Superboy's Shitty Characters

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nothing to see here

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E I R H A Y A S H I

_{// Kosei Academy - Front Gate - Morning of Day 1 \\}

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The conversation about what exactly they'd be doing shifted a few times. Jefferson agreed to fight Dante in the boxing ring, but only if the two of them didn't use their quirks. Eir could see the merit in that. Quirks had the potential to give one fighter an unfair advantage over another. She didn't pay too much attention to Japan's boxing circuit, but the little that Hayashi had heard indicated that the people with the best quirks dominated the scene, leaving little room for more technically skilled fighters to shine. Fights where no quirks were allowed, in the vein of fighting sports from before the time quirks became so prevalent, were based more on one's own physical abilities and knowledge than genetics. Eir wouldn't...be able to participate, if that was how they were doing things. She was fine with that though. This was more about seeing how the others fought than testing her own mettle against them. Hayashi would observe Jefferson and Dante's duel to learn how they fought and acted. Learning about her fellow students would be vital to surpassing them. 'And I'll get to hang out with them.' It was an all around win for the pink haired girl.

After Dante introduced herself to the American, she decided to change things up. She wasn't satisfied with a simple boxing match between peers. No, the fiery girl wanted to make it an official challenge, for ranking and points and everything. Hayashi could already see a number of flaws in her plan. They didn't know their rankings yet, so it was entirely possible she was already above John. Whether or not there was anyone to make the match official wasn't known to them either. It was clear Dante simply wanted him to use his quirk; but, it an actual challenge wasn't exactly a real possibility, given the circumstances of their recent arrival. The students didn't even know where their dorms were yet! Eir wasn't the only one to notice the flaws in her logic. Tempest was the first to speak up, voicing their shared skepticism. She found herself nodding in agreement with him, looking between St. John and Dante to see what they'd have to say next. The foreigner spoke first...

He said something that could be taken as baiting Dante. It sounded like a joke, but at the same time, Hayashi guessed it wouldn't sit well with the girl at all. She seemed like the kind of person to have a bit of a temper, something that very briefly was touched on in her argument with Iccho. If nothing else, she had something of an ego that wouldn't take that comment well. Jefferson had a fire in his belly like Dante and Iccho, that much was clear. He did decide to allow Dante to use her quirk in their fight. He turned to ask Tempest a question. Hayashi's gaze wandered over toward Iccho Matsuo, who was already wandering ahead of the gang, intent on getting to the training center first. Eir looked back at the others before moving faster to catch up to the boy. She slowed down to his pace once she was just a step behind him. "Excuse me, Mister Matsuo?" Eir called to get his attention. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, what's your quirk?" If the others were busy discussing Dante's challenge, Hayashi might as well take the opportunity to get to know Iccho. She'd do the same for all of them, eventually, when the time was right.

[Supermaxx]

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E I R H A Y A S H I

_{// Kosei Academy - Training Center - Morning of Day 1 \\}

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Once they took the short cut through the Great Hall, their group passed by the many outdoor training facilities, moving toward the entrance to the large stadium-like training center. The massive structure wasn't anything like Eir had expected. The archways and ornate architecture made it feel less like a school's physical activities facility and more like a theater. It evoked imagery that reminded Hayashi of the great Colosseum of ancient Rome. Her wonder was kept constrained behind a neutral expression, though it was impossible to keep her excitement out of her eyes. Her gaze dashed about, taking in the sights. She could only imagine the kind of things that they'd be getting up to at Kosei that required a stadium like this. 'This place is amazing.' Hayashi thought to herself. Even if coming to the Academy hadn't been her idea, she was starting to warm up to the place. The faculty and students were all very interesting; not all of them were exactly kind, but no one had treated her badly yet. It was...a great improvement over her home life, that much was certain. Eir moved along beside Iccho, entering into the building itself. A wave of cool air hit her face, throwing her hair up behind her.

Matsuo's quirk was interesting. He produced a spine from his finger tip, not unlike that of a porcupine. Getting hit by those would probably hurt. Eir might've been a little...forward, in asking the boy she barely knew about his abilities. She would've understood if he politely refused to share. But quirks had been an ordinary part of every day life since the glowing baby was born; especially in her home town, where quirk usage was greatly encouraged. For Hayashi, it felt like as normal a question as asking about someone's shirt. It was only fair that Iccho ask what her quirk was in return. "I don't mind." Eir said with a smile. Instead of explaining her ability, she chose to show him, as he had done. Hayashi held her fists up in front of her. Bone-like material crawled up from within her sleeves, swiftly covering her hands like gauntlets. Eir opened up her fists, causing the armor to drop off. As soon as it hit the ground it shattered, the small pieces flying off in the wind. She looked back to Iccho, smiling again. "It's not very impressive, I know." She admitted with a short laugh. Hayashi didn't like her quirk, if she was honest. Some days she wished she was born with another, more boring one- or maybe no quirk at all. The only reason Eir was forced to go to the Academy was because she had a quirk a hero could use.

While the group was standing around discussing their next move, someone else spoke up from behind them. Eir's attention was drawn toward the entrance. To her surprise, there was the tiniest person Hayashi had ever seen standing there. Eir looked visibly surprised by her appearance. While it was...extremely rude, Hayashi had never seen a bonafide dwarf before. She'd almost always been the smallest one in the room. Hayashi blinked away her confusion, realizing she was staring. "O-oh! Um, hello there." The little- erm, Tatsuko, explained that she was late to the orientation, and was hoping she could tag along with the group. Eir was far from their little impromptu gang's spokesperson, but she knew how awkward it was to put one's self out like that. Meeting new people was hard, and the possibly of rejection made approaching people all the harder. Eir took it upon herself to let the girl join them, even if one of the others was against it. "Sure thing! We were just looking for the boxing ring. We'd love to have you. My name's Eir Hayashi, it's a pleasure to meet you Miss Kanashiro."

Eir looked around the huge open field. She didn't see anyone else there, aside from the new girl. It was possible there was a teacher somewhere nearby, but Hayashi couldn't see them from where she was standing. "If there's a map, I'd bet it would be on a wall near the front door." That's where Eir would put one. It'd be silly for a huge facility like this to not have a map set up for new people. Hayashi left Iccho, moving back toward where they had come in. She walked through the expansive threshold, stepping into the area between the many doors leading into the training facility and the path to the main arena itself. It could be described as a lobby of sorts. To one side was a long hallway, while to the other was a small window. Glancing inside, Hayashi saw some sort of office- it was empty, sadly, the attendant that usually ran the place was probably out at the front gate for the orientation ceremony and hadn't returned yet. Next to the closed off window was exactly what Eir sought: a map of the building. "I found it!" She called back to the others, sliding over in front of the thing. "Let's see..." She placed her finger on a red star marked 'you're here.' "This is where we are." Eir muttered to herself, looking over the schematics of the building. She traced her finger along the map, stopping on their destination. "Found it! The 'indoor' area, where it says the boxing ring is, should be-" Hayashi turned around, pointing down the hall on the other side of the 'lobby.' "-This way!"

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derp

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Flint O'Brien

_{Height: 5'5 ft
Weight: 152 lbs}

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Name: O'Brien, Flint
Age: 14
Gender: Male

Personality:

Flint O'Brien's as stubborn as a mule and has a fiery temper that few can match. He has a strong distrust for authority, believing that he's better off making his own decisions than listening to anyone else. O'Brien is fiercely independent, more often than not choosing to approach a problem on his own than seek out help from others. He tends to rush into things without thinking them through. Flint's more likely to spend an hour ramming his head against a wall than to go to someone else, even if they're more capable, for help. Asking for assistance is a sign of weakness; and growing up how he did, Flint learned how to hide his weaknesses well behind an aggressive, unapproachable mask. He suffers from a poor ability to socialize due to this behavior. He has difficulty explaining his thoughts to others, especially if they have to do with his feelings. He'd much prefer to bottle up his emotions and let them fester than talk things out. Despite Flint's relatively powerful quirk, his many other shortcomings have made following his dream of becoming a hero...hard, to say the least. He's jumped between multiple schools, few being willing to deal with his rebellious nature. Yet, despite his many flaws, Flint has a passion that burns like the flames he commands. There is nothing in this life he wants more than to be a hero. His overwhelming desire to help people cannot be overlooked. He has never let anything stop him from achieving his dreams.

Background:

Flint O'Brien was born to Maria O'Brien in a run down Harlem clinic. His father had run out on Maria the day she told him she was pregnant, leaving the young woman to raise Flint all on her own. During Flint's first few years, Maria had difficulty keeping up with two jobs and finding time to take care of her son. Raised staunchly Catholic by her own parents, Maria relied on a local priest to help watch her child while she worked- she couldn't afford an actual daycare or babysitter. Father Adams did his best with the toddler, though the boy turned out to be quite the handful. The young mother, exhausted from work and inexperienced in child bearing, leaned heavily on the older religious leader's guidance. He himself wasn't great with children; Adams routinely found himself bending to the little devil's whims. Neither he nor Maria ever properly disciplined him.

Flint's powers manifested on his fourth birthday when he used the candles to set fire to the cake...and the table it was on. The Father's first assumption was that the child was possessed. Adams tried to cast out the demon, only for the young boy to freak out and use his powers to nearly set fire to the church using the candelabrum. Flint was then locked in a room for several days, only given food and water through a small window. The terrified four year old's pleas for an explanation fell on deaf ears. After much research and prayer,
the priest came to the conclusion that Flint had one of the 'Quirks' that had been talked about so much on the news. The boy was finally taken back home by his mother, but the damage had been done: Maria was terrified of her own child, and Flint hated her for letting Adams lock her away. He refused to ever go back to the church. His mom chose to leave him home alone.

Once he was old enough, Maria started to send Flint to school. He hated it. People kept telling him what to do. He fought against his teachers all the way till second grade, his defiance escalating to outright violence on a number of occasions. Flint was then forced to transfer to a 'special' school for more difficult children. As he grew older, Flint continued to defy authority. He got into altercations with other students practically every day. It was a miracle he avoided expulsion for so long.

Maria transferred him to another school after he finished elementary, hoping a new environment might promote better behavior. She was wrong. Flint continued to fight and rebel. He was barely passing all of his classes and went out of his way to screw with the other students. If he didn't come up with a split lip or red knuckles, his mother counted it as a good day. Things continued to escalate until another student arrived at the school. A transfer, and the only student at the school other than Flint with a quirk. It was only a matter of time before word reached O'Brien of the boy's special ability. His 'friends' dared Flint to fight him; and of course he took them up on their challenge. Flint caught the other student in the hall and attacked him. The new boy's super strength shattered Flint's ribs, and the pyro's fire covered his opponent in first degree burns.

That was the final straw. The police were brought in and ended up dragging O'Brien away in handcuffs. He was threatened with charges of assault and arson. Flint may have been taken to court, too, if it wasn't for the intervention of a stranger. One of New York's more famous heroes heard about the incident and came right away. In exchange for the charges being dropped, the boy would have to serve a year's worth of 'community service' and would be put on probation. After talking it over with Maria, Flint agreed. The hero took Flint in to the apprentice program. He explained what it was they did there. To a young, impressionable mind like O'Brien, this man changed his whole prospective. Flint hated his lot in life. He hated everything about how his mother had raised him. People had treated him like a freak for having a quirk, and, in his mind, he'd been striking back at them for their persecution. This hero offered him another way. Instead of destroying the system, Flint should strive to fix it- to make sure no one else had to suffer or fight like he had because they were born different. O'Brien channeled his energy into this new goal, throwing all of himself into becoming a hero.

Quirk:

Fire Manipulation-

Flint is capable of controlling fire with his mind. Any existing flame is his to command. He is able to shape an inferno to his will, wielding it as a weapon or choking it out as he sees fit. O'Brien can quench or control a blaze roughly the size of a house fire, though doing so takes some concentration and effort on his part. He can't create fire from thin air; Flint is only able to control existing flames. Manipulating a blaze takes some measure of energy and focus, the intensity of which is dependent on the size and ferocity of said inferno. Unlike some pyros, O'Brien is in no way immune to his quirk's power. He can be burned just like anyone else. To counteract some of the limits of his abilities, Flint tends to keep multiple lighters on his person- just in case he needs to get fired up; they don't offer a great volume of fire to work with, but it's something. To the same effect, Flint's been on the look out for fireproof clothing, though he's yet to find anything after rummaging through the stocks of numerous thrift stores.

Talents and Skills:

• While he has no formal combat training, Flint's aggressive and stubborn personality have gotten him into plenty of scuffles. He can take a hit, and he knows how to dish it out.
• Due to his mother working two full time jobs and never having time to take care of him, Flint had to learn how to feed himself. He isn't a half bad chef. O'Brien's especially good at making a decent meal with very few ingredients to work with.
• Flint's family never had the money to pay for a trip to the hospital. If he got hurt (and thanks to all the constant fights, that happened often) he had to patch himself up. He learned how to keep a steady hand when using a needle, and the best way to make a splint.

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Flint O'Brien

Location: Bus, destination New York City
"The flames of fate kindled..."

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Mixed among the sounds of quiet chatter and sputtering engines was a constant, steady flickering of metal. Flint opened, ignited and closed the lighter she held in her fist, repeating the three step process over and over. The Zippo brand igniter was among her favorites. It was bright steel, with one side featuring the Great Seal of the United States while the words "Do or Die" were printed on the opposite side. Supposedly, the lighter used to belong to a pilot back in the Second World War. Judging by the pricing, however, Flint could guess that was bullshit made up to sell it. Whatever, that didn't matter; O'Brien thought it looked cool. She'd bought it online a few years back and hadn't regretted the purchase for a moment.

Flint's gaze was locked firmly on the roof of the bus, her mind in another place. She was mentally going over the events that had taken place so far. The hero organization had their orientation held in the middle of nowhere, and had the apprentices stay in a grimy, second rate hotel before and after the event. Flint was used to such conditions, but she hadn't expected it from the way the recruiter spoke. O'Brien had kept to herself throughout the trip for the most part. The majority of her peers were plucky, incompetent doofuses that were all heart and no muscle. They wouldn't last a second in the real world. No amount of desire to be a hero could overcome a total lack of skill or natural ability. Orientation was mostly bog standard. She didn't learn much about what she'd be doing aside from the bare basics of it all. It would've been painfully boring, if not for the fight that broke out between two of the tougher looking wannabe sidekicks. They kept the whole thing from being a complete snorefest, thankfully.

The boy sitting next to her was among the individuals Flint didn't think would last. Tempest, she believed his name was, was about as tough as a kitten and looked like his bones were made of glass. They briefly spoke earlier, but O'Brien found it difficult to remain cordial, so she dropped the conversation to avoid damaging glass boy's feelings. Flint had never been a people person. People let her down, made fun of her and abused her for being different- people sucked ass, generally speaking. The only person O'Brien could ever rely on was herself. Now that she was going to be a superhero, Flint probably needed to curb the cynicism. Heart and morality and all that crap were important to heroes. She'd need to cut down on fighting people, too. Beating up other apprentices for being dumbasses would be a good way to get kicked off the program for good.

It was then that Tempest started to stir. Flint eyed him suspiciously, wondering what the boy was doing when he stood up and tried to shuffle past her. 'Where are you goin'?' She wondered to herself, not bothering to ask him aloud- that required speaking to him again. Without any prior warning, the bus lurched forward. The vehicle rapidly gained speed, forcing Flint back into her seat and knocking Tempest back into his. "Shit-" She grunted, turning her gaze toward the back of the bus to see what was causing the strange burst in velocity. Lo and behold, O'Brien's eyes fell on an armor-wearing woman pressing against the back. Flint blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. "The hell?" She muttered beneath her breath. The mechanized flying hero let go of the bus, causing them to violently lurch and bounce a second time. Flint followed the strange woman until she came up along side them. She saluted the students in the bus before flying off at mach twelve billion.

Flint tightened her gaze as Tempest once more slid past her and clambered over to a different seat, likely so he could speak to the boy he'd been staring at for way too long. Maybe he was gay. That would explain...a couple of different things, in Flint's narrow mind. She turned her attention away from the boy, deciding to slid into his window seat to get a look at the countryside. New York was a gorgeous state. It sucked that most people only cared about the Big Apple when there was so much more to see outside of it. Maybe it was because she grew up there, but Flint never saw what made it so special. She'd rather live out here, in the rolling green hills, than stuffed inside a tiny, rundown apartment in Harlem.

[Supermaxx]

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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The crimson source of all life flowed off Graves's body like a river. His broad shoulders hefted violently with each uneven breath as he stood atop the corpse of a monster twice his size. The damned ogre had come out of nowhere. It came up through the floor of all places. Graves and his allies were caught off guard by the swift and brutal ambush. Two burrowed giants, one from either side, and a murder of goblin marksmen coming at them from above. A classic killbox if Graves had ever seen one; problem was, Graves had never seen monsters employ this kinda strategy in Pariah. He was lucky his party wasn't full of complete hacks, or they'd probably be reviving half the back line instead of reveling in their victory.

"Everbody alright?" The Blood Knight's gravely rose rose just enough to echo to the back of the party.

With panted breaths, Graves placed both hands upon the hilt of his pike. He hefted up, his vein-covered forearms straining to rip the ax blade free from the dead ogre's shattered skull. Flicking the brain matter off the edge of his pole arm, their half giant of a tank turned around to address Rael. Graves was still coming off the high of combat, and needed to take a moment to calm himself before responding to her concerns. As always, the off tank had worn a wicked grin all throughout the encounter, his berserker screams only ever broken up by the need to shout commands at his incompetent backliners when something went awry.

"Yeah, you were right." Graves agreed, running a hand over his chest in a mostly vain attempt to wipe the blood from his bare abdomen. Most of it belonged to the ogre he'd slaughtered, but the Knight had suffered a fair few blows during the exchange. Arrows still stuck in his back, and blows from the ogre's huge club had fucked his ribs up royally. "Since when did these stupid bastards get brains?"

It was actually fascinating to the tank how lucky they were nobody went down. A horde of archers from above and two gigantic damage soakers to either side, in a relatively cramped hallway, would've spelled a wipe- or at the very least, causalities- in any other party. Maybe Graves was underestimating the rest of his team too much; though the Blood Knight doubted it was more than blind luck on the part of...some of them.

Graves gave a quick whistle, glancing over his shoulder at Elian. "Yo, elfy. If you'd be so kind as to do your job so we can get a move on, I would be very grateful." The tank's words were dripping with sarcasm; he was loathe to admit the woman had likely contributed a fair bit to the party's survival. She might be an alright healer, he supposed, but even that half assed of a compliment would go straight to the dancer's head. "Everybody else, take a breather. Shit only gets worse from here." He moved away from the front of the party and to the back, hoping his partner tank had things covered for the time being. Graves didn't think the monsters would attack again so soon, but...in this dungeon, one couldn't be too careful.

Once he was beside the much smaller, less intimidating dodge tank, Graves lowered his voice so only she could hear him. "You think there was a ghost patch? Developer tossed in new tactics for all monsters?" The Knight asked Rael, unsure what he thought of the whole thing. [color=Graves]"Could be just for this dungeon, too,...which is almost fuckin' worse."[/color]

[Supermaxx]

The Cosmic Warriors

"We fight for a brighter future! And, ya know, 'cuz we don't want our heads to explode."

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The Premise:

It is the year 2032. The world lives in an era of relative peace now, under the watchful eye of the World Government. Technology has continued to advance at a breakneck pace. Miracle medicines, robotic wonders and weapons of incomprehensible destruction are becoming more and more common. You are an ordinary citizen of this united earth. After the terrifying reality that was the end of the world, everything else feels...inconsequential by comparison. Every day life is mundane to the point of boredom, now. Nothing ever seems to go wrong anymore. No more war. No more violence. No one had to hide beneath the covers, praying their country wasn't bathed in nuclear fire. The world is, now, a perfectly ordinary place.

Or, it was, until the Hexagon appeared. Hanging high above the city of New Zion, the capital of the world, was a sprawling spaceship in the shape of a hexagon. The five sided monstrosity of a construct dwarfed the entire city in size and scope, easily stretching out over the island cradle that held the crown of earth.

No one knew where it came from or why it had appeared. Politicians, scientists, and generals scrambled to discover the meaning of this interstellar intrusion in earth's atmosphere. Panic rose up in the streets of New Zion, forcing the World Government to bring martial law down upon it's citizens. Many attempted to flee the capital, fearing the worst. No one made it out. The Hexagon shrouded the city in an invisible field that locked it's close to twenty two million strong population inside. Terror spread over the world. They were not alone in the universe, and it appeared that they did not come in peace.

You were not among the panicked masses trying to flee New Zion. For whatever reason, fate deemed you worthy of something...greater. When the Hexagon appeared, it launched eight pods from it's bays. The pods landed all throughout New Zion. Perhaps one crashed into your apartment. Or maybe it landed on the front of your car. Whatever the case, you were the first to reach the strange, egg-like projectile that fell from the heavens. When the pod opened, you found a weapon hidden within it. Touching the tool of destruction, you found your mind and body altered forever. It formed a bond with you. Wires slunk beneath your flesh. Technology dug it's way into your brain and gave you memories that were not yours. Armor formed over your body, becoming one with your bone and sinew. You were made new by this strange, alien technology...

...And the Aliens hunted you because of it.

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Our World:

The War That Killed Earth

On September 8th, 2005, chaos ignited the world afire. North Korea launched a nuclear strike against South Korea, devastating the entire country and washing it in radioactive pyre. The United States and her allies were quick to respond, rallying a massive coalition to take down the rogue nation. A million boots hit the ground, stormed Pyongyang, and devastated the armies of it's dictator. The fighting was quick and brutal, leaving hundreds of thousands dead over the course of three short months. North Korea fell, and her leader captured, but that was not the end of the conflict.

Russian and Chinese collaborators bickered with their western counterparts over what should be done with the occupied land. The Eastern Bloc wanted to absorb it into their countries, splitting Korea evenly between them. NATO wanted to establish a democratic puppet state, uniting the North and South into a single, new regime. Tensions rose in the region as Chinese soldiers forcibly occupied the capital. Russian battleships barricaded relief boats, citing that Korea would only be assisted and repaired by the East. A foolhardy American captain attempted to run the blockade. His ship was blown apart by the Russians, and war was all but guaranteed.

World War Three had begun. The sides were drawn, and nuclear weapons were polished as the nations of earth readied to drown the whole planet in bloodshed. Armies met, first, in the Korean peninsula. The fighting was bloody, and every battle was a pitched one. Neither side could get the upper hand. More theaters opened up across Europe, Asia, and Africa as time went on. By 2008, Russian forces were clashing with American and Canadian garrisons in Alaska. The death toll was catastrophic. Over 120 million were dead within three years of the first gunshot. It was a miracle neither side had launched their arsenal of nuclear arms. The threat of mutually assured destruction kept even the most trigger happy world leaders from using their most powerful weapons, even as the conflict waged on.

In 2016, the world had enough of death. Citizens within every country involved in the fighting rose up, with a single voice, demanding their world leaders bring an end to their petty squabbles. Billions of people found themselves united under the singular banner of peace. Riots spread throughout the world. Capitals burned, presidents were executed, and chaos reigned. It wasn't until 2018 that the nations of the world relented. Their guns were thrown down, and the rivers of blood rose no higher. Radical changes were made to the way things were done to prevent another war like it. No one wanted to destroy the planet. Things needed to change.

And so, they did. The United Nations became the One World Government. Every nation bowed the knee, and was offered a spot on it's council. Those that resisted the unification were eventually forced into the fold by the armies of the O.W.G. The near end of the world was still fresh in the minds of all as steps were taken to rebuild, and repair, the broken planet they called home. 2020 saw the construction of a man made island in the center of the Atlantic ocean. Almost overnight, a massive city was built upon it, and New Zion became the seat of the world government.

Twelve years have passed since New Zion was built. Twenty two million people left their home countries and flocked to this great city of the future. Construction is always ongoing within New Zion, with new skyscrapers being erected almost every day. Hope was beginning to return. An uneasy peace had settled in, and people were beginning to think the worst was behind them..

The Hexagon

No one knows what it is. No one knows why it came. The massive, six-sided super structure that hangs above the city of New Zion stretches for miles in every direction. The alien craft casts a looming shadow over New Zion, even in the middle of the day. Force fields, unseen by the naked human eye, surround the island. No one has been able to pass through it, and any attempt to break the invisible shield has been fruitless. The New World Government is rushing to learn more about the object and whatever, or whoever, had brought it there. Attempts to communicate with it have, so far, been met with silence. Military force is strongly being considered, but with New Zion held hostage, the N.W.G's hands are tied. The world waits with bated breath to see what becomes of this alien craft and their capital city.

The Pods

During the chaos of the Hexagon's arrival, eight egg-like compartments were launched from within the Hexagon. Their landing went unseen by officials within the city. These pods were scattered across New Zion, landing in relative isolation. Only a few individuals were around to find them. Upon proximity to organic life, they opened. Sitting within each egg was a strange, high tech weapon of varying design. Some found a reaping scythes. Others, a sword or a spear.

Whatever was hidden within the pod, they all had one thing in common: on contact with a human host, the weapon connected to them. Mentally and physically, sword and man bonded into one being. It became apart of it's host, and it's host a part of it. Cybernetic augments changed the interior biology and physiology of each recipient. It gave the wielder hyper enhanced strength, speed, and senses, as well as gifted them with a metallic carapace to protect them from harm.

Little is known about the weapons or why they bond with humans. Their capabilities are mostly a mystery, even to the wielders. What is know, however, is that the tools have turned ordinary people into unstoppable, super powered beings of incredible strength. They can topple buildings, rend metal with their bare hands, and run faster than a speeding bullet train.

Important People

Secretary General Howard Stain-
Age 61, the Secretary General of the New World Government doesn't hold an incredible amount of power within the organization. He acts as the head of military matters and holds the deciding vote in Council meetings, but most of Stain's job is public relations. He is a head of state, and works to keep an open dialogue between the N.W.G and it's populace.

Commander Gerard "Madman" Troi-
Commanding officer of the New Zion garrison. Commander Troi, 38, is renowned for his fearlessness, and the brash disregard for high command's orders. He used to be a field general, but was demoted to Garrison Commander after personally leading an army of six hundred men into a two thousand strong revolutionary camp, despite being ordered to pull back. He won the day, just barely, and potentially saved the lives of tens of thousands of civilians in the nearby city, but his actions were far from celebrated by the brass.

Mayor Emilia Burke-
At only 31 years old, Burke is one of the youngest women in the N.W.G political bloc. She is the mayor of New Zion, and is largely responsible for the rapid growth of the brand new city. Her cunning political movements and smart use of budgeting has expanded New Zion into one of the most influential and populace city's on earth.

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Da Rules:

Now don't worry, I'm not much of a stickler for rules n' guidelines. On most things, you can probably rely on common sense and be right 99.9% of the time. Following the site's rules and asking questions when you're not sure will go a long way for ya.

Mainly, I'm hoping everyone can get at least one post out a week. Slow posting is what kills good RPs, and I don't want that for this. If you miss the posting deadline without first talking to me, I'll do what I have to to keep the RP moving along. So, if you don't want to get pushed to the side, stay up to date!

In regards to length, I'm a little more scrutinizing than I probably should be. One liners are super lazy and really don't add anything to an RP, so if you had a tendency to only write one or two sentences, this ain't the place for you. I'd like everyone to shoot for at least one whole paragraph at minimum. That's five-six good sentences. However, I don't think one can adequately flesh out a character by only posting a single paragraph once a week. The more detail you put into things, the happier I'll be!

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Character Sheet:

Character Sheet

[Appearance]

_{Include Height and Weight.}

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Name: Self explanatory
Gender: See Above
Age: I won't put an age cap on this one, but be reasonable. Toddlers and old men aren't gonna be fighting aliens too well.

Personality:

Gimme the bullet points for this one. Major character traits should do.

• Item A
• Item B
• Item C

Background:

Tell me a bit about your character's past.

Weapon:

The weapon your character found within his or her pod. It can be anything from a scythe,
a sword or a gun. Just give it a high tech edge and make it anime as hell, and I'll be happy. I'm hoping not to get too many repeat weapons, so keep an eye out on other character sheets.

Talents and Skills:

What sorts of things does your character excel at? Don't feel obligated to include things like martial arts training or anything like that if you don't want to. Our characters will all be on relatively equal footing, combat wise, when the game starts off.

CS CODE

[HIDER=Character Sheet][CENTER][b][Appearance][/b]
[sub]Only Anime Face Claims.
Include Height and Weight.[/sub][/CENTER][ hr][ hr]
[b]Name:[/b] Self explanatory
[b]Gender:[/b] See Above
[b]Age:[/b] I won't put an age cap on this one, but be reasonable. Toddlers and old men aren't gonna be fighting aliens too well.

[b]Personality:[/b][INDENT]Gimme the bullet points for this one. Major character traits should do.
[list]
[*] Item A
[*] Item B
[*] Item C
[/list]
[/INDENT]
[b]Background:[/b][INDENT]Tell me a bit about your character's past.[/INDENT]

[b]Weapon:[/b][INDENT]The weapon your character found within his or her pod. It can be anything from a scythe,
a sword or a gun. Just give it a high tech edge and make it anime as hell, and I'll be happy. I'm hoping not to get too many repeat weapons, so keep an eye out on other character sheets.[/INDENT]

[b]Talents and Skills:[/b][INDENT]What sorts of things does your character excel at? Don't feel obligated to include things like martial arts training or anything like that if you don't want to. Our characters will all be on relatively equal footing, combat wise, when the game starts off.[/INDENT][/HIDER]

[Supermaxx]

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

Graves didn't know how he felt about Rael's little theory. If this dungeon was just the beginning of another tier of monsters, with more intelligent AI and actual tactics, what did that mean about the rest of the game's difficulty? Would there be more dungeons like this one? The playerbase would need to adjust their expectations on how monsters should fight every time they approached certain raids. If they couldn't adapt, as their current ragtag team had somehow managed to, they'd die. 'Pariah was gettin' a lil' too easy anyway.'

"Good idea. You and flower boy can take up the rear. I'll keep covering the front. We should keep close regardless. Both flanks need 'ta be able to cover each other when shit inevitably hits the fan again. Oh, and don't...don't call us 'wayfarers.' Makes you sound gay as hell. Just call us players." Graves wasn't a fan of the original plan to keep themselves split into two fireteams anyway. It left them exposed and weakened. Splitting up was never a particularly bright idea in a dungeon; and now that the monsters were using ambush tactics, the danger was multiplied several times over. "Yo, Orchid!" The Blood Knight shouted, turning to Ochre. The craftsman was going through the rather disgusting process of picking apart the corpses for materials. Graves grimaced at the sight, but he didn't comment on it. "I want you in the back with the little girl. Keep our rear covered. You think you can handle that?"

The team's resident pyromaniac and psychopath might've gotten on Graves' nerves to the point where he wanted to wring her neck, but she had a point...for once in her life. They shouldn't be feeling pain. Not with the same intensity that followed when Graves was struck by a goblin's arrow earlier, anyway. It was certainly cause for concern. The tank had reacted violently to the sensation. It was...alarming, to feel the barbs strike him and lacerate his flesh. Graves didn't fight like the other tanks. Rael was swift enough to avoid most blows. Ochre and Vulcan wore armor that protected them from harm. Graves? His power to survive came from magical potions. He regenerated his wounds by bleeding his enemies. Graves was exposed to every crushing hit of a club, and every biting stab from a blade or arrowhead. He was a tough son of a bitch, but not that tough.

Graves would be damned if he complained and showed weakness to the rest of these maggots, though. He tore the barbs from his back, blood spurting out. Each broken arrow brought an angry curse to Graves's lips, and a grimace to his face. He cleared his naked flesh of the arrows, allowing their resident healer to scar over the wounds. Everyone was shrugging off the passive magic of the dungeon like it was nothing. Graves remained silent on the subject, though he bore an increasingly sour disposition- nothing unusual for the hardened man. 'Easy for you all to say when you're barely getting hit.' He thought to himself with no small amount of contempt for how easily his party members were shrugging off this awful new sensation. The old system never hurt this much.

"Alright. We've spent enough time jerking ourselves off here. Let's fuckin' move out." The crass tank ordered. If they actually followed or not, Graves didn't much care. He took his pike in his fist and started back down the dark halls of the dungeon anyway, even if he was going alone. They would follow; that's how they worked. All it took was a little bit of yelling and some physical prompting, and Graves could get anyone moving along.

[Supermaxx]

"Why do we even bother policing other Gnawers? Redwatch is for Redfield, they can deal with their own problems."

Name

Erian of Redfort // Erian Sleepy Eyes

Rank

Greenband

Appearance

A young upstart with a penchant for running his mouth, Erian's gotten himself into enough scraps over his short years to gain a number of scars. Swelled, shallow cuts surround each of the mouse's eyes, giving him a strangely tired expression- prompting his nickname. A chipped front tooth thanks to a neighbor wacking him in the mouth with a shovel during a heated argument.

Short and scrappy, Erian's body mass is tightly woven beneath his matted fur. His coat is a mess of tangled, black hair with sparse white spots around his torso. Erian's whiskers are long and typically caked in dirt and dust. Years of working in the deepest mines of Redfort, and covering himself in dirt and charcoal, Erian doesn't stress much over appearances. Not to say he's particularly dirty. But you won't find him getting his coat brushed often or excessively washing his paws.

Erian is small of stature, nearly half that of most mice his age from Redfort. Though Erian was always part of the mining unit, following in the footsteps of his parents, he never developed much upper body strength. Most thought he was incapable of it due to oddities in his genetics, tied, likely, to his height. Erian often worked as a scout and a runner. They sent him into the tiniest cracks and crevices to examine potential new areas to excavate. Dangerous work, but Sleepy Eyes was never one to shy away from it. This activity lent him great strength in his legs and a lithe, capable build.

Personality

One would struggle to find a more fiery, passionate soul than Sleepy Eyes Erian. The short tempered miner mouse is a deeply flawed individual. He has great pride in his lineage and his nation, to the point where he blindly believes and supports everything the monarch or her government says. He has a tendency toward violence when angered, especially against those who confront and insult him personally. Rough and coarse, the rodent often times struggles to empathize with others; especially when he doesn't know them personally. His personality tends to lead to conflict with others around him. Erian doesn't enjoy fighting with family or the few friends he has managed to keep a hold on, but a lot of the time the mouse simply can't control himself. He lacks the personal discipline to do so.

Erian of Redfort loves his country and his king. He's never left Redfield before, and never had any desire to for most of his young life. Ever since he was a boy, he's looked up to the Redwatch. He sees them as the crowning achievement of his beloved kingdom. A legacy of heroism and defending the legacy of his homeland left an impression upon the young mouse. Erian's blind patriotism and loyalty to the crown has left him jaded, however. He believes the Watch has spread itself too thin trying to protect everyone- some of whom might not eve deserve defending. Why does Redfield need to guard Glendale, or Westercroft? The Redwatch is their creation. It's their army. The other Gnawer kingdoms were a drain on Redfield resources and only ever caused problems for them. Erian used to shout his views from the mountaintops. Several violent confrontations later, and Sleepy Eyes has learned to keep his opinions to himself unless otherwise asked. He's just as passionate about it, however, as he used to be.

---

Watchers and Watchguards are given 65 points to allocate to their stats, Greenbands are given 60. Each player gets five points to put into their equipment -- each piece of equipment must have one point at minimum, and 5 at most. One point items are somewhat broken, very old, or otherwise crappy items you wouldn't pilfer a dead mouse for, two point items are cheap, old, flimsy, or otherwise unimpressive, three point items are well-made, four point items are very well made, and five point items are masterfully crafted. The higher the number is, the less likely it is to break.

Stats

STR: 6
CON: 15
DEX: 20
CHA: 3
INT: 8
LUC: 8

Equipment

3 points - Well crafted bow

2 points - Hunting knife
Traits

+Like A Rat: Erian fights with the brutality of a savage. He pokes eyes, stabs genitals and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Gains a bonus when rolling for a dirty trick maneuver, as well as when defending against a dirty trick.
+Cave Diver: Spending his youth in the deepest caves of Redfort, Erian is a natural at traversing underground environments. Gains a bonus to rolls for climbing checks when inside tight spaces
-Don't Call Me Short: Erian is nearly half the average height for a male mouse his age. His small stature makes him physically weak. Penalty to all melee strikes and strength tests.
-'Short' Tempered: Easily provoked to anger and lacking the discipline to control himself, Sleepy Eyes has a tendency to respond to negative circumstances with violence. Penalty to diplomacy rolls, charisma checks and potential to become 'enraged' if hurt in combat.

Trade

Following in the footsteps of his parents, Erian used to be a miner before he joined the Redwatch

Friend

Diana of Redfort: Aunt to Sleepy Eyes Erian, Diana is a Watchguard assigned to garrison duty in one of Redfort's burrows. She took Erian in after his parents died, and helped guide him to the Redwatch when the young mouse needed a direction in life. She supports him as best she can, though Erian's temper and shortsightedness make him a hassle to even her. Diana attempts to keep a 'hands off' approach, not wanting to mix her personal life with work- she shows absolutely no favoritism to Erian, and prefers not to interact with him outside of home life. She was his guardian for the two years prior to him becoming an adult mouse, giving Erian lodging when no others would.

Enemy

Vale Goldcloak: Vale runs the major mining operation in Redfort that Erian's parents both worked in. He and Erian's father were constantly at each other's throats while he was still alive. The father often usurped Vale's authority and was a threat to his position as head of the company. Goldcloak tried to run him out of the job dozens of times. Yet Erian's father, stubborn as a mule, refused to be intimidated. It is suspected by some that the mining 'accident' that claimed the lives of Erian's parents and made him an orphan could've been the work of a desperate Goldcloak, but the authorities didn't have enough evidence to pursue foul play charges. Vale and Erian hate one another with a passion. Erian suspects he's the murderer, and Vale believes Sleepy Eyes to be an impudent child that needs to be put in his place.

History

Sleepy Eyes Erian of Redfort was one of four children born in his litter. His parents were both career miners who had never left the city of Redfort before, and their children were expected to follow in their footsteps. Erian's siblings all died working in the mines in various accidents and cave ins. Erian nearly lost his head on a couple of occasions, but he managed to survive to early adulthood. Short tempered and opinionated, the boy got into plenty of trouble with others, often fighting older, stronger mice and coming home with scars and bruises. His parents, while loving, were too busy to adequately raise Sleepy Eyes- he lacked authority figures in his life and had little to no self discipline. When his parents both died in a mining accident, Erian was left without any close family to take care of him. He was too poor to afford his own living space and would likely starve if no one helped him. His aunt, Diana, gave him shelter. Erian, unable to make a living wage as a miner, was all but required to join the Redwatch if he wanted to survive on his own.

[Supermaxx]

At the tail end of the crowd of potential recruits, a shadowy form scurried along behind. Small and unassuming, one wouldn't be remiss not to notice it. The dark shape hid itself partially between the bodies of two larger, more capable mice; they looked like farming boys, given their ridiculous mass and distinct lack of brain cells. These were the next generation of Watchmice? Seriously? Passing underneath the light of a torch, the dark furred rodent was briefly made visible to those around him. The young mouse, apparently eager to blend into the crowd of recruits, looked like the recent victim of a violent mugging. Tired, beady eyes had slight swelling around small, wretched scars that dotted his face. The few times the mouse opened his mouth, one likely caught a glimpse of his chipped front tooth. Even average mice nearly towered over the stunted young rodent. Short, scrawny and worse for wear, his presence- when eventually noted- had brought more than one shaking head or silent chuckle. Sleepy Eyes Erian didn't look like he belonged. He wasn't built like a warrior mouse, nor did he carry himself like one. Erian was always crouched over, making himself even smaller than he naturally was.

Erian kept a close eye on those around him, sizing up the competition. He was easily among the smallest of the mice in the group, many of them outright towering over him. The grey whiskered rodent leading their group forward wasn't exactly a picture of strength either, but Sleepy Eyes could tell the old mouse was still plenty dangerous in his age; though likely not in the same way he was in his youth. He hadn't minced words with the crowd of new to soon be greenbands. Passing through the front gate was their way of signing on for death. It had...nearly shaken Erian's resolve, if he was wholly honest. He almost turned back with the other cowards. But his inner patriot spurred him forward. Erian had always looked up to the Redwatch; and with his personal situation as it was, the tiny mouse all but had to, if he didn't want to starve to death or spend the rest of his life as a needy dependent. Erian wasn't gonna run with his tail between his legs. That wasn't even an option. Jaw set, and filled with uneasy determination, the black furred fighter slipped into the back of the group and proceeded forward into the Redfort's dimly lit halls.

Their Watchguard led the band of misfits into an almost barren room, save for what looked like a door, a crank and...a pile of weapons. That made Erian wonder. Were they being thrown into the action straight away, then? No orientation? No getting settled or basic health tests? A trial by fire was certainly one way to do things. Not knowing the ways of the Redwatch, Erian was glad his aunt had the charity to purchase the bow that rested over his shoulder. It's craftsmanship wasn't masterful, but it was sturdy and would certainly get the job done. Erian had been practicing with it behind the house for a couple of weeks already. He was far from a real marksman, being mostly self taught and still fairly clumsy- Erian had a long way to go before he'd ever be able to shoot with the same skill as a full blown Watcher. If his shaky archery skills failed him, the mouse had the blade on his hip to fall back on. Less than half the length of a normal sword, and a bit shoddy in his construction, Sleepy Eyes's hunting knife was a last resort sort of thing. He almost wanted to replace it with something from the pile of weapons in the center of the room, but the other Greenbands had already taken the good stuff.

Shifting on his feet, Erian scurried across the room, slowly tracing his eyes over some of the more interesting characters. There was one mouse, with lighter fur and a brawnier build, that looked particularly intimidating. He had scars that made Erian's look like scuff marks and a sword that could probably cleave the tiny mouse in half. Not far from him was another particularly large mouse that caught Erian's eye, though this rodent was a she. Wielding a warhammer that was probably heavier than Erian's whole body and actual armor unlike anyone else in the room, she was a sight to behold for a mere recruit. Had to be nobility; or a veteran's daughter, at the very least, to show up with that kind of equipment. What really caught his eye, though, was the familiar patch of black fur around her heart. It actually made the rodent smile, though it wasn't a happy or humored one. It matched his own matted coat in it's darkness, and likely burdened her with the same tired superstitious looks that Erian received. Sleepy Eyes hovered closer to the two largest mice in the room paw clenching at the bow over his shoulder. He'd use the big guys as cover for when shit inevitably hit the fan.

'Keep your head down, Eri. Dunno where this elevator thing leads or why, but this is lookin' like it'll get bad quick.'

[Supermaxx]

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

Graves kept to the vanguard of their dungeon party, as was the plan. He acted as the tip of the spear as they descended deeper into the depths of the labyrinth. It was the Blood Knight's duty to keep his eyes peeled for any monsters or traps that would impede their progress onward. Oddly enough, no such obstacles made themselves known, even as they entered a cramped tunnel that would've been perfect for such static defenses. Silently, Graves advanced, tapping the floor and the walls with the tip of his halberd periodically.

'It doesn't make any sense.' The Bounty Hunter thought. 'This is about as perfect a killbox as you can get. But...' He glanced around, eyes shifting to the back of the group where there was a distinctive lack of Orchid beside the little girl. 'Damn ingrate. Didn't even hear me, did he?' With a heavy sigh, the tank returned his attention forward, continuing on, slowly but surely advancing ever further.

'...But there isn't so much as a single trap in here to slow us down.' It was as if all standard dungeon protocol had been purposefully turned on it's head. Monsters were acting with surprising cunning, while tight corridors- usually guaranteed to have at least one to two traps guarding them- were, for the most part, safe. Graves couldn't hear any activity on the other side of the tunnel. It was silent, other than the rhythmic breathing of the person behind him and the tapping of his halberd. The quiet was...unnerving. Graves strained to see what was in front of him in the darkness. He felt sweat formulate along his brow. Was he...nervous? Why? Graves didn't get nervous. It wasn't like him.

"I think I see a room up ahead. Let's-" Graves started, only to cut himself off with a frightened shout.

Suddenly, a painfully vibrant light came before them almost out of nowhere. Graves was forced to look away from the source until his vision adjusted to the quick change. Once he was able to see, the Blood Knight was surprised to see the ghost of one of Pariah's announcers floating in the tight corridor before them. This was a...new development. Things only got stranger as the man's forced smile broke down into a worried frown, and he approached them out of character. Something big must be going down; Pariah prided itself on it's immersive nature. The information he had for them was the closest thing to terrifying Andrew had ever experienced. 'Holy shit. B-brain-dead?'

Andrew felt like he'd just been struck by a freight train. He couldn't explain the numbness that spread through the tips of his fingers. With shaky, uneven breaths he looked back at the rest of the party. They...they were in real danger, now. T-they could die. All it took was their health dropping down to zero, then they'd go...brain-dead. It didn't feel real. This couldn't...be. But it wasn't...it wasn't just a joke. The admin said so outright. Andrew hadn't experienced true terror before. But this. This was pretty damn close. Graves ran a shaky hand through his sweat soaked hair. He gripped the shaft of his halberd tight enough for his knuckles to go white. His every instinct told him to run. But where to? He was trapped. They couldn't log off; he tried to, even though the developer said it couldn't be done. 'Oh God. Okay...shit. Fuck. Keep it together.'

Landon was the first to break the silence. His loud shout drew a brief jump from the towering warrior, much to his shame. Their resident alchemist, who thankfully still had his wits about him, had come up with a quick plan for how they might escape the dungeon before...before it was too late. Graves silently nodded, following along with whatever plan he had. The Blood Knight didn't like being stuck at the back of the group as they backtracked to the front gate. He was constantly glancing over his shoulder, worried more ogres would pop out of the floor to actually kill him at any second. Thankfully they were able to return to the entrance without incident, and Landon went to work strapping every explosive in his arsenal to the threshold that blocked their path to safety and freedom.

At the older man's order, Graves retreated a good number of steps behind him to keep out of the blast zone. Dying to a teammate's controlled explosion sounded a hell of a lot worse than getting jumped by an ogre, or shot to pieces by a horde of goblin archers. Landon oozed confidence in his own plan. He even asked the fire mage to light up his cigarette, too. Graves couldn't help but envy how...calm he managed to be in a crisis. With the blast imminent, the tank placed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. The ground shook, and the explosion was still eardrum-shatteringly loud. Turning hopeful eyes up toward the gate, Graves was once more struck by a very human feeling of despair. The gate remained. It was barely even scorched, somehow. It didn't work. Players usually couldn't just blow their way through dungeons for...obvious balance reasons. But this- they needed this one to work.

They were well and truly stuck in the dungeon, unable to escape through their original entrance. Trapped within an unknowable labyrinth, surrounded by monsters with wits as sharp as their gleaming blades. Graves rose up from his hiding spot on unsteady legs. He crossed over to where Landon had fallen onto his backside. Reaching down, the tank placed a strong arm beneath the pyrotechnician's arm, helping to lift the man up if he didn't- for some reason- resist the assistance. "You okay?" The Blood Knight asked, concern written all over his typically rough and uncaring visage. He didn't have time to keep up the 'tough guy' act. Not in this situation. Andrew wasn't that stupid. It didn't take a genius to tell that they only had one last option for getting out of there, save sitting around and hoping the administrators found a way to log them off before they were turned into monster chow.

"Hey, uh. Guys?" Graves raised his voice a little, looking around as he tried to get the group's attention for a second. There was a good chance morale was...wavering, after that failed attempt at escape. Everyone was probably feeling about the same way Graves was. He could've kept quiet, but- they couldn't just stand about waiting for the end. Something needed to be done. "Right. So." Graves set his weapon on the floor gently, crossing his arms over his chest. It made him feel just a smidgen more secure. "Obviously...we're probably all not...feeling too good about this." No shit, Sherlock. "However. We can't just sit here moping. We need...a plan. We can't get outta here through the gate, so...As far as I can tell, we have two options. We either set up defensive positions here and hold out until the admins can log us out; if they even can. Or..." Graves sighed, glancing around at the rest of them. The control mage with her chains out seemed particularly on edge. "We try to get out the normal way. Beat the dungeon so we're not just sitting ducks waiting to be attacked. I know- I know that sounds crazy. Especially with- well- yeah. You know. But...I'm gonna be honest, guys, I can't see another way outta this."

[Supermaxx]

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

Graves stood in stoic silence, softened eyes cast over the rest of his newfound companions. A number of them stepped forward to say their piece on the matter. With each voice that rang out in those damnable halls, the inner gnawing of doubt and fear began to slowly quiet. Elian's words held a heavy truth to them. No one there was anything special. Not really. They hadn't logged on earlier that day expecting to be shoved into a life or death situation with no hope of escape. If they knew what they were getting into, it was likely none of them would've came. Yet here they were, all the same. Graves understood her fear. Hell, he held it within his heart all the same. The tank let his arms drop from his chest, taking a singular foot forward. He was intent on moving to Elian's side, to make the healer feel better in some respect.

Or, he would have, if not for the intervention of Tiferet. Their resident fiddler was alongside the healer, a confident, reassuring hand upon the woman's shoulder. What Tif said was true, too. The only way their party was getting out of their was through the monsters; sitting back and waiting guaranteed nothing, other than the same fighting that would come for them whether they moved through the dungeon or remained where they were. This wasn't about heroics, like Elian said. This...this was about survival now.

"Elian?" Graves spoke her name in the hopes of getting her attention. "I'm gonna keep you safe. I promise." The Blood Knight spoke with a confidence he didn't have. Faux though his courage may be, Graves meant what he said. He'd keep their healer safe. It was his job, after all. No different from any of the other dozen times the tank and the dancer worked together. Well, mostly. There was one difference: they were playing for keeps this time around.

The bounty hunter's shaky, cold hands returned to cross over his bare chest. The crimson eyes of the bulky warrior turned away from Tif and Elian, moving over to where Sky was...well. Sky looked like she was losing it, to put it lightly. The fire mage was laughing hysterically while hot tears ran down her cheeks. Just looking at her, it felt like someone had punched Graves in the gut. 'Damn..' Once more, the typically prickly man felt...compelled...to move. To speak, at the very least. Protecting people was second nature to the tank. But how could he protect them from this? There wasn't an ogre to fight. No horde of goblin archers to knock down. It was the fear of death that weighed on them all; something no weapon could hope to harm.

Thankfully, Sky was stronger than she looked. She was able to get a handle on her emotions and swallow the pain, at least for the time being. Graves held his gaze upon her. He listened, and he understood, but...Did he agree? The fire mage spoke of a world they all wanted to return to. Of things they missed out on by being stuck in this dreadful place. Yet Graves felt a nagging in the back of his head. A question that would never find it's way to his lips.

'Do I have anything to return to?'

Andrew had a fairly mundane life. He'd always thought the hand fate had dealt him was shitty. His family couldn't care less about him. He had no real friends, if he was honest with himself. Life was a cycle of waking up, going to work, then coming to home to play Pariah until he was too exhausted to continue. Pariah was the only place he had found any real joy. Everything else he did was, in essence, a way to continue to feed into his gaming habits. That didn't...that didn't mean he wanted to be locked up in here, though. He didn't want the threat of death constantly dangled before him every time he logged on; and he definitely wasn't going to let any of these other people be caught up in here because of his inaction.

Burdened by questions he really shouldn't be worrying about at a time like this, Graves's attention was quickly grabbed by the sound of Rael's voice. His eyes flickered over to her, narrowing into daggers as she outright insulted everyone for being afraid. No, that wasn't it. Rael was trying to make them feel better...in her own 'special' way. Graves didn't know how he'd missed it earlier, but the pipsqueak was smiling. She spoke with a confidence befit a warrior. Behind her courage, Rael had a point as well. They'd managed to handle the ambush without serious injury; the same threat of death had hung over them then, too, even if they didn't know about it at the time. If they could adapt to that attack, why couldn't they do the same to everything else that lay ahead?

Graves's hands steadied. The devouring teeth of terror found no purchase in the iron hold of his heart. Everyone had made their decision. They all knew what had to be done. Sitting around here and moping wouldn't help anybody. They had to clear the dungeon to get out; so that's what they were going to do. The Blood Knight found a smile breaking out without his consent. "You're a real bastard, ya know that?" Graves chuckled, his foot slipping underneath the shaft of the halberd upon the floor in front of him. With practiced ease, he kicked the weapon up and caught it in his waiting hand. "Anybody else feel like makin' a speech?" He asked, shifting his gaze around at the others. Orchid and Altissma were quietly huddled together, looking just as afraid as the rest of them. Landon and Mirage were fairly quiet, too. "Then how about we get the hell outta here?"

The bravado that had once characterized Graves's interactions with the rest of the party returned to him. He knew they were all still apprehensive- all but Rael, anyway. Probably afraid, too. But they had collectively decided to move forward, so there was no point in dragging their feet and crying about it anymore.

With a sigh, the tank gave a short nod and raised his voice. "Alright everybody. Back in formation, we're moving. Orchid!" Graves shot a serious look at the man. "You and 2Chainz watch our midsection. Keep your eyes peeled for any ambushed from above or below, got it this time?" Graves didn't know those two well, but he hoped they could be relied upon in a crisis.

Turning his eyes toward their damage dealers, the Blood Knight addressed them as well. "Mirage, Sky, Landon- kill anything before it gets too close. We'll keep you covered, just make sure everything fuckin' dies, got it?" They were the lynch pin to the formation. If the backline ever fell, none of the rest of them had the damage to deal with a horde of monsters descending upon them. It was the job of the tanks and the healer to make sure they stayed alive long enough to make sure the monsters fell.

Graves looked next to the pair of supportive casters. Tiferet was holding up surprisingly well. Probably better than Graves was, if...he was honest with himself. Most of his confidence was a flimsy facade meant to make the rest of them feel better. In all honestly, Graves was probably closer to Sky's reaction- breaking down into tears- than Rael or Tif's. Somehow, however, he kept up the mask. "Fiddler, Dagger-ears. You two stay right behind me, okay? I'll make sure you're safe." Graves looked between the two, but his eyes were mostly on Eli when he said that line. "Just keep us all up. That's all you gotta do. It's just another dungeon, right?"

Finally, Graves looked to Rael. She was the only one who looked like she had her shit together. Whether that was her hiding behind an impressive mask or the fact that she was just impossibly brave, Graves couldn't tell. But her ability to remain calm, or at least fake it, caused Graves to naturally rely on her more than the others. "Pipsqueak," He addressed her with a grin. "I'm counting on you to watch the rear and to fill in any gaps in our defense. If anything gets through, you peel back to deal with it. You can do that, right? 'Course you can." Graves dropped a hand from his halberd, the larger tank quickly went to ruffle the little ball of angst's hair. "Oh, and don't call my party members dummies- that's my job. Now! Let's move, people! We don't got all day."

[Supermaxx]

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

Graves turned on his heel and started back down the tight corridor they'd come back to the main room from, a smirk plastered on his face. It may have been at Rael's expense, but the short girl's reaction to his teasing had helped raise his spirits a bit. The Blood Knight was feeling better about the plan to journey deeper into the dungeon in search of escape. Graves would always remember, in the back of his minds, the stakes that hung over their heads- failure meant death. Like actual, real, not-in-the-game death. It still sent a freezing shudder down the man's spine to think about. Still, he was doing better than when they first heard the announcement from the dev team. The rousing speeches from the likes of Tif, Rael and even Sky had turned back the darkness encroaching on his heart. Fear's devouring maw was held at bay for the time being by a cheap laugh at a girl's discomfort. Everyone seemed ready to continue the trek further into the unknowable halls of that damnable labyrinth.

Everyone except one. A loud shout to 'WAIT!' came to Graves's ears from behind him. Curiously, the towering knight of crimson turned to face the source of the yell. It was their control mage; the one he jokingly referred to as '2Chainz' earlier. With a raised brow, Graves turned fully to look down at the shorter woman as she spoke in a hurried, fearful tone. His expression fell. He...understood her concerns. He really, truly did. If Graves had even the slightest clue as to when the issue would be fixed, he would be right with Tessa. Staying still was...easier, even if it wasn't necessarily safer. A defensive position could be held with some difficulty. Enemies coming from above and below was a constant hazard. However, having a wall to their back gave them at least one reliable safety net in a fight. And...really, heading into the dungeon- of their own volition, no less- when death was permanent and real was suicidal at best.

"Listen." Graves let the tip of his halberd drop. He walked up to Altissima, towering over her with his abnormal height. "I know you're scared." A strong, gauntlet-covered hand lifted up and then dropped down on her shoulder. "I understand. I'm...terrified, too. This is way...way beyond me." The voice of the Knight was unlike before. It held no hostility, no presumption of authority or superiority. Graves spoke with a calm reassurance, and a deep understanding of just how Tessa was feeling. "But...We can't stay here. It does seem safer, yeah. But you heard the dev- he said they've been trying to fix the issue for hours. We have no idea how long it'll be before it's fixed. We could be stuck in here all night if we just sit and wait." Graves gave Tessa's shoulder a squeeze, his smile widening. "We're going to be okay. We've all done this a hundred times before. You and Ochre are going to watch each other's backs. And if anything goes wrong, call for us- we're going to keep each other safe, okay? I promise you're going to get out of here. We all are." Graves took a step away from Tessa, his other moving off her shoulder and back onto the shaft of his polearm. "Orchid. You keep her safe, okay? And she'll do the same for you. Now...we can't afford to stand around here too long, or another ambush is bound to come our way. You're going to be alright, Tess, right? You can do this?"

[Supermaxx]

Character Sheet

Character Sheet

Name: Franklin Warwick Steiner

Gender: Male

Age: 38

Rank: Sergeant

Former Regiment(s): 4th Squad, 2nd Platoon, 5th Infantry Company, 24th Cadian Regiment

Specialty/Role: Field Medic

Personal Demeanor: The once bright-eyed and bushy tailed junior medic that was Franklin Steiner has long since died, replaced by a cynical shell of a man. War's horrific maw have chewed away at the idealism that caused Steiner to join up with the Imperial Guard in the first place. A devotion to the Emperor, and the desire to protect Cadia like all those who came before him, feel like a distant, cruel dream instead of the sergeant's past. War is hell. He's seen too many good men die to think otherwise. All the talk of glory, the pomp of service- it was nothing more than a smokescreen to deceive young men into thinking there was some kind of honor in fighting in the Emperor's name. There isn't. Not in reality. Steiner continues to serve because that's the only thing he knows. He'll continue to fight until the day he draws his last breath; because he doesn't know anything else.

Frank is known for a near disturbing ability to remain calm under pressure, unaffected by the horrors of death and violence around him. He can continue patching up wounded men or firing his lasgun into the enemy horde even in the worst conditions. Steiner keeps a surprisingly sharp, dry wit. A healthy dose of sarcasm, even in the midst of a firefight, helps numb the pain that is endless conflict. He treats his men well enough, or tries to, though some are (rightfully) put off by his cynical, distrusting attitude. The sergeant doesn't usually like getting too close to those he fights with. If they're all gonna end up dead anyway, what's the point of making friends with 'em? He'll care less when they're gone, so it hurts just a little bit less than it otherwise would.

Frank despises Chaos. The heretics and the mutants are responsible for the wholesale slaughter of many of his comrades. Daemons, creatures of the warp, hold a particular place in Steiner's dark, hateful heart. Xenos, while still his enemy, are a bit more amiable. Greenskins are nothing but savages to be put down, but...the Elder and Tau feel like lesser threats. Traitor Guardsmen not beset by the corrupting powers of Chaos have Steiner's pity, for he understands their struggle and empathizes with them- but they are the enemy all the same. At the end of the day, Sergeant Steiner shoots at whatever he's ordered to. Anything less would be grounds for execution.

Description: Sergeant Franklin Warwick Steiner is not a tall man. He stands several inches below the average height for a man of his age in the Imperium. Decades of continuous service have rendered his body strong, and hardened. His skin is scarred and tanned, feeling more like hardened leather than anything else. With arms like tree trunks and a chest shaped like a barrel, Doc can hold his own in a grappling match with anything short of an Ogryn.

Seven of Steiner's fingers have been replaced by bionic augments, and his body is practically a canvas for scar tissue. Burns, cuts and bullet wounds scatter their way across his chest and arms. A deep, ugly scar runs from just above his left eye, down his nose, and ending above his right lip- a Traitor's bayonet nearly finding a new home in his face in the past. His eyes are a deep brown, matching the scruffy stubble upon his chin and the barely regulation locks falling down from his head.

Typically, the sergeant wears the normal uniform of a Cadian infantryman. The only difference between his and the standard fair being the bright red symbol of a member of the medical corps featured prominently on his left shoulder pad, opposite his squad number. In the same vein, his arm holds a medicinal injector around the gauntlet, for quick and easy application of battlefield stimulants.

Service Record (History): Frank was born in the upper echelons of Cadian society, in the cold northern reaches of Cadia Primus. His father was a senator, and his mother the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Franklin's early life was dominated by luxury and ceremonious pomp. He was raised among the children of aristocrats, learning of his planet's history through a rosy, tinted lens. Life was good. It was easy. But that wasn't what Frank wanted. He heard whispers of the Eye of Terror that hung not far from Cadian space, and of the Gate that kept the tendrils of Chaos at bay. He heard tales of the mighty Imperial Guard, and the brave men and women of Cadia who stood guard against the Daemons. Young Steiner wanted to join their ranks. To become like those local heroes and legendary figures that he'd heard so much about. His parents weren't keen on it. They figured their son, raised soft and squishy as the child of a noble, wasn't fit for such a life. Thinking it would disillusion him from these childish fantasies of going to war, his parents admitted him into the Whiteshields.

They were mistaken, however, because Franklin had never loved something as much as being one of the Whiteshields. It was new, exciting, and- for the first time in his young life- challenging. Steiner made a whole host of new, diverse and interesting friends. They twirled their little rifles and paraded around boot camp, singing songs and working hard. It wasn't easy, but young Frank found it incredibly fulfilling. His desire to join the Imperial Guard was made all the more intense. So, when he came of age, Steiner shipped off to join the Planetary Defense Force; the first step on his journey to the Guard. As a member of the Interior Guard, Franklin's duties as a soldier became all the more demanding. His commanding officers shaped himself and his friends from the Whiteshields into the rough and ready Shock Troopers Cadia is so well known for. In the Interior Guard, Steiner got his first taste of combat against cultists and traitors. He spilled blood for the first time- blood of men. Several of his friends died beside him in that first battle, and some of that luster was lost.

One battle almost immediately led to the next, and then the next. Chaos incursion after Chaos incursion came for Cadia, assaulting the Fortress World at every turn. Trooper Steiner was shipped across his home planet and beyond, fighting back the tendrils of Chaotic madness. Slaughtering traitor, heretic and daemon alike. It was utterly terrifying, and madness inducing. Men died beside him wholesale. More than half of his company was wiped out and replaced by strangers after only a single month. After Steiner held the dying form of his best friend in his arms, struck in the chest by enemy Lasgun fire, Steiner decided he needed to do something about it. So he took up specialization in the medical corps. Franklin was briefly taken off the front line to learn how to operate the equipment, and how to properly deal with any manner of wounds. Then he was thrown right back out into the muck and mud.

Service in the Imperial Guard came five years in. Frank, now a Corporeal, was thrust into a position of leadership over men he didn't know. He tried to maintain some form of camaraderie, but it seemed like everytime he got close to someone they'd end up dead in his hands. More battles, more scars, and more dead friends. It was an endless cycle of suffering and death. Days ran together. Months turned into years. Years, finally, into decades. The sands of time wore down any glory or honor Steiner might have thought awaited him in the Guard. There was nothing here but death. Nothing but pain.

He didn't even know the names of the men he was patching up anymore. It didn't matter. They'd be dead in a week's time, if they were lucky. Most didn't survive first contact with the enemy. Somehow, Franklin's detached coldness was mistaken for excellence of service, and he ended up promoted to Sergeant. He continued doing what he was told. Continued to march into battle like a zombie, pointing his Lasgun at whatever foul thing his commanding officers wanted him to. It wasn't until recently that things changed. He received a call from command about a potential new position in a Spec Ops group known as the 'Ordo Nominis Umbra.' It paid well, and would break up the monotony of endless front line work- hell, maybe something would finally come along that could kill Steiner and he could finally know peace.

Equipment and Armament: Typically favors a short pattern Kantrael MG Lasrifle and bayonet, with an Autopistol as a sidearm. Standard medical equipment is included as well: a Diagnosticator, his injector, and a medikit.

Miscellaneous: Sergeant Steiner goes by several nicknames- including Frank, Frankie, Doc, Sarge and 'Jaded old asshole.'

[Supermaxx]

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CS Template

S H I K U D O

“Outta the way! Doctor, comin' through!”

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NAME

Nara Shikudo

ALIAS

Shikky, or Pretty Boy

GENDER

Male

AGE

12

ORIGIN

Konohagakure

RANK

Genin

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APPEARANCE

Nara Shikudo is built surprisingly strong for a child his age, thanks entirely to his family's disciplined eating habits and rigorous exercise routine. Deviating from his 'health' plan, either by snacking or slacking off, was met with severe punishment; the remnants of said punishments still mar Shikky's back. Shikky stands at 4'11, a few inches taller than the village average. A stout frame and calloused, worked hands form a strange dichotomy with his rounded, flawless features. It's often joked by other students that Shikky's prettier than most of the village girls; a fact that's earned him plenty of flak over the years. His hair is a bright auburn, reaching roughly done to the back of his neck with bangs hovering just above the eyes.

Pretty Boy doesn't deviate often from his usual attire of dark worker's pants and a partially unbuttoned tunic. When the weather's right, Shikudo likes to throw on an old, sleeveless flak jacket his grandfather wore during the Invasion of Iron. It's dark beige hide is worn out, with several stitches running all across it. There's a noticeable hole directly over the heart area, and the material's stained a deep black.

PERSONALITY & MOTIVATIONS

Nara Shikudo

CLAN HISTORY

A rough or detailed recent history of your dynastic clan. For world-building.

PERSONAL HISTORY

Character history, experiences, and life. Their home life and their academy life is a big plus. Detail as much as desired.

INFLUENCE & RELATIONS

Within your clan and the academy/village.

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CHAKRA NATURE

Earth, Wind, Lightning, Fire, Water; genin likely won't know the nature of their chakra for some time though.

SPECIAL TRAITS

General special affinities, talents, and abilities. Include your Kekkei Genkai if you have one.

FOCUS & SKILLS

A brief idea of skills your character leans toward and the like, no need to go into huge detail; needed for understanding of moderation staff for balancing issues. How does your character fight? Do they lean to Taijutsu or Ninjutsu? You get it.

EQUIPMENT & INVENTORY

General equipment used or educated with.

JUTSU

Obvious list is obvious. Link to the Naruto wiki as well.

S Rank

N/A

A Rank

N/A

B Rank

■

C Rank

■
■

D Rank

■
■
■

E Rank

Academy Techniques

CUSTOM JUTSU

Obvious list is obvious.

Justu Name

Name

Text.

Rank

Text.

Range

Text.

Description

Text.

[Supermaxx]

Darkness enveloped the dreamless rest of the guardsman medic, brought on by painful and unnatural means. His large, battle scarred chest heaved with each wheezed breath- the battering of batons and electrified clubs had done little good for the aging sergeant's body. The freezing air bit at his skin like a swarm of invisible insects, chewing at his exposed flesh with impunity. Though the cold was certainly unappreciated, it was the silence that struck hardest of them all. He could deal with the tendrils of darkness choking out the light. Warmth was a commodity a soldier born on a frozen ice ball could live without, though it was incredibly discomforting. But silence? There was nothing more unnerving for a man of war than to hear nothing at all. Not the whirring of an old spaceship. Not the crunching of forest leaves. Not even the wisping of the wind met his ears.

None of what had occurred before he was unceremoniously beaten and knocked unconscious made much sense to the Cadian warrior. Some mook in his own regiment's uniform showed up to take him away. Somethin' about being recruited for 'special operations.' It caught him off guard. There wasn't nothin' about him that made him think he was worthy for such a post, nor did he know how he'd gotten their attention at all. He was a foot soldier with some medical training, and little more; there were trillions of men just like him throughout the Imperium. Yet for some reason, that bastard came for him. What followed- his arrival in a nondescript space transport, and placement in a fairly cushy room- was mundane. He'd been told not to worry. Thinking back on it, it was a mistake to let his guard down. He still struggled to figure out why it happened. Why had he awoken to the sound of klaxons playing across the cruiser, and men shouting in distress? Why had men in dark garb and masks come for him, specifically, and beaten him to within an inch of his life? Even with the medical officer's physical might, he hadn't held for longer than a second or two. All he'd gotten out was a good two punches before his lights were knocked out.

And now he was here. Wherever here was.

Ice cold water splashed across Sergeant Frank Steiner's body, illicting a gasp from the man. He tried to jump up, but his body was tied down to the chair beneath him. "Shit!" He shouted, his gravely, baritone voice swiftly followed by an undignified series of sputtered coughs. Water was leaking into his mouth and nose, through whatever black cloth was pressed tightly around his face. So it wasn't just dark wherever they were keeping him. Franklin pulled at the binds about his arms. He kicked out with his legs, struggling harshly against them even as the cords bit further into his skin. The soldier of Cadia's breaths were ragged and harrowed, struggling not to drown in the unearthly cold that surrounded him. The water was likely meant to wake Steiner up, though he'd been conscious for several minutes already. A brief interlude of silence was followed by a non-descript voice asking him a series of questions. “Who are you, where were you going, and what are you doing aboard this ship?”

Steiner let out a harsh, rasped laugh. He stopped struggling against the binds, turning his head about the 'room' despite the fact that he couldn't see jack shit. So he was still aboard the ship. That was good to know. Whatever was going on, it was clear Steiner's life was hanging by a thread. These people had attacked him for an unknown reason, and were now interrogating him. It could'a been pirates. Maybe they boarded the ship, beat everyone down and took over- though Frank thought he'd be dead in that sorta scenario. "I uh, I could answer those questions for ya. I could." Steiner nodded, his metallic fingers scrapping against the chair he'd been strapped to. "But how 'bout you kiss my ass instead?" The medical officer chuckled again. "I dunno what kinda show you're runnin' here, bub, but you're off your rocker if you think I'm telling you a damn thing. What, you think you can strip me naked and toss some water on me and I'll break? 'Oh no, oh please don't do that! I'll get cold!' Get real, you pirates are all the same. Stupid bastards."

[Supermaxx]

'What the hell...?'

Steiner's lips fell downward from the mocking grin he'd held underneath the hood. That sound...It was laughter, of a sort. But no man could utter such a grotesque, high pitched sound. Though the chortle was surprisingly pleasant to the ear, it met with nothing but disdain from the imprisoned medical officer. A distinct, deep-seated hatred, ingrained into his heart from practically the day he was born. Franklin's scarred visage twisted into a grimace, a low, throaty growl escaping from his chapped lips.

"Chaos." He all but spat it out. The very word made his stomach churn. Every vile image of those inhuman monsters blowing apart his comrades came rushing back to the forefront of the Cadian's mind. Every las shot that melted through an old friend. Every crack of an autogun that blew their brains out the back of a soldier's skull. Steiner wouldn't forget the sight of cultists with chain weapons tearing through his lines, chewing apart flesh and spitting out clouds of red mist and gore.

So they weren't pirates. The men that beat and kidnapped him were heretics and traitors to the Imperium. Vile pieces of human garbage and refuse that did not deserve the ground they shit on. Those who turned to worshiping the daemons that destroyed once beautiful Cadia deserved nothing more than a las shot through the eye. "Scum. You're fucking scum." Steiner rasped, fury barely contained by the fact that he held no power here. He'd...never been this close to Chaos worshipers before. Not without bayonet or combat knife in hand, anyway. It was almost a surreal experience to hear that distorted, inhuman voice, as if it came from all around him.

The owner of that otherworldly voice seemed to float before Steiner, making no sound other than it's practiced speech. It spoke of the cold; as if that bothered him. Decades upon frozen world after frozen world had built up an immunity for even the harshest tundra. Fighting with little more than a cloth upon his back in the slush and snow, heated only by the occasional shot of las, was more common for Frank than breathing. His interrogator had captured his equipment already. They knew he was a medic. 'Which means they've got my tags, too. The hell are they asking for my name for, then?' It was a tactic of interrogation. Present Steiner with a seemingly ordinary series of questions, so that the later, more pressing ones come easier from his loosed lips. Frank wasn't a traitor. He was a lot of things. But he damn well knew he wasn't a traitor.

"Lemme have it, then, ya piece of fuckin' shit!" Steiner roared, the needle piercing into his system like a bayonet through the gut of a man. The medic sucked in air between his teeth. It didn't take long for the unknown substance to begin it's work. He was getting...colder. Much colder. It was as if winter itself had been transferred into his body. Frost's cruel maw wrapped around his insides, sinking it's frozen teeth deep into his form. 'What...What is this?' This was different. This wasn't...anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't a feeling he could adequately describe. Somehow, the cold wasn't numbing him. It continued to bite and eat at his interior. Anguished, pained groans fell from the sergeant. His breathing was ragged and shaky. He dug at the restraints on his arms, bucking and fighting against them, but he made little progress.

"You've...already got.." Frank muttered, his voice shaking from the freezing cold in his veins. "My tags, right? Y-you've got my name.." Steiner wasn't deluded. He knew how this would end. Captured by the forces of Chaos, he'd be lucky to die in any kind of quick fashion. These 'men' were sadists. They would make the sergeant hurt, even if he gave them everything they wanted. There was nothing Frank could do to stop this, or even slow it down. This...this was happening. He was gonna die, and it was gonna be slow and it was gonna hurt. Nothing could change that. So why give them the satisfaction? Why endanger his comrades by giving up even an ounce of information? It wasn't worth it. "I got enough brains to know...that you don't have anything on me." Steiner's rasped laugh held even greater contempt than the last time, though his strength was rapidly fading in the cold. "I'm dyin' either way. But if I can go down spittin' in the face of your 'gods?' Then that's enough...for me. So go ahead. Do your God damn worst. I can...I can take it."

[Supermaxx]

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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'You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me.'

Graves was just thanking Landon for the elixir, letting the concoction join the rest of the potions on his belt, when Elian decided to have an outburst. A sigh was on his lips and a grimace across his visage as he turned around, glaring eyes dancing between the near hysterical healer and the lithe tank she chose to call out. This was seriously not the time for them to drag each other through the shit. Yet as utterly irritating as the exchange was, the Blood Knight kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to get involved. As much as he might look like he was trying to lead them, that was a...misconception. Graves just wanted to survive. He didn't care how it had to happen. Getting out alive wasn't just his number one priority; it was his only priority. He wasn't their babysitter. If the party wanted to tear itself apart over stupid bullshit, Graves wasn't gonna try to step in and 'resolve' their issues for them. They were adults, most of them. They could handle their own shit without big, bad Graves sticking his nose into every little disagreement.

The bounty hunter impatiently tapped the end of his halberd against the stone floor, his battle worn, calloused hands changing their grip upon the polearm several times over. Graves was tired of waiting. He was tired of listening to everyone whine and complain. 'Oh, we're never gonna get back home.' They cried. 'I'm so sad and scared.' Well no shit, Sherlock, they all were. No point standing around moping all day. They were losin' daylight. If everybody wanted to stand around and cry until they were all mauled to death by the dungeon's monsters, they could be his guest; Graves was leaving, whether it was with them all or by himself.

Thankfully for Graves's sanity, Elian's bait wasn't taken by Rael. She shrugged it off and- hopefully- their healer would just let it drop. It didn't matter. Really. She had misconstrued Rael's attempt at helping as her not taking the dungeon seriously. Maybe it was because Graves thought on a similar wavelength to the other tank, but this might be the first time the bounty hunter hadn't taken El's side in awhile. 'She's just...scared.' He sighed. She had plenty of reason to be high strung, so there really was no blaming her.

"This'd be a hell of'a lot easier if I had that drink now." Graves muttered to Landon, turning his attention toward Rael as she addressed him. "For the love of God, yes. Let's get the hell outta here already. Everybody on my flank. I'm movin' now. If you wanna get left behind, be my fuckin' guest, but I'm ready to go." It felt like the millionth time Graves had to say that. They just weren't moving. Every single time Graves started forward, somebody had to go and say something- delaying their advance yet again. The bare chested tank wasn't keen on waiting any longer. Weapon firmly in hand, he started out of the room and back toward the tunnel they'd just exited. They had a lot more dungeon ahead of them, and couldn't be bothered to wait around here anymore. It was a waste of his time.

[Supermaxx]

It stopped. Everything stopped. The torture, the mocking. His captors seemingly disappeared the moment the words 'do your worst' had left the mouth of the Guardsman. Steiner kept his guard up for several minutes. He listened intently, trying to make out some...ambient sound. But he could not. All the sergeant heard was the rugged sound of his own ragged breathing, and the muttered ambiance of the ship's dull, constant hum. Once it was clear the interrogator had no intention of speaking up again or applying more of that horrific cold inducement drug, Franklin dropped his guard- partially. He allowed himself to simply breathe, and take stock of the situation. He'd been captured, presumably, by members of Chaos. They had yet to mention their god by name, so Steiner's assumption was that he was dealing with Chaos Undivided. The same force that the Despoiler- the Great Enemy of Cadia- belonged to.

At least Steiner was starting to piece together information on his captors. More like educated guesswork, at this point; the longer Frank was imprisoned here, the more solidified his theories would become. It was odd that they hadn't been more upfront about their allegiances. Most cultists jumped at the chance to infect Guardsmen with the heretical teachings of their putrid daemon gods. Was Steiner dealing with a special breed? Or was there something else going on that he hadn't quite placed? 'Not that it really matters.' He thought with a grimace. 'I'm fucked, no matter who these guys are.'

Lost deep within his thoughts, Steiner hadn't noticed time withering away around him. He had plenty to think about. Plenty of regrets to consider, and horrific nightmares to relieve while he sat in the cold, listening to his own chest rising and falling in the darkness. It wasn't until a great force impacted against his abdomen that Steiner was wrenched back into reality; if one could call this hell real. A strike from a baton nearly broke his ribs. A fist cracked against his nose, drawing blood. They beat him. Steiner could do nothing but grind his teeth together and hold back an agonized scream as he was turned to a bloody pulp. Frank couldn't fight back. He couldn't move to defend himself from the raining blows. All he could do was tuck his chin against his chest with all of his remaining strength, and wait until it ended. It did, in short order, when electricity was sent cascading through his squat, muscular form. Not even a Cadian Shock Trooper could withstand such forces, and Steiner lost consciousness- assuming he would never wake up again.

But somehow, regrettably, he did. Steiner eventually awoke, his head swimming from the blunt force trauma it had endured. Steiner could taste the rust-like presence of blood in his mouth. He could feel it running down from his nose; it was harder to breathe than ever. It took a great deal of effort just to suck air into his lungs. Now his feet were on the floor. He'd been forced into a squat. Frank moved, the clinking and rustling of chains telling him all he needed to know. There was no getting out of his position. Perhaps if he was ten years younger and unharmed, Franklin could pull some acrobatic, gymnast shit and get his arms out from behind him. But there wasn't any way to get out with the chains firmly anchored to the floor.

When the panic faded, Steiner once more went back to listening. He could hear more out in the darkness. Breathing that was not his own. The interrogator had been utterly silent, so Frank knew this was a new presence- or a new tactic, depending on how cynical he was feeling at the moment. The medical sergeant tried to single out the number of individual patterns of breathing he could hear. Three...maybe four, others? Five? It was difficult to differentiate from some of them. Steiner could tell there were more than two, however, which led him to believe the situation had changed rather drastically. His captors must've figured they couldn't break him the old way, so they were trying something different. He waited until he heard voices. Someone calling out if any of them were awake. 'More prisoners?' He wondered, skeptically. Steiner chose to remain silent, continuing to simply observe. This could very well be a trick. An attempt to get him to open up to those he perceived as fellow 'prisoners.'

Or, Frank could genuinely be in cell with others like him. Other crew of the voidship that had survive the encounter and been taken captive. Another voice came. More high pitched. A woman, maybe. She sounded as distressed as the first man to cry out. 'Decent acting if they're cultists, gotta admit.' Steiner wasn't fully convinced yet. He continued to wait and listen. Another voice. A man, this one angry, demanded to know what was going on. Frank swore he recognized the accent from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd worked with someone that sounded like that at least once before. 'Is that...A Catachan?' It had to be. What he was doing on that ship, he didn't know. But no one else in the galaxy sounded like that, as far as the medic was aware. Catachans didn't fall to Chaos, did they? Those from that ugly death world were legendary for their fortitude. 'Gotta be another prisoner. It's gotta be.' He tossed out the idea that it was a simple trick of the mind. Frank needed...some hope here. He'd go mad within days otherwise. So, taking a leap of faith, Steiner decided to speak up as well.

"My best guess? Our voidship was attacked, maybe by Chaos cultists. Tied me to some chair and tried to get me to talk. Wanted to know who I was and where we were going." Steiner gave the rest of the prisoners a rundown. If that's really what they were. "Didn't tell 'em a damn thing, though."