tried to shut them. Guilt was meant to slowly consume her, devouring her naivety and innocence until Claire was nothing but an empty shell of a human being. Death was supposed to hold weight. Yet, Claire found herself staring at the water soaked corpse of the gangbanger and feeling...odd. The smell was revolting, like the man had defecated himself. There was a certain lightness in Claire's chest that she couldn't immediately explain. Her heart was certainly pumping faster.
But Quinn didn't feel some enormous weight for ending the man. He was a murderous bastard that had tried to beat a girl about Claire's age near to death. He didn't deserve any of Claire's pity. The burden she'd expected never came. His face was forgettable. The cries of pain he and the others she had shot had fallen on mostly deaf ears. It took a long moment for Claire to realize how she felt about the whole thing. It only hit her once she noticed the upward bent of her lips. The gesture was subconscious and very slight. She was smiling. Claire was staring at the body of a dead thug she had shot and she was smiling. It wasn't a grin from ear to ear, nor was it burdened by any regret or bitterness. Her heart wasn't pumping from fear; Claire was excited, thrilled even, by the adrenaline that came with the kill. 'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
It was only after her introspection lasted a moment or two too long that Claire noticed the vigilante was staring at her. She'd gotten so caught up in the moment, Noctis had forgotten that not everyone had scattered into the night after she arrived. It was difficult to determine anything about the woman. Her attire did well to hide her identity. The only things Claire could truly make out were her short stature and gender. The stranger was likely a Hyperhuman, too, based upon her miraculous survival through the fight with only minor wounds. She was able to fight off multiple grown men with what looked like sheer strength and little finesse or martial skill. It was dumb luck, a Hype gene or some kind of supernatural ability that allowed someone of her size to do what she had done.
Then the girl opened her mouth. The words that left her mouth confused Claire. She didn't sound grateful, like Noctis had been expecting. She didn't give some kind of corny joke like one of those comic book heroes. The super strong fighter sounded utterly terrified. Fear laced her question like a poison, sinking into her every syllable. It caught Claire off guard. "What?" It was a dumb response, considering she had heard loud and clear. This person had thrown herself into a crowd of angry gangbangers and gotten her ass thoroughly beat for it. She would be dead without Claire's intervention- or, at least, still stuck fighting a dozen opponents twice her size. Claire furrowed her brow at the 'how could you' bit. It actually made her kind of angry. This idiot was actually trying to talk down at Noctis for saving her life. "Why? Why not?" Disbelief mixed with irritation in Claire's response. She took a step closer to the vigilante, sliding her guns back into their holsters to avoid looking like a threat.
"Those guys were going to kill you if I didn't do something. You're welcome, by the way. What are you even doing picking fights with these guys? What, do you think you're some kind of fuckin' superhero?"
Go Home, Hero [BlackSam3091] - ADD AN @ SIGN YOU DUNCE
The strength with which the wannabe superheroine yelled caught Claire off guard. She had expected the vigilante to back down. There was a deep, powerful rage teeming up inside of this odd stranger. It surprised Noctis just how much the woman seemed to care about a couple of worthless scumbags. 'Why the hell does she care so damn much?' The perplexed huntress thought to herself, unable to grasp how someone could take heed of such...dogs. That's all that they were to miss Quinn. Nothing but a pack of wild mutts trying to tear each other apart to get at the last scrapes of food left. They were a sad, pathetic lot. But not worth Claire's pity. The city's gangs were too dangerous to show mercy to. If she had half a mind to actually do something about the parasites that infested Crescent City, like the sad idealist in front of her did, Claire wouldn't hesitate to kill them. The prisons were already stuffed full of thugs that would eventually be let out, only to murder, rape or steal again. A single bullet to the head was cheap, effective and irreversible. The evils of the world were better eradicated than simply pruned and then allowed to fester and regrow. That was how the Venari had taught her to see the world. Death was the most effective means of protecting the lives that mattered.
But none of that was Claire's job. She wasn't a vigilante. She didn't work for the city's incompetent police force. Claire was a hunter in the Order of the Venari, and one of the last defenders against the encroaching darkness. She couldn't waste her time dealing with petty criminals. 'Even if I haven't seen a damn thing for months.' Noctis grumbled internally. Hellions and Draoi posed a far greater danger to the world as a whole than any mobster or street thug ever could. If even a single one slipped past the Venari's guard, everything could be compromised. One crazed magician showing himself to the world at large had the potential to destroy everything they had worked so hard to protect. Every single mage, monster and 'At least, that's what Kletus says.'
Claire started to prepare her responses to everything the other woman was saying. She waited, listening to every misguided point the vigilante brought against the Venari huntress. Her worldview was laughably idealized and her moralistic crusading didn't belong in the real world. That line of thinking is what got good people killed. The scum of the earth didn't deserve protecting from one another; they should be left to fight, so that there's less of them left to attack innocents when the dust clears. Mutual destruction of both gangs would have improved life for that neighborhood drastically. Now that this moron had let them go, they would return to plague the good people of Los Paradiso again. She didn't need Noctis's help? 'Ha!' Before Claire jumped in, the vigilante had only just got up from a horrible beating. She was surrounded, out numbered and unarmed. No amount of endurance, strength or tenacity would overcome the sheer number disadvantage. Claire had saved her life; she was sure of it.
“You’re a monster!”
"H-huh?" Claire blinked. The indignation the Venari had felt faltered. 'She really thinks I'm...a monster?' Noctis's angry, furrowed visage splintered into confusion. She was so sure her actions had benefited this vigilante, and society as a whole. One less gangbanger and a still living hero was a net gain for them, right? Yet Claire couldn't shake how that simple, singular word had effected her resolve. "No I'm not." She responded with a frown, glancing over at the corpse of the dead man. "He is. I...I kill the monsters." Her voice was more reserved now, her tone lacking the edge it had possessed when they first began to argue. Was it possible that Noctis was wrong? That she was the one with the twisted view of how the world worked, and not this person she'd just met? The stranger spoke with conviction. She really believed what she said. It was enough to make the Venari question herself. It made her look into her heart, glancing at the darkness that touched her soul.
The words of her mentors came rushing in like a tsunami, drowning out those thoughts. Her introspection drowned in a sea of stubbornness, bringing back Noctis's earlier sneer. "You don't get it." The young woman growled. "This isn't any place for someone like you. The world is dark, it is cruel and the only way to fight it is with everything you have. You're just going to get yourself killed if you try this shit again, okay? So...Go home, hero. Take off that stupid outfit and go home before you die. There are better ways to help than trying to shove your stupid morals into a fight. Go home."
With those words said, Noctis pulled her scarf up higher on her face and started off at a walk toward a nearby alleyway. She didn't want to confront that idiot any longer. There was more of the city left for her to patrol.
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // The City of Thorinn TIME // Afternoon
Graves Bludd moved at the vanguard of the raid party, his massive frame providing a shield for the weaker members of their group to take cover behind if anything went wrong during the trek over. He felt the weight of his gargantuan halberd. It was perfectly balanced, with the center of balance at the head of the polearm. The weapon's cumbersome nature was oddly comforting to the brazen warrior. He'd always been of the opinion that the heavier the weapon, the stronger the fighter. He scoffed at people like Ebon, who thought a tiny toothpick of a sword was a worthy tool for a warrior of any real merit. His halberd could lob a monster's limb off in one clean swing. It made Andrew feel...powerful. In control of any situation, so long as he had his 'pike' in his gauntleted fists. He held the weapon at chest level, hands at an even spread on the shaft. This was his default stance. It allowed him a degree of versatility in any situation, as well as the ability to quickly swap to another stance if necessary.
The Blood Knight marched ever forward at a reasonable pace, keeping his eyes peeled for any would be ambushers. The short girl and the warrior were of the same mind: it was too quiet. Every dungeon Graves had raided possessed some form of outward defenses that needed to be pushed through. A small skirmishing force, meant to keep wandering players from easily approaching the heart of the dungeon. It made Bludd restless. His axe head demanded blood be spilled soon. The less time he spent fighting was more time spent walking with the ragtag party in relative silence. He wasn't wholly against quiet. In fact, Graves was usually mute during any activity that involved more than two people. He had vowed to keep distant from others. Relationships had never done anything for Andrew except leave him hurt and betrayed; it was better for Graves to be alone. If only I could play this stupid game alone. He grumbled to himself. He loved the contents of Pariah and other MMOs. The fantastical adventures, the visceral combat, and the compelling nature of a player driven narrative drew him in. Singleplayer RPGs never sated his desires like a good MMO did. The only drawback was that the game necessitated he work with others, which meant getting close to people.
Ew.
Graves was glad he'd found Elian. Unlike most people that formed parties, the irreverent dancer kept Bludd at arms length- so far, anyway. Her banter was actually enjoyable to engage in. He never had to worrk about any of that touchy feely bullshit. The Blood Knight hoped his working relationship with her remained just that: work. They only went to one another when a dungeon was too difficult to do with moronic pubbies, or there was a raid that required large parties. She provided most of the teammates, all of whom tended to be new faces, and Graves provided his overwhelming badassery. A win-win, in his mind.
One of the other party members spoke aloud what the tank had been wondering earlier. He looked over toward the smaller frame of Rael, raising a questioning brow in her direction. "No kidding." Graves returned. She was correct, things had been far too quiet so far. He could only assume something was up. "Could be they're scared shitless of us." He joked. "Or it could be a trap." The large man grew serious, turning around to address the entire party. "Hey, fuckheads!" He crassly called to get everyone's attention. "Tighten up! Tanks on the outside, squishies on the inside. Don't leave our flanks exposed, unless you like it up the ass by surprise. Got it?" Bludd turned back around, moving forward once again. "Amateurs." He muttered just loud enough for the smaller tank to hear. "They're gonna get us wiped. I'm betting on it."
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // Outskirts of the Dungeon TIME // Afternoon
Graves T. Bludd had never been lauded for being of good report. He had a reputation among anyone that had run into him for being crude, crass and volatile. The man had made more than one sexually charged joke in his time playing Pariah. He found it humorous to watch other people squirm, and it tended to be an effective means of making people with good intentions avoid him- after all, who'd want to spend time with a creep? His strategy of making himself as rude and unapproachable as humanly possible worked with most players. Graves's attitude was widely considered as toxic beyond repair. Only a select few tolerated his bullshit behavior, and the number of people whom did it in any way Bludd appreciated was even smaller. Elian was a good example of running with how he acted in the right manner. She carried on just long enough for the interaction to not grow tiresome, and the dancer rarely moved into territories Andrew was uncomfortable with. However, it was quite easy to play around with Graves incorrectly. He turned on people quickly, having no qualms showing hostility toward someone for one misinterpreted joke or side comment. The Blood Knight's explosive anger was a defining trait that he had little control over.
Mirage's innocent enough jest hit all of his buttons just in the wrong way. She suggested that the two of them had some kind of deeper connection in the past as lovers. That was her first mistake. It went against every barrier he had ever tried to put up. In a handful of words, the ranger had managed to bring his whole persona under questioning by everyone else- he'd have to do something drastic to reset the scales. He couldn't have people thinking there was any truth to that statement. Her second, more grievous mistake was painting him as inadequate. Andrew Gray's self esteem had always been fragile. He tended to keep it protected through a false devil-may-care attitude. After all, if he pretended to be cool and strong and brave for long enough, everyone else might start to see him as those things. To have his ego put under the microscope by a total stranger made the warrior's skin crawl. Compound both of these together with the normal pre-dungeon stress that weighed on the tank, Mirage had unknowingly created the perfect storm for pissing the tall man the hell off.
The Blood Knight slowed to a halt. He closed his eyes, taking a handful of deep breaths in an attempt to keep his anger under control. The halberd found itself stabbed deep into the soft earth, top half first. He started to remove his steel gauntlets, tossing the metal vambraces to the ground alongside his large weapon. Look pissed off. He mentally prepared himself. He had to play up how easily enraged he was. Andrew, while a hot head by nature, was not nearly as explosive as Graves showed himself to be. Everything was apart of a clever, almost subconscious attempt to be someone he was not. In a way, Andrew was playing a character. He didn't think of it as Roleplaying, but it was quite clear in his mind that Graves and Andrew were two different personas he swapped between whenever he played Pariah. It was funny. He could be himself in real life because he never had to drive unwanted attention away. Nobody in his bumfuck, backwards town cared about him. Even his parents were distant. He'd never say it, but...honestly? He liked having to fight off people's attention. In some twisted way, Andrew didn't actually want to be alone.
The huge crimson fighter turned around to face the group at large. His intense gaze locked onto the woman's. One could tell a lot about someone by looking into their eyes. And looking into Graves' eyes was like staring into the sun. They burned with an intense passion, fueled by unquenchable anger, as they directed themselves toward her own gaze. He stepped forward, his face contorting with indignation. "Liar!" The fury in the tank's voice was unmistakably. It thundered, loud and deep, directly from his very soul. "I don't even know you, you little fucking whore!" Graves reeled his arm back in the most telegraphed punch ever thrown. Anyone with even an ounce of combat experience could have seen it coming and reacted accordingly. It was an impossibly sluggish movement. Even as he rocketed his fist forward, one might swear they could see it aimed past his target's head. His footwork was all wrong, too. There wasn't any twist of momentum in the blow, so it lacked a significant amount of force behind it. It was all a finely crafted act. The anger, the incompetence, all of it- an attempt to show everyone that he was an asshole and a monster that no one in their right mind would want to associate with.
Andrew is a lanky Caucasian male with light blue eyes and a stupid sideways grin. He’s almost always the tallest guy in the room, standing at six feet and four inches tall. It’s only natural his avatar be of the same verticality. Graves is a tank, so of course he’s built like a linebacker, whereas his creator is skinny enough that most his of real life friends know him as ‘Twig.’ The dichotomy was initially a little difficult to adjust to, but eventually his mind was able to comprehend having two separate body types. Both Gray and his character have long nearly silver hair that they tend to keep up in a ponytail. Keeping with the theme of ‘blood,’ Graves tends to favor crimsons, blacks and silvers. His armor is admittedly more for looks than practicality. It covers his shoulders, back, arms, legs and sides- but lacks a breastplate in any capacity. This is the case for two reason: One being that he wants his enemies to think he’s vulnerable there, and give the courage to get in range of his pike. Two being showing off his sick abs.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Graves has been called any number of things for his less than stellar behavior: jerk, asshole, dick, bastard and jackass all being common substitutes for his name. He isn’t particularly malicious. He doesn’t wake up in the morning, wondering who he can screw over today. But Graves is selfish to his core. He cares only about himself. Every action he takes is to get ahead, others be damned. He’s abrasive, standoffish and horribly arrogant. His crude sense of humor tends to be bent toward insulting others and joking at their expense. He very smugly thinks he’s the greatest person ever, and that anyone who doesn’t see that is a moron. It’s easy to see why he doesn’t have many friends; mostly because he takes advantage of people, treats them badly and then dumps them off before they can get too close. Once upon a time, however, he was different. Graves used to be pleasant enough. He had a small but dedicated circle of friends that he would drop everything for. He was generally joyful and kind, and there was a lot less edge to his humor. Was Bludd perfect? No. But back then, in great contrast to the present, Graves wouldn’t hesitate to help someone else- even if he didn’t get much out of it. It’s speculated that Andrew is putting up a front; that he’s building up a toxic and unlikable character to push others away, to avoid getting burned again.
When Andrew can’t hide before a pike and a fake face, he’s a lot quieter. He hides his emotions from his coworkers and peers, keeping some of the choice words he might have to himself. He avoids conflict whenever possible, to such a degree that he’s willing to bend to views he doesn’t agree with just to avoid a confrontation. Gray is weak. He knows he’s weak. That’s why, when he plays Pariah, he likes to pretend he’s strong- it’s an escape from his sucky ass life and sucky ass 'friends'. He wishes he was tougher, but never makes any strives to actually become more confident and assertive. In game, he's pursuing that power fantasy- he hunts down the toughest of the tough and trains himself until he's strong enough to beat them. Then he moves on to the guy stronger than the last, repeating the process until, one day, he stands above everyone. He isn't anywhere near completing his goal. But, hey, he has nothing but a shitty part time job to do outside of play Pariah- he has plenty of time to dedicate to the game.
B A C K G R O U N D
Andrew was born in a little town in Ohio to two loving parents and eight siblings. He was unlucky enough to be one of the middle children, so it was no surprise when he was overshadowed by the rest of his family. He found that the best way to get any attention from them was to act out- so he was a bit of a devil when he was younger. He eventually grew out of it and accepted the fact that he was meant to be ignored and merely tolerated as a background figure. His town was small, and his high school even smaller- which meant finding friends and penetrating the normal clichés was quite difficult for someone that had gotten used to quietly observing. Gray wasn’t exactly an introvert. He could be loud, excitable and social- but he just…never got the chance to. He didn’t have many friends at all. That is, until he had scrounged up enough cash for his first MMO. He used his low grade laptop to play the game at its lowest settings; it was choppy, constantly lagged and rather ugly…but he loved it. He loved everything about the game. Gray retreated from his garbage normal life into the world of a generic role playing game. He ignored his tanking grades, few acquaintances and boisterous family to play for hours on end. He started off grinding on his own, as most do. But he chanced upon a party of likeminded individuals that needed a secondary tank. Andrew melded seamlessly into their company. They were all chill, cool guys and gals that were always willing to help Andrew learn the game. They continued to play together for months, the size of the group ever expanding as they built up a sizable guild of their own. Andrew became near addicted to raiding. Fighting bosses was the most visceral and exciting experience he’d ever had in a game. Eventually Andrew was (somehow) able to graduate high school and purchase a real computer. All was well for him. His family only occasionally harassed him for being a bum. He had a steady job at a backwater gas station, making minimum wage for very little work. He had made a decent circle of friends for himself within the guild. Life was simple; it was good.
But nothing ever stays good for very long. Rumors began to arise within the lower ranks of the guild that Gray’s circles of friends, the founders of their company, were cheating. Accusations ranged from merely using gold farming bots all the way to increasing their characters’ stats to impossible levels. Gray defended his friends religiously. There was no possible way they’d do something like that. His aggressive resistance to their false claims earned him a fairly bad reputation in a short time. The rumors continued to spread, to the point where other guilds were putting in tickets to the server admin to have their guild investigated. With the moderators getting involved, Grays’ friends found themselves backed into a corner- they had been breaking the rules, and would soon suffer the wrath of the ban hammer. A meeting was held, and a rash decision was made. They would find a single member to put the blame on, plant evidence that they were responsible, and then report them to the administrators. Andrew was chosen. It wasn’t out of personal distaste for the guy; most everyone liked him well enough. But he had already tarnished his own reputation among the lower guild members and lacked many close friends who could help him fight the claim. The next day, Gray logged on to a single message: he had been permanently banned from playing the game. Of course Andrew sent in a support ticket. He tried to fight the claim. However, he found no success- and was eventually forced to abandon his first and favorite MMO. He had been devastated. Things only got worse when someone leaked a log of the meeting to him where his so called ‘friends’ had decided to use him as the scapegoat for their actions. He brought the logs to the mods that had banned him; nothing came of it. He wasn’t trusted, and they had tossed his evidence aside as fake.
A T T R I B U T E S
R O L E
Tank
A F F I L A T I O N
Sikth
P R O F E S S I O N
Bounty Hunting: A video game is all about killing things for Andrew. It's what he enjoys most about Pariah. So what better profession than one that let's him kill things? Bounty Hunting covers a wide array of different targets over the entire game world. He's given a list of hunts to choose from that can range from simply kill twenty of X monster, to beat X raid boss in less than forty five minutes, to even going after other players. It's a profession that doesn't ever get boring or tedious and allows Gray to indulge his murderous tendencies on virtual mobs. Certain epic jobs are available for all hunters and can only be completed a certain number of times; making the bounty hunting profession extremely competitive for those looking to make the most from their job.
W E A P O N O F C H O I C E
Graves currently wields an oversized halberd he refers to as a pike, despite being corrected multiple times; Graves is not wrong, everyone else is. It's nearly as large as he is, and is designed to allow him to land as many hits on as many enemies as possible from various ranges.
B E N C H M A R K S
Tough Skin- Graves is naturally more durable than other non-tank characters. He doesn't wear particularly heavy armor; however, his naturally high health pool allows him to take incredible amounts of damage for a character with relatively low defense gear. The trade of for this is he's weighs a hell of a lot more than other classes, and is thus slower and can be kited by ranged or agile enemies. He gained this trait through hundreds of hours of getting the shit kicked out of him without armor on, which has led to increased durability without the need for heavy armors.
Potion Addict- Graves has been relying on potions for his tanking abilities since he started playing Pariah. After chugging down countless elixirs, his physiology has an easier time adapting to the ingested liquids. Potions last longer and are more potent on Graves than others. A small side effect being that Bludd can’t function very well without them in his system. He usually carries potions for lifesteal, iron skin and healing- to make him even harder to kill.
Blood In The Water- Much like a shark, Graves gets a sort of sixth 'sense' whenever a target is bleeding. It allows him to track them within twenty five meters (doubles if he was the one that made them bleed); it's less like echo location and more like a compass that points him in their general direction. It won't reveal the exact position of a hiding enemy, nor does it tell Graves if they are above or below him- simply where they would be on a two dimensional field. Dozens of hours of trying to hunt down that last monster for his bounty hunting quest has made the tank a decent enough tracker.
Enhanced Strength- The weapons and armor used by a tank are heavy. Graves is required to have above average physical strength if he wants to use them effectively. This also means he's able to carry more (when not impeded by his regular gear) and hits slightly harder with unarmed attacks.
Executioner- Graves tends to fight harder when his enemy his on the back foot. He pushes his advantage and attempts to go for killing blows as often as possible. A slew of decapitated and mutilated foes behind him, Graves has learned how to more effectively hurt enemies that are already wounded. Enemies very close to death's door take more damage from Graves' attacks, although he also heals less off of them and takes more damage from them- so he has to be careful with certain monster types or enemies with 'deathrattles.'
Monster Bestiary- Graves has studied the average field and dungeons mobs extensively. He has a fairly good grasp on what most common enemies are capable of, what their weaknesses are, ect. More rare beasts, especially those he isn't high enough level to be fighting anyway, wouldn't apply.
Boss Bestiary- Bludd is a raider at heart. He loves MMOs for the massive, titanic battles between huge parties and giant bosses. It's his favorite part of Pariah. Thus, he's invested quite a bit of time into learning some of the boss enemies in the game. The tougher, higher end leviathans that require teamwork, determination and raw power to defeat. Knowledge is power in these sort of encounters, and Bludd has made sure he knows about the general workings of the bosses he's likely to face.
Meditative Healing- Since Graves' combat stance is entirely based on healing, he figured he could use an out of combat healing ability too. Essentially, Graves can sit down and focus his magic on repairing his wounds. How long it takes depends on the severity of his injuries. The stance is extremely taxing, takes awhile to start and takes forever to finish if he's hurt- and it can't heal things like broken bones or eviscerated organs. He'll need a real healer for that.
Metalworking- Required field to get to Weapons' Repair. He uses this as a source of income, creating very basic items and selling them either on the market or to NPCs. He would much rather get money from killing mobs all day and pawning off legendary raid items, but sadly working the marketplace is the only real way to get a stable source of income.
Weapons' Repair- Graves likes his Pike. It's his favorite weapon. He isn't very good with much else, and doesn't have a backup for when it breaks. So, instead of constantly paying vendors and other players to fix it for him, he decided to spec into Weapons' Repair and do the damn thing himself.
R O U G H V I R T U A L H I S T O R Y
Andrew came by Pariah through rather interesting circumstances. He was scrolling through online forums, looking for something to replace his beloved original MMO when he came across an advertisement for Pariah. The game looked absolutely phenomenal; and Gray had always been fascinated by the idea of VR. He had only gotten to play with a system like that once or twice, but he loved every nanosecond of the experience. He couldn't afford it, however. Not on a minimum wage job. That is until he caught wind of a giveaway being done by a local game store. The place had just gotten a shipment of VR headsets and wanted to attract buyers; so they held a raffle contest. Five people would walk away with a copy of Pariah and one of the headsets. Andrew knew he had no chance of winning, but he decided to enter anyway; there was a small fee, but...what the hell. Why not give it a try? Imagine his surprise when he gets an email from the company, informing him that he had won. Gray rushed over to the store the moment he finished reading it and picked up his package. Thus began his journey in Pariah.
Graves is not a name known by many, simply because he keeps to himself for the most part. He has a rapidly growing reputation, however, among the more attentive members of the bounty hunting community. The profession is used by a large chunk of the player base; however, the few hundred or so individuals that claims to be 'professional bounty hunters' are a highly competitive and inclusive group. So when some no name young blood starts snatching up important contracts and taking down a high level bosses and esteemed players, the smarter heads start to turn. He's an above average raider that joins public groups, dominates his enemies and takes what he needs before disappearing again.
Andrew is above average at best. He's no professional, and lacks the experience or gear to take on the really big names. Yet. He's dedicated himself to becoming the absolute strongest hunter in the name; and he's going to do it by almost any means necessary. The only thing he's wary of is teaming up with other players. He's partied up a handful of times, but never long enough to get attached- he knows where that particular road leads. However, there are some obstacles which cannot be overcome alone. Some enemies cannot be defeated through sheer force of will and hours of scrolling through guides and wikis online. On occasion, Bludd has to team up with others- usually to do bosses or gank unsuspecting targets that he can't beat alone. His temporary help always gets a 'piece of the pie' so to speak; he makes sure they get something out of the effort, even if he's an asshole to them while doing so.
Bludd received his primary weapon a few months ago in one of the hardest grind sessions of his life; it's priceless to him, and it fits his playstyle perfectly. The pike isn’t exactly anything special, but it’s Graves weapon of choice no matter the circumstance. He uses it consistently, and has yet to hear of any item that he'd rather have over it. He and that dumb ol' pike have been through a lot together. Why give it up for something unfamiliar? His current weapon is reliable. And if Gray needs anything, it's a little bit of reliability in his life.
Larrisa, Crescent City | Afternoon He Who Fights Monsters [Lord Wraith] - ADD AN @ SIGN YOU DUNCE
Claire Quinn stood among the crowd outside of the alleyway. Rain washed over her dark jacket, pooling beneath her feet as she stood atop her tip toes to get a better look at what was going on. The young woman had only recently caught wind of the spree of killings that had been happening in Larrisa. The media believed it to be a serial killer of some sort, but once reports of how mauled the victims were reached the Venari huntress she knew that no human could have been responsible. She wasn't sure what was responsible for the attacks; pictures weren't available to the public, leaving her and her scholar, Kletus, in the dark on the matter. He'd suggested she come out to the site of this particular murder to get a good look at it herself so they could determine what kind of Hellion they were up against. Now that the girl was here, however, she wasn't able to do that. The police had arrived first and made sure no one could get anywhere near the body. Claire manuevered her way through the crowd, pushing anyway that didn't budge as she stepped up to the front of the group. From there, Quinn could only see a portion of the corpse's leg and little more. Damn it. Noctis wasn't going to be able to determine a damn thing from where she was standing. I need to get at the body. But how?
It was then that the Venari huntress noticed another man just as eager as her to get a better look. Her first assumption was that the man was either a necrophiliac or a psycho. However, as his conversation with one of the beat cops continued, Quinn was able to guess that he used to be on the Force. Probably Forensics. It was a mostly baseless assumption, but a normal beat cop wouldn't be so eager to get a look at a dead man. The stranger was an anomaly that would've only briefly held the Venari's interest if it weren't for what he did once the cop told him to beat it. The civilian Richards had identified as Sheridan used the flash on his camera to blind the officer, and then used the brief opening to toss a small drone behind him. It was quite resourceful of him. Quinn found herself impressed with the clever little move. She pushed through the crowd once more, slinking in behind the man and glancing over his shoulder at the phone he was using to control the drone. Claire was able to make out a rather huge bite mark in the victim's throat, like a rapid dog had tried to rip it open. It was a gruesome sight to be sure, but it helped narrow down what could have caused the attack. She wanted to know more, however.
"Hey, buddy." Claire tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "I could use your help." Claire didn't know a damn thing about forensics. If she did get at the corpse herself, she wouldn't know what to do with it. However, this guy seemed like he might be at least a little bit useful in that regard. "I'm gonna get us a closer look at the body. Just stay here, kay?" The blonde smiled.
Quinn took a moment to take in her surroundings. The alleyway wasn't very large and there was little room to maneuver. With the crowd at her back, the officers wouldn't dare try to shoot her. There were four beat cops in total, with Richards being the closest. Two more Forensics cops were bent over the body. I can handle this. She thought confidently.
The short young woman lifted up the yellow crime scene tap, bending down a little to get underneath it. Claire wasted little time, stepping right up to Officer Richards and throwing a clean punch directly at his nose. The blow held far more power than a girl her size should have been able to deliver. Quinn took a quick step forward, moving one hand to pull the officer's gun from it's hostler while using the other to shove him to the ground, kicking his feet out from under him for good measure. Claire let the magazine slip out of the pistol before tossing it with surprising accuracy toward the closest beat cop's temple. The officer stumbled from the blow, but did not fall. He pulled out his own gun, anger clear on his expression. "Freeze-" He started. The huntress then vanished from sight, catching the men off guard. "Hyperhuman!" Someone shouted from the crowd. She moved quickly through the shadows, appearing directly in front of the third officer. Claire opened up on him without pause. She threw a left handed blow at his diaphragm, and then a right blow into his ribcage, aiming for the liver before finishing up with a headbutt directly to his nose.
Without skipping a beat, the girl disappeared once more. She crossed to the final officer, a bullet impacting against the wall behind her as the officer discharged his firearm. Shit, that was close. Claire thought as she swept his legs out from underneath him just as she reappeared. Claire dropped to the ground atop him, raining down a series of bone rattling blows to the skull until she was confident the man was unconscious. With that handled, she pulled his firearm out of it's holster.
Claire stood up, brushing off her jacket. She turned toward the crowd, lifting the gun into the air and firing off a couple of shots to drive everyone else away. "Get over here and take a look!" She shouted at Sheridan. "Won't have long until more cops get here, so be quick about it. I'm Claire, by the way." The young woman was incredibly casual about the whole thing, even if she was horribly out of breath now.
“Your constant state of failure is testing my patience.”
O V E R V I E W
N A M E
Clovis Heinrich
A G E
19
G E N D E R
Male
A P P E A R A N C E
Height: 6'1 ft Weight: 162 lbs Extremely fit, welterweight build
B I O G R A P H Y
words go here
A T T R I B U T E S
V E S S E L
Clovis's vessel usually takes the form of a simple silver wristwatch. When activated, the watch turns into a finely crafted rapier. The ornately designed silver blade has a razor sharp tip and edges. The hilt is shaped like a 'cup,' offering full protection of the user's hand. The thin blade has it's name, Remilon, printed across the guard in beautiful calligraphy.
A B I L I T I E S
Clovis Heinrich's abilities aren't incredibly flashy or grandiose. Using his vessel, Remilon, the bladesman is able to
E Q U I P M E N T
Light armor, a short dagger
O T H E R
Heinrich obsessively checks his watch whenever he's nervous or anxious.
Larrisa, Crescent City | Afternoon Please? [Lord Wraith] - ADD AN @ SIGN YOU DUNCE
Archie's attempt to reach out his hand went wholly unnoticed by the woman. Her eyes were locked on the corpse, a grim fascination bubbling behind them. Whatever had attacked this man was truly bestial. Claire tilted her head to the side, watching with a strange fascination as the stranger started his examination. She wasn't able to make much of it herself, except for the obvious fact that the body had a massive gash in it's throat. The fact that someone like Archie, an apparent expert at this sort of thing, had been around was a stroke of good luck for Noctis. If the odd man hadn't been there, the Venari wouldn't have known that the victim's body had been drained of it's blood. 'Narrows things down a bit.' Claire went through the list of monsters known for sucking blood out of their prey. It wasn't a long one, and the number of beasts like that native to North America was even shorter. 'I'm betting on a Chupacabra or Vampire.' Her initial assessment, while accurate to the blood being drained out, didn't fit with the way the blood was obtained. A Vampire's bite was typically far more precise than the grizzly mauling this man had received. Chupacabras almost never attacked people, typically getting their blood from pets or farm animals. Either the young Venari huntress hadn't heard of this particular monster species, or...
Or it really is a serial killer and I'm wasting my time.
The forensics scientist she had recently recruited began to empty out his satchel, drawing Claire out from her thoughts, curious what he was up to. He didn't go for any of the tools, but rather an ancient looking book. "What is..." She muttered, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at the leather bound tome. The moment Archie opened it and started to flip through the pages, the Venari recognized the invaluable item he held in his grasp. A bestiary! This random loser actually had a real Venari bestiary in his possession. Quinn's first instinct was to try and take it from him. After all, she was the Venari here; he couldn't know how important the book he held really was. Noctis stayed her hand for the moment when he stopped flipping through the pages. The illustration of the disgusting, long tongued beast was the only thing Claire could understand. All of the descriptions were written in languages she didn't know. Hell, Noctis's didn't even know the two tongues were Korean and French until Archie pointed it out.
From what her translator could make out, the beast drained the blood of it's targets with it's tongue after tearing open the victim's throat. That fit the crime scene in front of them to a tee. The rest of Archie's speech was lost on the huntress. She was too busy looking at the book over his shoulder, desperately trying to figure out what it said on her own. Claire Quinn was a Venari by blood. She should be able to figure shit like this out on her own, without the help of some...mundane man that couldn't even hold down a job working for Crescent City's police department, without a doubt the most incompetent department in North America. Claire despised having to rely on anyone but herself. Other people would only ever get in the way. However...
I can't read any of this shit.
Kletus, her scribe and the only other Venari she knew, wouldn't be any help. His own bestiary was incomplete at best, and hadn't been updated in decades- the mechanic hadn't thought he'd need it anymore after the Order broke down years ago. A real, completed tome like the one Archie had would make hunting monsters so much easier. Claire might actually be able to prepare to fight these things whenever they popped up. Even if Claire simply took it from him, neither her or her master could understand the many different languages it was written in. They might be able to use the internet and other sources to translate it all into English, but Claire was far from a linguist and Kletus was a God damn mechanic. Trying to work through a full, hundreds of pages long Bestiary would take forever- and they were both incredibly busy already. Claire had no other option other than to play ball with this...guy.
"Oh, I more than believe." Claire wore a smile she didn't mean. "I deal with this kind of thing all the time. If you've got that book, you've probably heard of the Venari, right?" She stood back up to her full but none too impressive height. "I'm a monster hunter, in other words. I kill the freaks that do stuff like this. I'm pretty new at it, and I don't know much, so..." Claire hated to do it, but she needed to guarantee this guy would help her. She could knock him out and take the book if he refused. "How would you like to join me in hunting down the thing that did this? I figure we...can help each other." Noctis took a step closer to the scientist. "Please?" She tilted her head a little and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes in a way that made her want to puke. 'Come on you awkward little nerd.' Noctis thought to herself. 'Take the bait so I don't have to hurt you too.'
Andrew // Graves LOCALE // Outskirts of the Dungeon TIME // Afternoon
The people that played MMOs were so predictable. Without fail, Graves could anticipate how certain players would react to his actions. Landon stepping in to protect Mirage was so cliche. He wanted to be her knight in shining armor, like every other pathetic little nerd like him. People like him made the blood knight sick. Fawning over every attractive woman they came across, practically throwing themselves to the ground just to get a chance to lick her boots. Everyone sided with Mirage. What a fucking surprise, the party picked the girl who started it. 'Could it be any easier for her to play you all like God damn fiddles?'
Landon went down to the punch. Even if it was painfully telegraphed and he hadn't thrown his weight behind it, the tank couldn't say it was unexpected. Squishes in Pariah all had glass jaws. Mirage called the tank's name, prompting him to grunt in response. 'She coulda dodged it. You didn't need to take the hit, moron.' He wasn't down for long, though, to give the moron a little credit. He was up on his feet and talking a million miles a minute, like an auctioneer on speed. The man had hit himself with some kind of defensive buff. Bludd hadn't expected that one; it was a strange as hell time to show off what he could do, but the way he delivered the magic via crossbow bolts was something Graves hadn't seen before. Elian berated the man for showing off, drawing some modicum of attention away from Graves' own admittedly harsh actions.
Hawkwood had tried to step in just as Landon did, but was more of a coward than Landon and ended up letting him take the punch. He was perhaps the most stereotypical example of a basement dweller playing at being a real knight in their party. He had the armor, the demeanor, the whole chivalry shtick with trying to help Mirage. The only way he could've made it worse was by throwing thees and thous into his speech. The only thing he did that was at least half decent was by addressing the woman's crass mocking instead of the blood knight's reaction to it. His attempt at humor left much to be desired. 'He sounds like a fuckin' old man trying to get 'hip with the kids.'
None of their actions pissed Graves off more than what followed. Not Landon's thirsty attempt to gain Mirage's affection by being her human shield. Not Hawkwood's cowardice, or his cringe worthy at best attempt at humor. Neither made him nearly as angry as the ranger's self righteous, totally disingenuous and frankly insulting half-assed attempt at an apology. He would've preferred a simple single word 'sorry' to her little speech about 'friendship' and 'responsibility.' Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. Graves read her body language. He saw between each carefully crafted line. He picked apart everything she said, revealing the basic truth behind her well of lies: 'I'm sorry you had the guts to call me out.'The tank's teeth ground together, his blood positively boiling. Maybe he should have really tried to hit her. She seemed like the type of girl that needed to be knocked down a peg. She bent, twisted and manipulated the part through her words, trying to make her 'joke' out to be good natured, despite the clearly antagonistic message she had sent toward Graves.
"Real heart felt. Got me right here." Graves patted his bare chest, scoffing at the ranger through three layers of sarcasm.
Elian was quick to do her thing after that. She tried to defuse the situation much like the others had. It was annoying as hell that the elf twig thought that his usual banter was anywhere near on the level of the archer's comment. Graves might be a little biased, but he liked to think his level of assholery was never as genuinely mean as what was pointed toward him. 'Unless they deserve it.' He clarified to himself. Then she moved the conversation away from the tank and back to the mission at hand. He had succeeded in making everyone dislike him, which was the plan to begin with. He doubted anyone would care to get close to him in any capacity after that over the top display. Rael joined in the discussion about how to approach the dungeon, basically marking the end of the confrontation.
Graves took the time to return back to where he left his gauntlets and halberd. He bent down, retrieving his equipment in due haste. The tank had removed his gloves to avoid causing unnecessary damage if he had actually managed to hit Mirage; a good choice, given Landon's foolish attempt at white knighting. With the metal gloves back on, he ripped the spear tip out of the dirt. The familiar weight of his weapon brought a base level of comfort to the warrior. He started back toward the dungeon, only faltering for a moment when their fire mage set off a loud bang from the high ground. 'Yeah, let's tell the whole dungeon we're coming. That's a fantastic idea, you fucking idiot.' He groaned to himself. Then her idiocy compounded upon itself, and she decided to run on ahead. Alone. As a mage. "Can you get any dumber?" Graves muttered quietly. At least the tot with the spear had the brains to chuck a rock at her. Sadly it missed, but hopefully she got the message.
The large warrior continued to move forward, sticking to the front of the group. He decided to weigh in on the discussion of strategy, even if his input was more likely to be ignored or outright mocked. "We're the first group to enter this dungeon, so information is sparse to nonexistent. We'll play it safe. We stick together and only split up when absolutely necessary. Move slow, keep up a constant line of communication and call out when you need help. Don't engage until everyone is ready to go. Elian'll need at least one person always watching her back. If we lose our healer, the raid's over." It wasn't a complicated or overly thought out plan, but simple was better when dealing with as many unknowns as they were. "And for God's sake, let me go first." Graves pointed that last bit toward the mage that tried to stir him up even more. He ignored her comment, choosing instead to stay on point now that they were approaching the danger zone.
Height: 5'1 ft / 154.94 cm Weight: 101 lbs / 46 kg
Name: Hayashi, Eir Age: 13 Gender: Female
Personality:
Eir is a timid girl that doesn't like to stand out in a crowd. She enjoys the solace of silence rather than the company of others more often than not. Hayashi lacks confidence; she constantly questions her abilities, and whether or not she can measure up to the standards expected of her. Eir is far from the ideal hero. She's cowardly, uncertain and unable to stand up for herself. Her introverted nature usually leads Eir to having few friends. If it was for her to decide, Hayashi would never have signed up for the hero course at Kosei Academy. She'd much rather focus on her true passion: art. Eir had always had a natural talent for drawing. Since the teen has a tendency to bottle up her emotions and not share how she feels with others, Eir uses her art as a means of expressing herself. Whenever she isn't rigorously studying to become a better hero, Hayashi is probably working on her next sketch. Eir realizes she isn't living for herself, but doesn't have it in her to change anything about the direction her life is taking.
Background:
Eir Hayashi was born in Kanuma, Tochigi to Teruo and Shoko Hayashi. Teruo, her father, was the physics teacher at a local high school. Her mother ran a general store in town. Teruo had always wanted to be a hero. It was his dream since he was just a boy. He had idolized the profession and those that took it upon themselves to become superheroes. Teruo had tried to become one himself. But alas, his quirk was near useless for hero work; he could know the answer to any equation he wrote down using a number two pencil. A fine skill for a teacher, but one Teruo could never make use of in his desired profession. Devastated by his own personal failure, Teruo tried to live out his dream through his only child, Eir Hayashi. Her quirk manifested when she was three, when Eir fell thirty five feet straight down into a pit and survived the fall unscathed- albeit, the little girl had been covered in bone-like armor when the authorities retrieved her. Her father was overjoyed when she was returned to his arms. Not because she was alive, but because of the fantastic quirk his child had. The man quickly set her path in stone: she was to be a hero, and nothing less would satisfy her dad.
She felt the pressure of Teruo's expectations throughout her whole life. He pushed her to become what he wanted her to be, shunning anything the child might want for herself as folly. Eir quickly learned to never speak up in disagreement with her old man, because...consequences...always followed. Silent consent was the best way for young Hayashi to avoid the disapproving glare she had come to fear. This defense mechanism leaked into the rest of Eir's life, turning the vibrant child quiet as the grave. She retreated into her shell, finding her only joy in drawing. Even as a child, Eir liked to make pretty pictures. Her wild imagination could be put to the page. Through her pictures, Eir could dream of being something more than her parent's expectations. Eir could be a teacher, an astronaut or a farmer. Or a four headed dragon monster. Whatever she wanted to be, Hayashi could use a pencil or a crayon to make it real.
As time passed, Eir excelled in school. She had an excellent memory, and her parents pushed her to succeed in everything she did. The girl liked to read and study; it gave her an excuse to avoid Tersuo's exhausting 'hero training regime.' That's what he called what could otherwise be described as torture for a middle schooler. Her father tried to turn Miss Hayashi into the perfect example of a human being. He ran her until she collapsed. Pushed her grow her strength until Eir couldn't hold her own arms up anymore. It was cruel, inhumane and nobody did a damn thing to stop Tersuo. Her mother quietly disapproved of the practice. Shoko would sometimes fake that Eir was sick and allow her to stay home with her. She sneaked candy into Eir's perfectly regimented diet. The woman never once tried to stop things, though. Eir didn't know why; she assumed Shoko was just as afraid of Tersuo as Eir was. Eventually, the quiet girl was old enough to send to one of Japan's hero academies. Tersuo tried to enroll her into top schools like U.A High, but Miss Hayashi cleverly sabotaged her own exams. She figured she was far from up to snuff anyway, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Tersuo eventually caught on to her scheme. He punished her for her actions, and then shipped her off to Kosei Academy. Eir had to perform to avoid her father's wrath. She did excellently on the written exam and her performance in the physical exam was satisfactory.
Quirk: Bone Carapace
Eir's quirk turns her into a human tank. On command, the girl can create bone-like armor. Forming it takes only a split second, and she can hold it there for upwards of an hour before she has to break the carapace and recharge. Hayashi's armor is quite heavy, especially for someone of her size; wearing it slows her down considerably. Eir can't move at all while wearing the full suit, leaving her vulnerable to any area of effect attacks unless she wants to anchor herself to one spot. Once Eir has shed a part of her shell, she can't reform it on that same spot for roughly ten seconds. Her carapace, while extremely durable, can still be cracked and destroyed. Eir isn't able to reform a broken shell for hours.
Hayashi's special move is Knuckle Duster Buster. She concentrates her carapace around her fists, forming two bone-like knuckle dusters. Eir's otherwise underwhelming punches become a dangerous threat to anyone that gets too close to her. It's her only true offensive move, but Hayashi can use it to great effect against any opponent that underestimates the power behind her tiny fists.
Talents and Skills:
Talented artist, particularly at sketching/drawing
// Kosei Academy - Front Gate - Morning of Day 1 \\
Eir Hayashi stared out the car window at the rolling green hills and thick forest that passed by. Butterflies scrambled about in her stomach, indicating the young girl's growing apprehension. She could feel the tension in her body as her muscles locked up. After years of torturous 'training' beneath her father, Teruo, Miss Hayahi was finally going to take her first step in her journey to becoming a hero. Eir was terribly anxious about the whole thing. If she didn't do well here, she knew the sort of reprimanding that awaited her when she was sent home. To avoid such punishments, Eir would have to do her very best at Kosei Academy. She doubted she'd live up to her father's inane and grossly disproportionate expectations. He assumed his daughter would some day go on to become one of the very best heroes to ever live. Eir knew she could never reach such heights. Still, she needed to try, if not just to avoid his wrath. Hayashi was also a tiny bit glad to be going to the Academy. It meant time away from her parents. Eir didn't know what the teachers and students would be like here at Kosei, but she assumed they were better company than the kind Hayashi held back home.
'Maybe I'll finally get some time to myself.'
The bright green landscape gave way to a magnificent sight. Standing tall above everything around but the peaks of the nearby mountaintops was Kosei Academy. The school was absolutely gigantic. Before, Eir couldn't have imagined that the school was a proto-city; but now here she was, staring at the towering buildings that gleamed hopefully in the morning light. Hundreds of people moved to and fro among the concrete and steel pillars to human achievement. The sprawling metroplex blew away all of Hayashi's expectations, even if she had seen pictures of the place beforehand. No photograph could do the place justice. Eir also saw more of the black cars pulling onto the same road hers inhabited. More students, she guessed. Hayashi leaned up out of her chair, practically pressing her face against the glass to get a better view of it all. Her anxiety took a backseat to pure astonishment and awe. There was a quiet chuckle from the driver's seat as Eir audibly gasped. "I felt the same way when I first saw the place." The mustached, sixty some years old man responsible for her transportation commented with a smirk. Eir turned to look at him, smiling from ear to ear.
They came to a stop right outside the front gate, lined up with the other dozens of identical cars. Hayashi plopped back into her chair, waiting patiently for the driver to step out and come around to her side. The aging gentleman opened up the back passenger side door, motioning widely toward the many chairs set up in front of a stage. "You'll be inducted right over there. I'll make sure your luggage gets to your room. Best of luck to you, miss." Hayashi peeled herself from the leather seat, her converse hitting the pavement beneath her with a dull thud. She looked up at the taller man, bowing respectfully to him. "Thank you, sir!" Eir exclaimed. She quickly rushed out of the road, making a beeline for the staging area. There were tons of people that looked just like her, absolutely enthralled by the wonder of the Academy. Eir's smirk faltered at the handful of individuals that weren't smiling ear to ear. They looked over the crowd like prowling lions, looking for unsuspecting prey to devour. Hayashi put her hands in the pockets of her magenta hoodie to hide their shaking.
The short girl's pink and white hair, a result of her mother's quirk being partially passed on to Eir, bounced in the cool breeze. Eir maneuvered through the crowd, quickly moving to find a seat before all of the good ones were taken. She found a nice spot near the outside edge of the seats, toward the middle of the pack. Hayashi should've been practically invisible there, despite her bright clothing; she was in a hero academy, where appearances like hers were par the course. Eir's eyes wandered over the growing crowd of perspective superheroes. She noticed one particularly tall girl, perhaps six feet in height or maybe an inch shorter, seated a little bit ahead of her. Hayashi didn't usually see girls that height, at least any that were in the age bracket the Academy housed. I wonder what her quirk is... Eir wondered, finding herself staring for an uncomfortably long amount of time.
// Kosei Academy - Front Gate - Morning of Day 1 \\
Eir Hayashi was absent mindedly watching the tall girl fix her hair. She didn't mean to stare, honestly. Eir usually had rather impeccable manners, if only because her parents beat that sentiment into her every single day. 'A hero doesn't have poor etiquette!' Her father would screech if Eir so much as put her elbows on the table. Miss Hayashi was distracted, though. Her anxiety at finally being at admitted into a hero Academy, mixed with the awe inspiring sight of the building's massive size, made Eir forget to keep her wits about her. She had been day dreaming about...something. She couldn't remember exactly what. But whatever thought had been going through her head was abruptly shattered when the raven haired woman waved at her. Eir blinked a few times, recognizing what she'd been doing a moment earlier. Her cheeks flushed red as she scrambled to look anywhere else. Maybe if Hayashi pretended to be doing something else, the stranger would think Eir hadn't been looking at her at all. 'Oh no. Oh no no no.' The short teen panicked. Despite how friendly the prospective hero had been, what with the smile and the wave and all, Eir felt terribly embarrassed about the whole ordeal. It was a minor mistake that her young blind blew so far out of portion, her whole world might as well have been ending.
The nice lady didn't veer from her path toward Hayashi. She was keen to come over and say something. Eir wondered if she was just coming over to say hello, or if the stranger planned to rebuke her for Eir's earlier staring. She hadn't meant to do it! Her head had been on the clouds! It was an honest accident. Hayashi held her breath, occasionally shooting a quick glance toward the approaching figure. Her anxiety peaked when the stranger stopped moving not but a few feet away. Eir forced herself to turn and look at the woman, ready to be chewed apart for her social failings. Only, that's not at all what happened. The woman introduced herself as Dante. She had a disarming smile, and she spoke with an easing charm. Eir's butterflies departed from her stomach, though her shame doubled, her cheeks growing a deeper shade of crimson. 'Say something!' Hayashi internally screamed at herself, realizing she was staring again. 'Don't be stupid. Come on, you can talk!'
Eir opened her mouth, taking a singular breath before saying the first thing to come to mind. "I-I didn't mean to stare, I'm sorry!" Her first instinct was to apologize. 'Great job, E. Fantastic work. You're really good at this whole talking to people thing.' Hayashi reproofed her own ineptitude, as her father might have if he was standing over her shoulder at that moment. Eir realized she needed to introduce herself as well, lest she continue her string of rudeness. "I'm...I'm Eir Hayashi. It's very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Dante." The small wannabe hero jumped out of her seat, shuffling over in front of Dante. She curtsied, formally introducing herself in an effort to repair her already soiled reputation. Eir also thought to tell the older teenager why she was looking at her earlier, perhaps to ask her about her quirk.
The opportunity to continue the conversation was abruptly stolen away from Eir by the arrival of another figure. This time a boy. He was a good deal shorter than Dante, but judging by his features and developed body, the guy was around her age. He, like most people, was still a few inches taller than Eir. She might as well have been a bonafide midget by how often she had to look up at people her own age to speak to them. Hayashi subconsciously slunk back behind Dante, keeping her distance from the man. Whoever he was, he didn't look very happy at all. He was the polar opposite of Eir's new acquaintance. He formally introduced himself as Iccho Matsuo. He didn't speak like most people Eir had met; was he from far away? Or maybe he just had a different set of rules of etiquette that made him seem different. Whatever the case, he had Eir's attention for the time being. "Um. Pardon me, sir." Hayashi spoke up from behind Dante, poking her head around the tall girl's legs. "But I don't believe following after Miss Dante and demanding an apology is proper behavior." Eir rather naively pointed out, completely forgetting that pointing that out to Matsuo was equally as rude as his own and Dante's behavior.
// Kosei Academy - Front Gate - Morning of Day 1 \\
The situation was beginning to escalate, that much was certain. Dante had been fairly easy going and friendly when she approached Eir earlier, which had been a blessing; Hayashi was glad her first interaction at Kosei Academy, while a little awkward, was a net positive one. The colossal student had looked intimidating at first. It wasn't exactly proper to assume based on appearances, but just looking at Dante, Eir's first instinct told her the raven haired girl would be trouble. Their brief exchange of hellos and introductions would have Hayashi believing that presumption false- only, the exchange continued. Someone else Hayashi didn't know came up to them, demanding an apology from Dante for an earlier slight. Eir wasn't sure what to make of the boy. He seemed a little aggressive, but not overly so; he was obviously flustered by Dante bumping into him. 'Dante said she already said she was sorry.' Eir reasoned in her own mind. It was either a disingenuously apology or Iccho was looking for further retribution. It wasn't easy picking sides, though Hayashi wouldn't have even if it was easy; the better option was to get both parties to come to an agreement and deescalate the confrontation. That was easier said than done, given how Eir typically fumbled even the most basic social interaction. Stopping a fight was not something Eir was good at.
Hayashi's face fell as Dante straightened her stance and adamantly denied that she would apologize again. 'Nooo. J-just say your sorry.' Eir tried and failed to telepathically beam her thoughts to Dante, internally begging the girl to stop things from getting out of hand. Iccho Matsuo wasn't going to back down. Instead of letting bygones be bygones and going on his way, the abrasive boy doubled down on his efforts. He implied, in no uncertain terms, that Dante wasn't a real hero. It was the kind of comment that would no doubt get beneath her skin. Iccho targeted her character; something anyone looking to be a hero likely held in high esteem. Morality was paramount to anyone looking to join the profession...by will, of course. Eir was only there to avoid her father's wrath. Hayashi looked between both people. They were strong, opposing personalities looking to establish dominance over each other, like a pair of wolves vying for the spot of alpha. Letting them go at it would be disastrous; not just for Eir, who could be caught in the crossfire, but for both of them too. The staff would not look kindly on people fighting before they even started the very first day.
Eir was rarely one to speak up in this scenario. She was a timid girl that would rather stand in the shadows and hope she wasn't drawn in than the type to throw herself between two quarreling parties. However, Hayashi knew someone needed to do something. If their argument escalated into open conflict, it would be terrible for everyone! Eir turned to look at the crowds of people. All of them were there to become superheroes. If Hayashi could expect someone else to step up, it would be in a place like this. And yet no one cared. Maybe Eir overestimated the potential their talk had of becoming anything more than a petty exchange of harsh words. Or maybe nobody knew what was happening. Whatever the case, Hayashi decided to speak up. "Maybe we, um, shouldn't right now." She piped up, shuffling around to stand directly between Iccho and Dante. "This is all just a biiiiig misunderstanding, and I'm sure we can work things out without resorting to attacking people's character or getting physical." Eir silently prayed to any god that might be listening that things didn't go poorly. "Didn't Miss- excuse me. Didn't Dante already apologize? I'm sure you meant it, right? She was probably...j-just in a hurry! And I'm...positive Mister Matsuo meant no disrespect."
// Kosei Academy - Front Gate - Morning of Day 1 \\
Just as Eir put herself out there and stepped between Iccho and Dante, someone else decided to speak up. The small girl's gaze shifted toward the equally short boy that sauntered up to the group. He admonished the brash pair for locking horns as they had, taking Hayashi's side on the subject. While she was grateful for his intervention, Eir couldn't help but wish he had been there earlier. 'You couldn't have stepped in thirty seconds ago?' Hayashi wouldn't have said a word if she knew the blonde haired midget was planning to jump in. She wasn't at all comfortable with speaking up, especially when things were beginning to get tense between Dante and Iccho. Still, some help was better than no help. "Um, thank you." Eir nodded toward the as of yet unnamed boy. Her cheeks flashed red when he winked at her. 'W-was that one of those knowing winks? Or is he flirting with me?' Hayashi wondered. He...he couldn't be hitting on her, right? Boys rarely showed interest in Eir. Not only because Hayashi perpetually looked three years younger than she actually was, but because Eir considered herself about as interesting as a piece of wet tissue paper.
She put the confusing social cue out of her mind for the moment, focusing instead of the two quarreling classmates. Eir was glad to see both breaking their tough guy facades in favor of apologizing to one another for their behavior. It was a nice change of pace from the typical macho hostility Hayashi was accustomed to. Maybe Kosei Academy would prove to be better for her than her last school. Dante and Iccho took the time to reintroduce themselves, now from a more friendly stance than before. Eir decided it was probably a good time to introduce herself to the boys, too. "And I'm Eir Hayashi. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She briefly bowed, choosing to forgo the curtsy this time. Dante hadn't reacted well to the formal move; it seemed most people here weren't that used to such rigid rules of etiquette, unlike those back home. Hayashi looked between the three other people, an idea coming to mind. "Well...Since we're already acquainted, maybe we could all sit together?" Eir quietly suggested, her hands grasped behind her back. She needed familiar faces to feel comfortable. And, while the four of them were far from close friends, Hayashi would rather get to know them more than sit next to a bunch of people she didn't know at all.
// Kosei Academy - Front Gate - Morning of Day 1 \\
Everyone had accepted her suggestion that the four of them sit together. Eir was glad; she wouldn't need to get to know anyone else if she stuck with the same small group. Establishing a tight knit group of friends had been Hayashi's first personal goal at the Academy. While Eir certainly enjoyed being alone, she was keenly aware that she couldn't do everything on her own. She had many weaknesses that, hopefully, her new acquaintances good make up for. 'So long as Iccho and Dante don't tear each other apart.' The two of them were making an effort to talk to one another, and make up for their earlier clash. Eir was just a little bit proud of herself for being one of the reasons they had set their differences aside to talk. A slight smile etched across her face, Hayashi watched the others begin to move toward the rows of chairs to sit together.
Temperance Wilk, or simply Tempest as he apparently preferred, turned his attention to Eir. She still wasn't quite sure what to think of the boy. He was very nice and quite cordial, something the other two could learn a thing or two about from Tempest. The well spoken teen asked if he could sit beside Hayashi. She was taken aback by the forward request. Even if Mr. Wilk wasn't attempting to flirt with the pink haired, he was making a concentrated effort to interact with her. Hayashi was, on one hand, flattered by the amount of attention she was getting and on the other worried she would screw things up and look like a weirdo. "A-alright." She agreed to sit next to Tempest. There was also the issue of how...formal he was being. 'Lady' wasn't a prefix anyone had ever used to speak to Hayashi. That kind of talk was left for the nobility of old, and for the few remaining monarchies in the world. Eir would be lying if she said she wasn't flattered. "Um, just Eir's fine." Hayashi giggled, her smile broadening. Naive to the boy's intentions, she started to follow him over toward the seats he'd chosen, where Dante and Iccho were already getting comfortable.
Before Eir was even half way to the seat, she heard an alien accent calling out into the crowd in different language. She picked up on it almost immediately. 'English?' Hayashi was familiar with the tongue. Her home town frequently has tourists from America and Europe. There was a point where her mother's store was getting customers who didn't speak Japanese every day for almost a month. Communication was difficult, making sales near impossible. Eir's father decided she should do something about it, so Teruo ordered her to pick up English classes at school. Hayashi had taken four years of English classes back to back, studying hard so she could act as an interpreter for the tourists that came to the shop. It paid off, with Eir capable of...conversational English. The short girl turned around, searching for the source of the voice. Her eyes fell on the bright skinned man- or, boy, if he was a student. He must've noticed she was paying attention to him, because he looked right at her and spoke. His Japanese was rusty to say the least, but Eir caught on. He...complimented her hair. 'Why is everyone paying so much attention to me?' She internally moaned. Attention was the last thing she wanted. "Thank you." Eir responded. "Are you from America?" Eir swapped from Japanese to English, her attempt at his native tongue rusty but still quite clear and understandable.
"O-oh. Where are my manners. I'm Eir Hayashi, it is nice to meet you." She continued in surprisingly clean English, bowing toward the outsider. Eir had spoken more just minutes after getting to the Academy than she had the last month. It made her anxious and uncomfortable to get out of her shell like this. However, far be it for Eir to be rude to someone.
// Kosei Academy - Front Gate - Morning of Day 1 \\
Apparently the foreigner was from the U.S, as Eir suspected. He brushed off his origins as uninteresting, but Hayashi thought it anything but. Where one comes from always had a hand in where one was going. Eir was only at the Academy because of her parents, for example. It was likely everyone else had a story for why they decided to come to Kosei; no, not likely. It was certain. Nobody just chose to become a hero on a whim. It was a perilous profession that didn't offer much in the way of income, and only the greatest heroes ever became famous. Most were in it for altruistic reasons. People who wanted to make the world a better place by using their quirks for the good of the world. Hayashi couldn't...count herself among them. It embarrassed her to even think about her reasons for going to the school. They were entirely selfish. She didn't want to uplift the weak or protect the defenseless; Eir was only there to avoid Teruo's wrath. While Eir's origins were nothing to be proud of, she assumed the transfer student's were the stuff of legend. He came all the way around the world to Japan, just to be a superhero. The stories someone like that must have...
After St. John introduced himself, a bit of banter was tossed around between the others. Dante had some choice words for Temperance. She sounded annoyed with him for some reason. Eir shrunk back a little in her chair, having taken her seat beside Wilk already. Dante meant well, but she was kind of aggressive about it. "Um." Hayashi piped up, looking toward her older friend. "I-it's okay. I'm fine, really." She shot her friend a reassuring smile. It wasn't long before the speaker stepped up to the podium, halting any further conversation. Hayashi paid attention to the speeches given, even if most didn't; she didn't want to miss any important information they might have for her. The Vice Principal's dismissive stare made Eir self conscious. It was like the woman knew how weak Hayashi felt. It was a similar look of disapproval her dad gave her. 'You're not good enough,' the look said. The short girl found it difficult to look at the woman while she welcomed them to the Academy, grateful when she stepped away for the next person to speak. The principal had a radically different effect. Despite his status as head of the school, Eir couldn't shake the feeling that he was the everyman kind of guy. The sort of person everyone found agreeable. Nobody disliked him, except, perhaps, the type of person that would obsess over appearances. Arata Sako didn't speak for long. He told them all that they were special, a sentiment Hayashi didn't really agree with, and hoped they all enjoyed their time there. He was...nice, for lack of a better word.
The essembly ended not too long after that. The point and rank system was interesting. Eir wouldn't use the challenge system much, since that meant direct competition with another student and that was not at all something she was comfortable with. Hayashi would likely obsess over her ranking for the rest of the school year, constantly worried that she wasn't doing well enough or reaching the standards set for her. The gates were opened, and they were told they could go about the rest of the day as they pleased. Classes and such would probably all start tomorrow. But for now, the students were to get acquainted with staff, each other and the Academy's grounds. St. John was the first to stand up and suggest they do something together, though Hayashi didn't know what he meant by 'bad.' She'd rather not start any trouble on her first day. Or ever, preferably. Dante spoke up next, asking Jefferson if he'd ever boxed; Eir was surprised by the question. Though, thinking about it, Dante did look like the kind of girl that liked to fight. And John had the...build...to be a fighter. Iccho piped up, piggybacking on Dante's question and John's inquiry about what they'd do next. He wanted them to head to the training center. "That sounds fun." Hayashi offered her opinion on the matter, quietly joining in the conversation. She hopped out of her seat and shoved her hands deep in her hoodie's pocket, patiently waiting to see if the others wanted to go along too. While she might not be the physical type, Hayashi's quirk made combat training pretty much mandatory. She was built to fight, even if that was the last thing Eir wanted.
