AtomicEmperor

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Edict

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Mentions: Irrelevant/Auri Auclair Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota: Club Serviteur

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Edict sat at his desk passing a book between both his hands. His feet were up, square toed black on black dress shoes shining in the little lamp's weak light. The sounds of the club echoed through the walls as the bass pounded from the song. Weeks prior, he'd installed extra sound padding to the dancefloor walls hoping to keep most of the noise and the funk out of his private space, but it wasn't working particularly well when there was structural vibration one had to deal with. The whole place shook with the motion of the people and the music, and across from Edict were two fairly stuffy looking individuals.

"Ehm, Mr. Devola, Sir..." one spoke, slightly timid. "I think, maybe, we've come at things from the wrong angle here. Understand, these museums aren't banks. The way they record things isn't cursory like some teller, the keepers there are constantly checking up on-"
"Bert..."
The man clammed up, a cloth dabbing the sweat away from his forehead. Edict swung his feet off the desk, hitting the floor with a leather slap before tugging himself in tight to his desk. Gently, perfectly straight, Edict slid the book into the center of the desk, directly between himself and them. Both men looked at it, and the speaker (Bert) looked at the thing as though it were an infant or some precious piece of glass. Each motion Edict made with it elicited a powerful cringe response that made the man look as though he was on the verge of a panic attack.
"You don't really get how we do things around here. It's not amature hour at the Devola household, believe me."
Edict's body shifted in his chair, the deep blue dress shirt he wore wrinkling as he tilted over and pulled open one of the drawers on his side. From its depths he pulled a book, and upon presenting it and sliding it into position next to the other, Bert was at a loss. From all the ways he could examine it visually, his well trained eye couldn't tell the difference.

The book in question was a Vatican tome, something kept in a museum separate from their personal collection and on tour with several other artifacts as part of a money gathering operation for the Church. Over five hundred years old, the tome was supposed to have... Well, Edict didn't really care about that part. He had sixteen buyers lined up, and all he had to do was produce a counterfeit that would last long enough for all involved parties to abscond properly. Beyond that, as long as loose ends got tied up, there wasn't anything to worry about.

Edict waved his hand forward, inviting the two men to examine the books in front of him.
"Please, if either of you can find the difference, let me know."
The second man spoke up, incredulity in his voice.
"Mr. Devola... These may look the mark, you may have some fancy printing press and computer system to replicate everything on the paper, but there's no possible way that a replica is going to hold up to sincere scrutiny. There are chemical tests that are run, there's checks and balances, I mean fuck... A scrape of the ink off the paper alone!"
Edict smiled and waved his hands.
"Understand: There's real power in books. Especially old things like this? They... They speak to those who listen in a way that guys like you two just won't get. Case in point, tell me which book is real right now and you just leave with it. No questions."
There was a moment of tension between the two men on the other side of the desk. Finally the second grew fed up.
"No. No more of this. Mr. Devola, we'll be taking both back with us. I won't let you-" he spun to point at his partner. "Or *you*, put my career and my credibility as a historian to shame because of some wild heist!"

Edict hadn't expected the flip. It wasn't exactly wrong of him to be suspicious: The real copy of the book was miles away, packaged for transport to whatever buyer was willing to bid highest. Both present were identical copies of the original text, and he had no qualms whatsoever about both being taken. But, it was all about appearances. He never intended for these two men to get the book back; their mistake had already been made when they handed it over to him first.
He couldn't tell either of them that the copies were magic, or that to any mundane scholar they would be exact replicas down to the atomic level. He also couldn't tell them that they'd disappear in six months since by then it wouldn't matter anyway. What he could do, however, was ease the stress and help Mr. Nervous into the deal through what seemed like his own free will.
Leaning back in his chair, Edict stuck a hand down to the side and let his hand slip into the pocket of the coat that was hung on its back. He felt the warmth of the metal frame within, smiling to himself gently as he pulled it from its place. The gold frame of the sunglasses never seemed to lose the heat of summer, and in comfort he slipped them onto the top of his head very casually. That warmth washed pink over the room, letting those within feel that same summer breeze. The Warm Little Center.

Taking a deep breath, Edict placed both his hands together at the finger tips, a formation of Suggestion. He let the entire spell hang in the air for a few moments, Warm Little Center washing into their brains and visibly softening the expression around him. Mr. Nervous spoke up again before he could even finish.
"Ah, M-mr. Devola... Of course, understand this has nothing to do with you... Your business is-"
Edict released his fingers, letting his hands climb gently into the air until both palms faced upward.
"You should take them."
His words vibrated like the bass of the club in their ears, each syllable delivering a crushing blow to the inhibition centers of the brain. Instantly the two men deflated in their seats, having assumed the worst even as this strange sensation came around them: Saying no to a Gangster like Edict Devola and getting away with it? Surely it was the weight of their professionalism, their involvement with Federal security, something must've prompted him to agree...

But neither were able to consider it a plot. It was a genuine offer in their minds. Bert immediately stood to scoop both books. Mr. Nervous stood with his arms crossed, nervous and ready to leave despite the strangeness of the exchange. A business meeting ended like this? What kind of business was he running?
"You two go ahead and do whatever testing you need to. If, by some shot, you want to try again when you've seen the results for yourselves? My offer is always open."
Edict stood with them, and then the phone at his desk began to ring. He thanked God and the Fates that Blinds were so easy sometimes. You just had to give them a little extra and they ran away with their own thoughts. Why even try?
"And look, perfect timing. You two go on now. Oh, Mr. Joshua!?" he called loudly. A tall man dressed in a suit opened the office door. "See to it these two gentlemen make it back to their destination safely, there's a blizzard coming in and I don't want them caught out in the snow with such important treasure."

The two men thanked Edict profusely on their way out, and the door closed just before the last ring of the phone. Edict snatched it up, swinging it from the receiver up to his ear.
"Badabing, what's good?" he answered. His face was blank at first, shifting to skepticism before ending in a sour expression.
"Auclair? That's an old name... To what do I owe this pleasure?"

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Mentions: Mixed Attendees | Location: St. Portwell, Oregon: Flowers and Canvases

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It was difficult not coming back vindictive and just like who he wanted to be. He wanted to rub his business in everyone's face, to tell Auclair to cram her trap and get lost with the Wolf. The driver had brought him directly to the front door of the shop, and he stepped out into the breezy late fall of Portwell with his long jacket covering the garb of a Priest: If one caught sight of the brand tags they may have some questions about how deep his hands were in the donation basket, but the stole and tab collar around his neck would hopefully draw people off small details like that. He had left his hair natural, letting its short length bunch up slightly on his head as it had dried from his morning shower. Not long enough to curl, it simply became ungovernable. But it was a genuine look; like someone who was more concerned about his duty than his looks.
Over his eyes, those same sunglasses he had that most people would've recognized from so long ago. It was no secret that they were his Channeler, and if anyone had been looking at him as he arrived through the store's glass front, they probably would've seen them. But, before he got to the door and walked in, he popped them off and slipped them into his pocket. His fingers lingered on the warm metal, and he took a deep breath before stepping into the melee.

Auri greeted him at the door; he wanted to spit on the floor. Tell her how jacked up the place was. How he was ready to do everything all over again.
"Auri Auclair!" he emoted. It was excitement, happiness, longing. To them, he had to be someone who missed what they had. He did... Did miss some things. But, not the catty leadership of a dead organization. A dead family.
"It has been too long. And, of course what brings us all back? Misfortune. Shame on us!" Edict said in passing as he took a seat near the middle of the rows, but far off to one side.
Taking his coat off, anyone looking would see him pull the face open to reveal the clerical accessories he wore. There was a distinct lack of jewelry and any kind of overt flash, and overall he certainly gave the impression of someone who had calmed down from his youthful days. It was, of course, well curated. As soon as he'd gotten the call he was on a plane to the North-West, making sure players in the area knew he was in town on pleasure so nobody got the wrong idea from the real Family. This wasn't a muscle-in; it was a pipebomb job. The kind of thing that's good for everyone.

More and more flooded in. He saw familiar faces and not-so familiar faces in turn. Tayla Choi, Eksa Thresh, Luca Olivera... Drake Blackmoore's haggard ass was still kicking around in bum clothes. Fucking tough guy. Eventually, Auri felt it right to start off with bullshit as usual. Family; Who the fuck was she talking about? No family here, just a bunch of sad and desperate kids looking for a ghost. Just like old times, the desperate fear for life took hold and sought out warmth and safety in numbers. Edict planned to suck up everything he could. Everything they'd let him get his hands on. Payback, Sycamore. He thought about the axes in his back vividly, tuning in and out until others began to pipe up.
When Britney Williams was mentioned, there was a little sting in his chest. Luca had certainly gotten a bad rap from Brit's meddling, but somehow the guy was still alive and managing. It was, as far as Edict was concerned, quite the accomplishment when he could rot the ground out from under him. Hearing Sloane's voice was like listening to an old pacer test recording: Hollow and mechanical, just like the old days.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!-" Edict started, clearing his throat. "Is it out of our consideration that Sister Auclair is mourning in her own way? For some of us, I'm sure that's the case. A little compassion for everyone can maybe set some things right, no? So she's beating around the bush a little bit, patience and consideration is key here... We're not kids anymore."
He had, and to this day still did, talk with a bit of stank on his voice. A cultivated accent from a cultivated identity. But here, he cleansed it. They had to see Greyson removed from his old ways.
"I know I've had a lot of time to think about the things that I've done wrong... That's why I came here to help put an end to this once and for all. For those hurt by my own actions, and the actions of others. So, let her have her time to speak and explain properly, rather than quickly!"

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain [CANCELLED]

Interactions: Carrion Crow
The Beach

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Owl had come into a moment of relative peace; moving with Crow slowly but surely meant that every piece of technology within the area was unlikely to make its way in the direction of or get anywhere close to the combo of Shells now terrorizing the lowland of the battle. Jets headed their way crumbled under Crow's massive battery of weapons, and any drone that tried to rush up on their position was like a clay pigeon that the massive grape shots coming from Owl's shotgun would turn into instant electronic scrap. Occasionally he pushed on one, or it pushed on him, without him being noticed on account of the lack of thermal signature. These small jumpscares ended in flicking out with the blade of the weapon, practically batting the metal gnats like they're baseballs into the sides of buildings or directly into the pavement.
It was an easy, low intensity job that let him observe their surroundings a bit more calmly and intentionally than some of the others who were in the deep thick of it. He could see Isvogel as they joined in, and King Gizzard going to town in the far distance. He pulled up the localized data feed, checking over the list of participating Vultures and their current vital signs: Greens across the board, few elevated heart rates. They were doing well, and he smiled proudly to himself at the prospect of the younger generation being able to push past this little hurtle.

The vibration of the giant particle beam can opener rocked so hard it rattled Barn Owl's chassis and waggled Owl's head inside the core. It took him a long second to realize what had happened, finally hearing Ava's voice over the comms.

"Ossifrage-80 down. The good news is that you all will get her share of the payment for this mission."

Ava

You are my sunshine...
Owl's eyes widened. He used them to scroll down on the list of vitals to Ossifrage-80. Flatline.

"Crow and Barn Owl draw its attention and keep on the move."

Ava

Owl almost didn't hear the order. Autonomous Shells... There wasn't even a fucking pilot to kill in retaliation. The sides of his vision began to darken and fade, tunnel vision setting onto the form of the machine that had slain one of their own. Most people worked a little harder after a death: it was expected that the slack would be picked up. But Ossi was a support Shell. Her systems weren't exactly "pickup the slack" kinds of things, she was very intentionally built for a purpose to serve on the team. But, moreso, it was another young life snuffed out. He wished deeply in his soul that she had gotten to stay around longer. He would've traded places in a heartbeat.

The automatic nervous response from his implants prevented him from acting with great deals of impulse, countering the flood of naturally produced chemicals with a replaceable injection that he slotted into his neck. The tunnel vision faded, leaking out as tears falling from his face. Owl snapped a lever on his left side, and the latches holding the pinyons of the Shell's cloak snapped open with a loud metallic clack. The cape fell to the ground, revealing the Shell in its entirety.
The thick digitigrade legs looked like industrial machines, the hydraulic systems slowly dropping into themselves as they pressurized toward maximum thrust. The set of eight jump-jets between the thing's feet and back began to spool up, air ramming through forced systems that already started to put a strain on the rechargeable power array. Owl knew he'd have to balance mechanical movement with maximum forward thrust to keep the balance of charge and not bottom out trying to fight this thing. His weapon's auto-loader was retracting the static shells, slotting them back into their magazine before swapping to secondary munitions. AP slugs, sabot style rounds meant more for a rifled barrel than his own smoothbore, slid back into the weapon's loading tube.

"Crow... I'm going to become a fucking problem now. Watch your own back."
In a fleeting instant, the top-heavy frame of Barn Owl took off like a scramjet. Eighty-eight percent power dump, the kinetic energy transfer from the legs pushing off the ground overcharged the system enough to give him some extra oomph as he let his jumpers rip. The heat and backblast from the machine taking off turned a section of sand and dust to glass like a runway trail as he took off at full speed toward the real problem.
Fuck Ava. Fuck the formation. If everything needed to die, he would be the Angel of Death that he had always been. He would deliver them all to their own Hell, and not a single Vulture more would worry about their demise... Seeking his heat, a trail of drones converged on the Shell's ass and began to fire off their payloads; Owl let the Shell's left leg kick up off the ground, his low and straight arc keeping him mere feet from the ground below him. Replenished five percent power, which he immediately dumped into his right hand adjustment thruster. This sent the Shell into a mid-air spiral that caused the automated drones to spin in turn, converging onto one another in a flaming ball of scrap that hit the ground with serious impact.
"For Ossifrage, and for the Vultures!" Owl shouted as he made the mad charge toward the new threat.

Ava had told him and Crow to keep it distracted, hadn't she? Well, get ready machine...

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Greyson "Edict" Devola

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"What good is a reunion without a chance to make a few bucks?"

_______________________________________________ Greyson Michael "Edict" Devola He/Him/Himself | 27 | Italian/African American | 6' | 177lbs _______________________________________________ Listening. _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "You ever read Dale Carnegie?" ___________________________________ [+] Smooth Operator ⫻ Edict was known for being smooth like glass long before his Kindling Event. He has a natural way of gauging the mood and interest of those he's speaking to, particularly in crowds and groups where he can deflect attention drawn to him. Wheeler Dealer ⫻ The mindset of a money maker is one that is constantly on the hunt. The mentality is, ultimately, that the vast amount of liquidity can buy peace of mind: To that end, Edict is constantly hunting for the bottom dollar with expertise and efficiency. Underground Broker ⫻ From the moment he realized there was a world beyond the mundanity of his forefathers, Edict has been hunting for a way to profit from it. To that end, his travels since the Sycamore Tree Sealing have diversified his portfolio of accessible supernatural resources. Made Man ⫻ The modern age of the Mafia has opened the books wide for members who would've never been accepted before. To this end, Edict has "made his bones" and is able to call upon elements of the North-Western Outfits as a young but influential Capo. One Step Ahead ⫻ Edict is used to paying for information and scrounging around for it himself when he just can't trust anyone else: He loves the hunt, and even more the puzzle that is putting it all together for a well executed plan. Dirty Hands ⫻ Sometimes there's no other option but to get your hands dirty. It's not fun, and he doesn't relish in the action, but Edict was raised with death being a simple consequence of business. As such, he's not unfamiliar with a firearm, nor is he lacking a source for them.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Wealth is like a Badge: Stupid people flash it constantly, thinking it will impress or intimidate. Smart people flash it with tact knowing that it'll serve them well." Edict is extremely aware of his appearance and the impression it gives to those around him. As such, he does his best to make sure that whatever can be changed to fit a given situation is done so with purpose and intent. His Father always stressed that one should dress for success, and he holds this philosophy close to his heart. At his core, he's a fair skinned individual with thick hair that curls out the longer it gets. His hands and feet are large, and while he doesn't work out heavily he has natural definition and bulk in some areas such as his forearms and calf muscles. He has green eyes, thick eyebrows and wide, flat ears that sit with a slight flare outward from his head. At current day, he has a goatee styled in the fashion of Anton LaVey. His body hosts several tattoos symbolic to his family, their religious practices and his own occult beliefs. A sycamore makes the centerpiece of a large mural hosted upon his back, a dozen axes sticking from various places in its trunk. The leaves remain full and hang over a few other scenes, highlighting them like little panels in a story. A rosary trails down his right arm, the cross at the end situated in his palm. The beads lead back to his neck, where they wrap around several times in a tight pattern. Preferring to keep a business/casual style, he rarely lets his hair get long unless he needs to disappear. Typically he uses a small amount of product to swipe it back; not so much that it becomes a helmeted crust of hair on his head, only enough to organize things. His clothing choices range from jeans and tank tops to fine suits color coordinated and perfectly tailored. He sees his wardrobe as an armory, and is always keen to select the perfect tools to convey the impression he wants. As such, its not uncommon for him to travel with a small duffel bag holding an extra outfit in case the need arises.

_{Psychology
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"Water under the bridge, I say. Bad blood makes bad business."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Edict's life has been spent scraping together attention from people who he assumed would never give him the time of day. The desire to accrue currency and power was always going to be a tributary desire, a means to the ultimate end of respect and love from his peers and superiors. In a different life, Edict could've been a teacher's pet or a brown nosing middle manager of some banking firm... But, he had criminals to appeal to. The attention was never going to be worth the heat that it brought, or at least in the traditional sense. With his options so deep underground you need a precinct wizard to find them, he's managed to garner that kind of respect and love from his peers he's always craved. So what's left? Seeing how far he can really push things... He imagines that, one day, he'll have a family. And they'll have a family. And after them, a dynasty built on the back of his hard work and good luck. Don Devola has a nice ring to it.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ As was quoted, bad blood makes bad business. While most of his time until now has been spent with one hand on a stack of bills and another on a telephone, his main function has been that of the warm little center of a group of people who owe their livelihoods to Edict and the Devola family. Regardless of his own enterprises, he's a big name in consultation work, always willing to settle a dispute with a fair hand and accepting attitude. Hence his nickname, as a ruling from Greyson Devola is good as God's own edicts. He looks at everything from both sides of the fence, constantly listening and watching and observing those around him to ensure that he always knows how to position himself for his personal intervention. All of it has been in service to his personal philosophy, and the idea that there's plenty of action for everyone to break off their own piece.

SECRETS ⫻ What isn't Edict hiding? A deep desire for power? A jaded opinion of the Sycamore Coven? He felt cast aside after those dark days. Once the question of how he was funding their operations came into light, Edict was an instant Pariah unfit for further necessity. They'd go broke before they needed him, and with that a great deal of trauma and angst would be locked up as he cast aside whatever sort of good parts those people had placed within him. Years of eating up their emotions, trying to be the warm little center he always knew he could be: He's a cold brick now. Cordiality is a porcelain facade painted thick across his face as he returns to St. Portwell where even his family had long since moved away.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Edict is, as far as business is concerned, a pansexual who is happy to use intimacy and private moments as another tool in the arsenal of a Smooth Operator.

FEARS ⫻ Federal investigation aside, Edict is in a constant state of concern over whether or not he's in the process of taking his last breath. Using his Lux in such frequency, and the tendency for supernatural beings to attract one another, he's constantly looking over his shoulder for the proverbial hitman that could punch his card with a magic bullet and not think twice. Between members of the Sycamore Coven whom he may have intentionally or unintentionally burned, organizations like Dollhouse who operate in similar circles but outside the purview of La Cosa Nostra and the Wiseguy's Code and any number of other Underground cults and bands of ranting sycophants, he's got a list of enemies taller than himself.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ Things were always a bit rocky between Edict, known then as Greyson, and the Sycamore Tree Coven. Certainly, none of the inner circle trusted him enough to let him in due to the nature of his connections, but they were happy to take his offer whenever a ritual needed some hard to find ingredient or money was necessary for supplies and materials. After the battle with the Stygian Snake, a series of break and enters swept across St. Portwell: Some Coven members were among those who had their possessions ransacked and stolen, and while there was no evidence that he was involved, it was assumed that the mastermind was Greyson. Artifacts gathered over several years of preparation, even something stolen from Ashley Stone herself, seemed to be targeted and picked out as if the individual committing the crimes knew their locations. With nobody else but Greyson to blame, he was banished from the Coven and turned back into the waiting arms of his criminal background.

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ As stated, a great deal of Edict's contribution was resource-based in nature. They needed places to keep things, to hide themselves, to get away from the stress of it all and cut loose for five seconds... He supplied it. Disguises made of clothes off stolen trucks, books burgled from library museums that should've never been given to magic teens, weapons for self defense, the list of what he could get them simply from having the family connection was tremendous. In those days, he felt necessary. Like he had a purpose, even if he was on the outs. It wasn't until it was all gone from underneath him that he became jaded.

FLAWS ⫻ Most likely, everyone would have experienced Edict's tendency to try and ply his Lux smoothly and inconspicuously as possible upon them. He was, and to this day still is, absolutely addicted to the feeling of successfully using and applying the effect of his Lux as it stands. Most, if not just about all of the relationships in his life to this point are incredibly unhealthy cycles of gradual exposure to the "high" that Edict is known for giving the people around him. Some describe it as charm, others an aura, but all mundanes he interacts with will feel his manipulation before he even opens his mouth to speak to them. To a mortal, it may be endearing and they may never notice their mindsets being shifted... Hell, if they did, they may be thankful for the pick-me-up. But in interactions with other Paranormals, its more than annoying. It's easy to know full well when someone is trying to prod at a weak spot, and his propensity to do so instinctively rather than reactively makes being around him somewhat taxing, especially once one realizes they need to worry about what he's saying just as much as what his energy is doing.

_{Backstory
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"Oh, you wanna bring up sensitive shit now?"

Born to Luigi Devola and his mistress Anette Bell out of wedlock, Greyson had a questionable future from the very beginning. As acting Consigliere of the North-Western Outfit, Luigi already had a family and children from his legitimate marriage, and so Greyson was initially kept apart from the family until Devola divorced and was able to take Anette Bell as his bride. With her, Greyson came into his Father's house as the youngest of five children. He was treated poorly by his siblings who slowly but surely began to come around their father less and less until he was practically an only child. It was a rocky situation, losing his children to his ex and looking at his situation filled Luigi with regret as his men below him looked up at their boss with contempt for his actions. To save face, he sent Greyson to live with his brother in St. Portwell where he'd begin to learn the family business in a more intimate light. Luigi would often visit his son, though had little to say about the boy's mother who he typically avoided any questions about.

By the age of ten, Greyson was doing what all good Mafia children do; number running, car washing, shoe shining and generally being an errand boy for any number of soldiers who would be coming through his family's social clubs. Chief among them, "The Brick Harbor", where the Devola family would meet to discuss any sort of business and current affairs. Greyson saw his father here more than in any sort of home setting, and from those influences around him gained a sense of self and an understanding of who he wanted to ultimately be. Just like them, he wanted the flashy car and then jewelry and the suits... But even more, he saw what his Father really had. Loyalty, respect, love of his people. Even he came to feel that way about the man whose laughter echoes in his head to the current day. He began to crave that kind of thing, and quickly took to his charms. He was always listening to people when they spoke, asking questions about why they said things more often than he did about what they were saying. He understood perfectly well, and had a grip on doublespeak before he was allowed to swear openly.
Slowly, surely, Uncle Devola guided the boy with input from Luigi toward the ultimate goal of a well tuned money making machine. Every day, numbers and logistics operations were driven into his brain with such frequency that he began to dream of trucks and jobs and scores. The lifestyle was in front of him every waking moment; school was secondary. Tertiary even. He only showed up to scam kids his age out of their parents' money. Massive toy discounts, boxes of sodas, food delivered at lunchtime right into the cafeteria, he made things happen for people and they paid him to get them. It was foolproof, and for a young teenager the feeling of having a shoebox full of money under your bed is unbeatable.

And then he got "pinched". At fifteen, it was only natural to transition into harder substances, and he was caught with a parcel of drugs on the high school campus. Possession with intent to distribute... He was sweating bullets from the time they moved on him to the very moment those detectives sat down across from him. His family had taught him the score: Keep your mouth shut. As they began to question him about where he got the stuff and about what his family's involvement was, Edict was filled with a recent memory. A family associate made it home from his stint in jail, came back to a big welcome home party at the Brick Harbor. His mind was enraptured by the sights and sounds: Everyone was so pleased and eager to treat the guy like royalty. His Father himself made a speech about loyalty to the code, La Cosa Nostra, and called the man "Just the kind of man I want behind me."
It was high praise, especially coming from Luigi Devola. A well of love and tender feelings, sick as they may have been in origin, began to course through Edict until the whole room was awash with pink. His Kindling Event was upon him, and as the room faded into the soft pink color, a face came to him. Maybe an approximation. Her voice was warm, Caribbean, like a morning on a beach. This potential was never going to be from his Father's bloodline... It had to be hers. His mother, who he barely knew, contributed to him the potential for magic he had never dreamed of. They spoke, and the woman told him to seek his mother. To find her and be whole again.

When next he came to, he was in his father's limousine. There were burns around his mouth, his throat feeling like charred meat. He swallowed, and instinctively his body began the process again. The limo filled with amiability, and through such manipulation, Edict could as questions of his father that he never imagined. It was the first time he'd changed the dynamic of a relationship through magic, and though it was a painful experience he began to understand the fact that he had power. For starters, the power to find out what had happened all those years ago... That Luigi was embarrassed, and that he regretted taking Anette and Edict into his home, and that he only felt it was right at the time because he truly thought he was in love. He couldn't force a severance now, however, and Edict's love for his Father would never change. He had to understand; after all, it damaged his image. At fifteen, Edict made the choice to be useful, and continue to try and find love through that lens.
His reunion with his mother came quickly as Luigi brought Edict to her. She had her own apartment in Portland, where Edict stayed for a few months. As it turned out, she had experienced her own Kindling shortly after being exiled from Luigi's life. Their connection to the shamanistic cultures of the Old South was made clear to Edict, and he studied under the tutelage of his Mother until a time where he was able to utilize his abilities traditionally through a Channeler. Naturally inclined for emotional and mental manipulation, Edict began developing spells with the love of his family and his lifestyle in mind, amassing a twisted book of a criminal's favorite things.

Of course, when he returned to his life in St. Portwell, he did what any superpowered teen could be expected to do: He tried using them. First, on marks and people who owed collections to his family. It was easy to get the money from people who were trained to see him as a good guy, and he tweaked their mundane minds to soak them for as much as he possibly could. Then, it was only natural to go to school and get things taken care of. Attendance records were cleaned, grades were fabricated, dependencies were built. He was a local menace until one fateful night. The Stygian's call gripped him, attempting to claim his soul for its own power. Toyed with him for what felt like eternity until something forced it to release him. By this time, he had already run somewhat afoul of the members of the Sycamore Tree Coven, and with few options he decided to help them in exchange for inclusion, as he naturally believed that safety in numbers would be his best way of avoiding troubles like that.
He fell back, playing to the idea of making himself useful, and provided the Coven with the sort of logistical power that was necessary to acquire artifacts and ritualistic reagents through his Carribean Connections by way of his Mother. Money, material, safe places, he was able to provide it all to the Coven per their agreement. And when it was time to finish things, he was there alongside them in the end, utilizing his power in order to suppress the inherent nerves and fears that come with fighting a God. Essentially, he was a group wide sedative. And when it came time to forget the tree, it was his ritual that was used to purge it from their minds.

He imagined they'd be his new family forever; a family he chose and had the chance to be something for. But, once everything was said and done, he began to receive the cold shoulder. It was clear to him; his services were no longer necessary to the Sycamore Tree Coven. So, in defiance of this, he tried to hold Channelers and other artifacts for ransom, hoping that once he had their attention he'd be able to truly explain his point... But, things didn't work out that way. Nobody was willing to play ball. Some were happy their Channelers were gone, so they had an excuse to escape the Coven themselves. Others simply shifted their focus, passing the attachment to another article that was equally important. Though there was little physical evidence to pin the actions on Edict, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence that gave those presiding members reason to give up on him.
At the end of his senior year, Greyson was excommunicated from the Coven, and without mincing words he was told to leave town. Whether it was respect, fear or boredom that drove him over the Cascades was unclear, but after taking another month to get his affairs in order, he was gone. Headed for the Twin Cities, Edict met with some of his father's associates from the Chicago Outfit, who gave him blessings to begin operations in the Midwest. After his personal brand of convincing, he was left more or less to run things in the burgeoning operations of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. He knew there was a niche that probably wasn't being filled: Paranormal Underground. The Carribean Connection was instrumental in beginning to flood the Twin Cities with products laced in more subtle products. Cigarettes, alcohol, legal products made by legitimate means and taxed through the legal channels, all marked up by thousands of percent thanks to the ingredients laced with magical properties.

With legitimate business run through legitimate channels, it's hard to call him a mafioso at this point. Frankly, even to him, its all a bit farcical. But, he had respect at this point that he didn't even need to manipulate for. The amount of cash rolling into the Midwest Outfit's coffers was satisfying to the big bosses who were happy to open the books for him. Ultimately, this created a strong union between mafia forces in the Midwest and Northwest. With Luigi Devola taking the seat of Don in Seattle Washington and Edict making Capo in the Midwest Outfit, some question if there'll be a greater union given enough time.
Edict has spent his time corporatizing business in his territory, moving weight from illegitimate interests into legitimate businesses utilizing his Carribean Connection and their myriad of questionably sourced products. He's well respected among the various local gangs in the Twin Cities for his skill as a mediator, often inserting himself into and involving himself with their local disputes. Not wanting to draw a great deal of heat from the Federal Authorities, which he's sure have some contingent of Adepts watching his every move, he makes it a point to give everyone he meets with for business what he calls "The Pink Wash", a full system assault of his most subtle manipulative spells and techniques. A population of gangsters, fiends and thugs constantly crave their "re-up", and they can get it at "The Import", his massive nightclub in Downtown Minneapolis.

But, now he's been called by a force he was never expecting to hear from again. Returning to St. Portwell is practically useless, but some small part of him knew he could never leave for good... Now he's concerned about whether or not the peace that counts on him will last until he returns. For now, he's back in St. Portwell and trying to not run the same old games he had in the hay day. Now, he was here to play detective, helping Auri on request with skimming the underbelly for evidence of Father Wolf.

_{Abstraction
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"Oh come on, you're gonna make me cry."

TYPE ⫻ Adept

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Pink Lux, the Channeler being a pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ At surface level, Edict's Lex is a basic emotional manipulation type. Its most natural form is Warm Little Center; a pervasive aura that effects the perception toward the user, making those susceptible to it feel friendly toward and more inclined to engage with the user. Not satisfied with such a friendly and gentle ability, Edict has honed this effect to a razor's edge, deciphering its secrets and developing methods of sharpening and even changing the effect altogether.

Subtle Advance ⫻ Edict reaches out with his aura, attempting to gauge the emotinal status of those around him by distinguishing between various internal and external reactions. Like a thief with a lockpick, Edict prods at a person's psyche on a hunt for the tumbler that will unlock the door to his target's mind. Though able to pinpoint mood and temperment, this ability cannot read minds directly and provides no insight into the reasoning behind an individual's mood. Effects vary with intensity of the search:

• Just a Peek: The most subtle variation barely scratches the surface of an individual's mental state, searching for only the most shallow of connections. While not particularly useful in a single instance, Edict uses such a thing to groom potential targets over time, gradually amplifying the effect until the subject doesn't realize they've become used to, and accepting of, Edict's greater suggestions.
• The Stare: The standard form of Subtle Advance, but augmented by his own personal skill and inclination toward reading people. Edict uses this form to try and fish for a mental opening by actively inviting a mood shift toward him that an individual may be most inclined to leave themselves open with accidentally.
• Let Me In: If previous variations were lockpicks, this is the battering ram. All subtlety is lost as Edict puts every bit of force he has toward breaking down the walls one's mind uses to protect itself. Developed as a last-ditch effort tool in case he was hunted or persued by another Adept, this variation is not only risky to Edict for leaving him entirely defenseless while in use, but can do severe damage to the subject under its effects with side effects such as high fever, increased heart rate and induced trauma from the flood of Pink Lux bombarding the brain's emotional centers. That being said, though he hasn't had the chance to try it out on someone with an Emotional Field, he's confident that he can make it through and lock a potential paranormal assailaint down with it.

More Than a Feeling ⫻ Successful infiltration by way of Subtle Advance allows Edict to pass along suggestions, manipulating them to best match the individual's mood and desires so they're naturally inclined to follow the suggestion. This cuts down on the risk of suggestion denial or conflicting mindsets keeping the target from following subtle orders. While its not a guarantee, repeated usages of this spell on a particular subject will soften them up to suggestions, and shifting moods may provide wider openings for more complex suggestions to be made.
Typically, Edict sticks to simple suggestions: Be honest, don't lie to me. Give me a chance. Let me take you. Phrases and ideas that are so close to being possible in reality that they just need a little extra push. But, given enough time and opportunity, Edict has been able to open channels so wide and deep in a person's psyche that it's practically mind control. Edict calls these individuals "Junkies" because of the drug addict-like fashion that they seek him out in, begging for him to climb back into their minds for more purpose and direction.

Power Words ⫻ In the same vein as suggestions made under the influence of More Than a Feeling, Power Words are highly specific and case-sensitive concepts that Edict has curated through necessity over time in his line of work. Unlike MTF, however, Power Words are stick and go concepts that target natural processes in the body in an attempt to manipulate overall functionality of the target, rarely needing and sort of reaplication unless ultimately broken, either by time or willpower.

• Look/Search/Hunt: These power words are physical, meant to keep someone vigilant and alert at various levels for a long period of time. Someone effected by Power Word: Look may spend several hours watching and observing nothing in particular, unsure of what they're looking for. In contrast, Power Word: Hunt may actively search for a specific target individual or object, foregoing sleep and nutrition until the goal has been met.
• Bullshit: Power Word: Bullshit isn't a mind-wipe so much as it is a broad inclination toward lying ones ass off. For the duration, one simply won't be able to be honest with those around them. They'll lie and embellish, even if the situation doesn't call for it, and any truth that does come out of their mouth is suffused with false happenings and narratives.
• Produce: Specifically targeting chemical production in the brain, Edict uses Power Word: Produce as a monkey's paw method of torture. Often he hears people wishing for more; more muscle or more energy, more desire to love... With this, Edict directly targets the area of the brain and forces it to experience a nerve response suggesting it creates and produces more of the desired chemical. Need more sleep? Produce on the Pineal gland triggers mass amounts of melatonin and adenosine to flood the brain. One gets their wish, at the cost of several days worth of productivity. In a similar vein, Adrenaline or similar chemicals can be coaxed into production at levels so high the individual becomes a walking cardiac risk.
• Silence: Contrary to the idea that Power Word Silence makes it so an individual can't talk, the word actually targets the nervous system involved in controlling the transfer of sound to the brain. Rather than the target not being able to talk, they lose their hearing for several hours until the effect wears off.

Clean Slates ⫻ A ritual spell utilizing Edict's basic area of effect ability as an amplifier, this essentially targets the memory storage center of a willing participant and allows the cleansing of memories to occur. Once the connection between Edict and the individual seeking to wipe their memories is severed, the memories themselves are lost to both Edict and the subject.

Living in Color ⫻ Edict is able to project images created in his minds eye to those who are within his effective range. This is fairly dangerous for Blinds, as these images are directly imprinted as visual hallucinations that have very little distinction between themselves and reality. For those whose eyes are open, these images are printed like advertisements or popups across one's emotional field, and while they're not intrusive, they can be easily interpreted by the receiving mind.

LIMITS ⫻ Edict's abilities are almost entirely hinged on the idea of his target being a willing participant in the process. Like the stories of Vampires, one must invite this creature into their temple for him to do any sort of damage in the first place. Most who are not inclined to play at his games; those with strong wills or weak minds are unable to feel any sort of fast acting effect associated with Edict's Lux abilities and often require a great deal of effort for him to infiltrate. Beyond that, Edict runs the risk of overdoing his poking, either leaving an individual entirely disgusted by his presence as they can read his disingenuous nature by his constant mental prodding, or worse leave them like the Junkies that hang around his night club, waiting for the nights that they can go and be near him and get their high.
Beyond these issues, close proximity is necessary as long as he's attempting to apply a suggestion or power word. While Power Words are meant to dissipate over a short amount of time relative to the effort expended in their application, Suggestions often require refreshing if they're not successfully carried out shortly after being applied. As such, its common for most of Edict's time to be spent keeping up frequent appearances or clandestine stakeouts in order to keep the suggestion fresh by the warmth of his aura.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ Strong electric currents are able to disrupt Edict's spells as they stimulate the effected areas of the brain and reset the neurological receptors that Edict targets. This does not, however, stop or reset the brain's potential addiction to his spells properties.

^{Other
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"Do you know what I'm giving up to be here? Pay me a little respect."

SPICY BOY AHHHHHHH BURN NOTICE BURN NOTICE BURN NOTICE
Face Claim: Sean "Slug" Daley of Atmosphere

Leon Richoux

"I'm no Hunter. I'm a guard; a Warden."

_______________________________________________ Leon Hunter Richoux He/Him/Himself | 29 | French/Irish American | 6'8" | 300lbs _______________________________________________ Fighting _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Don't huff and puff at something you won't blow down." ___________________________________ [+] Mountain Man ⫻ Sometimes you meet a family, they look normal enough; then a freakshow saunters in and you wonder whose Uncle descended from their troll hide in the hills. Turns out its a kid, and all you can wonder is what the FUCK they're feeding this shaved bigfoot. Leon started putting on muscle and height at an early age, and has since come to subscribe to the ideal that one's body is a temple; and his is a citadel. His job consists of fitness and health, and his lifestyle has been built around maintaining that for as long as he can remember. The Legacy of King Gravity ⫻ "Gravity" Richoux was Leon's Father: A world class boxer, trainer, and heir to the Richoux clan's powerful Orange Lux lineage. Leon has followed the example in every way possible, turning whatever he couldn't into a signature flair all his own. Indomitable Will ⫻ The capacity for strength of mind is of utmost necessity for those who wield the Tiger's Courage. You have to have a capacity for it even before you awaken, so of course Leon would be tenacious and unwavering in the face of whatever adversity is in front of him. Unflinching ⫻ Thanks in no small part to Leon's Iron Will, he can be quite the stone faced killer if need be. Not only undeterred by threats, he is rarely pushed into action of any kind without a great deal of patient consideration beforehand. This makes his recent actions especially worrying for his friends and allies. Natural Learning ⫻ Leon's not traditionally smart; his time spent learning has always been hands on and by the seat of his pants. There's a great deal of history, even about his own family, that he doesn't know. But, that has never stopped him from developing a biting wit or a fantastic knack for working with his hands. Instruments, mechanics, fighting; he just takes to it like a fish to water. St. Portwell's Own ⫻ Being his Father's son, Leon has continued the fighting tradition and risen to the heights of World Champion in his weight class. He's recognized well around St. Portwell, and to a lot of Blinds in the community, he's something of a local pillar.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Why worry too much about shit that gets blood on it?" Leon is a mountain of a man standing just under seven feet tall. At his size, the natural bulk of a human is enough to cause a great deal of attention to be drawn to them, and in this case Leon has only done more to draw eyes. His fair tone skin is covered in tattoos from his hands to his pelvis, some having to do with his profession and career, others being symbolic to his family and their history or even local imagery with nods to his underground life. Prominently on his right pectoral is the Richoux clan's crest: A tower shield backing a deer in forward picture, a crown atop its head. A set of lions in the bottom right hold up small suns in their paws. Aside from the ink, Leon is fit as hell. With his job mostly consisting of eating and training for fights, he has as much time as he wants to focus on his physique. He keeps his hair long, usually tying it in some various form of bun in the gym, then letting his full mane flow otherwise. His hands are crooked, broken knuckles and scar tissue pushing the fingers into different directions than intended, but they still close into massive hamhock fists that large piston arms carry with ease. His face is surprisingly clean for a pro boxer, notably absent of the same kind of severe scarring one can expect from being drilled in the face so often. Leon was raised in the Wicca tradition, and both Lord Gravity and the Lady Hunter were dedicated not only to the faith, but to the aesthetic of their kindred spirits. As such, the tall and majestic young man came to mirror the look, going for a mix of traditional gothic aesthetic with the punk and grunge Oregon and the North-West are known for. Even his own ring gimmick is modeled after the preferred look: Lots of black, lots of plaid patterns and toque hats or cloaks and capes in the colder climates. Warmer climates see him in tank tops and ripped jeans with undone laces. Occasionally, for some sort of event or banquet, he'll dress up in one of a couple specially tailored outfits that are more reminiscent of a European Count or Baron than a boxer. In private, it's usually something much more casual; gym wear like a pair of sweat pants and t-shirts.

_{Psychology
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"I know what I'm meant to do."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ While resigned to the idea that he's aberrant, Leon's resolved long ago that he would protect and defend his family's legacy, eventually passing the Richoux Tomes down to a worthy Orange Lux successor. To him, this doesn't just mean making sure the books are kept safe and that the Gym stays open. It's about trusting that his Father, may His soul rest in peace, had a reason to move his family to St. Portwell. His whole life, Leon had been told by his Father that this was a special place; a nexus of spirituality and magic that would one day be an Eden that the Enlightened would walk in peace and freedom. To that end, Leon has hope that a renewed Sycamore Tree Coven will be able to dispel the dark cloud that has befallen St. Portwell and grant those who have paid for the safety of the city with their lives a peaceful rest.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ As a man who has his goals and aspirations set in stone, Leon has a pragmatic philosophy when it comes to life and the way its lived. Oftentimes, concessions must be made in order to broker peace. For that reason, he's a man who knows what sort of compromises need to be made, playing for the long game as best one without vision into the future can hope to. His Father, a truly monumental figure in Leon's eyes, taught him of chivalry and of religion in its most basic moral format; that there are lessons one can take from any "Holy" teaching, and that these lessons can and should be applied to one's life in order to find the center where "right" and "wrong" actually live. Important to remember, Leon is an idealist: At the end of the day, he's seeking paradise within his lifetime, and while very few things drive him to conflict outside of his profession, he's not afraid to step into the fray should his plans be threatened.

SECRETS ⫻ While many of the Coven's members may know about his Aberration and the conditions under which he was initially afflicted, very few know that there is an artifact that can be used to quell and regulate his powers should the need arise. Fewer still know that the holder of that artifact is Daisy Hunter; the recently missing right hand of deceased Coven Matron Ashley Stone. Even fewer still know about their low-key companionship, or the long nights that were spent trying to keep Leon from howling at the moon like a deranged psychopath. The two had done a lot of work on suppressing and adjoining Leon's Aberration, flare ups now only coming at the brightest of full moons that St. Portwell had to offer.
There was little opportunity for Leon to test the waters of his skills, and as such he's taken on another life entirely: stalking the night streets as something of a comic book vigilante. To date, he's told nobody about his limit testing, but he's sure some people know; after all, how many seven foot tall "invincible" men are out in St. Portwell breaking bikers with their own bikes?

SEXUALITY ⫻ Legendary. Despite all his high moral standing and idealistic view of the world around him, he's only human. Sex is a vice, and he's happy to lend his talent and physique to anyone involved.

FEARS ⫻ Like other Aberrants, there's always the fear that one may not be in control of their fate, or even themselves, from day to day. Living life as a host is a blessing for some, those who need guidance or companionship in a strong and ever present way. For others like him, the idea of having one's ambitions and dreams and goals all ripped away because the ghost inside your head decided that time is up isn't just an idea; it's a real threat that Leon deals with every time he has to use his powers for any reason. Because of this ever-present threat, Leon has come to a point where his greatest fear isn't will it take me, but rather when will it take me. His greatest hope is that by then, Paradise will have already come to St. Portwell, and he can live among the other wolves in peace knowing he left things in good hands.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ Obviously, nobody loves a moral grandstander; but back in the day, Leon was a lot less sure of what his vision was going to be. He was a giant who had just come into the muscle and capacity of a man's body moving toward the end of pubescence. Still idealistic, however, he imagined that the Coven would be an organization that would grow with its members as they became a force for good in the North Western US. To this effort, he did his absolute best to be everyone's rock. However, his Aberrancy event and subsequent rampage left Coven members just as dead as if a stranger had killed them: From there, the effected mourned and processed. Some of them came to understand and accept that Leon had nothing to do with it in the way of responsibility. But, others still hold him accountable, citing his cocky attitude and hero complex for the main reasons why their loved ones were ever put at risk at all.

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ From the start, Daisy Hunter was sure to include Leon in the plans for the Sycamore Tree Coven. While technically an outsider, he quickly proved that his father's training and hard work with him was no joke. From there, Leon was considered one of the Coven's main enforcers, his strong grasp on the family Lux being a boon for others who were just coming into their own. During the battle itself, Leon was the Sword where others were the shield. Working in close conjunction with many of the more supportive Luxes, Leon used his Orange Lux and natural strength to use their powers in ways that would maximize the effects of his own devistating cannon fists.

FLAWS ⫻ Besides cursory sins of the flesh, simple lust and occasional gluttony, Leon has a habit of projecting his wants and needs onto others. While at surface level this seems like a "him" problem, it very quickly becomes an everyone problem. The closer one is aligned to Leon's way of thinking, the harder he makes it for that individual to have any sort of conflicting feelings and emotions. Eventually, he's unable to separate the individual's ideals and dreams from their actions and real feelings, leaving him either dedicated to someone with all of his being or so disappointed and disgusted with them that he can't continue a friendship. He's terrible at reading people, terrible at subtle investigation, and literally cannot be stealthy as he is a tower of a man: Nobody in St. Portwell or abroad could ever be tricked into thinking that this vampire looking giant was anyone other than Leon Richoux. And, to top it off, being Leon's friend on the night of a full moon is like petsitting a druglord's imported hippopotamus after it got into the product stashed in its pond: Risky business without protection.

_{Backstory
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"I'm happy it was me dealing with it: I can't imagine someone else having to."

Leon Hunter was born into the Richoux Clan, whose roots take them from French Canada to the southern French territories of Louisiana before bringing them all the way back to Versailles in the French Mainland. Their family has a noble Adept lineage, traditionally as recipients of Orange Lux who specialize in augmented pugilism and bare handed fighting. In the tradition, Leon's Father Maxwell was at one point a world champion heavyweight boxer. Nicknamed "Gravity" Richoux, he was well known for his commanding presence and raw power in the ring. He was an upstanding man, a master of Orange Lux, and a traditionalist who had kept rituals and practices from his family's long heritage passed down through historic records called the Richoux Tomes. Alongside fellow Adept and wife Lynette Hunter, these tomes form the backbone of the teachings for The Temple of Charming and Graceful Individuals; a Portland based temple run by Lynette herself. Of course Blinds get a watered down version, but having raised all five children with what Gravity had always called "the good stuff", Leon and his four younger siblings have all experienced awakenings in their own ways. Of the five Richoux, only Leon is primary heir to his family's legacy. As such, Leon spent an inordinate amount of time with and around his Father, being homeschooled for two years after awakening to his abilities in order to teach him how to utilize and suppress his powers without impulsivity.
It was then that Leon learned how dangerous their way of life and the world they knew beyond the mundane was. The fact that his father could punch holes in car doors and rip concrete from the ground with his hands didn't escape the scrutiny of a child's imagination. But, thankfully, Leon was born a fairly serious child. Mature enough to understand that what he had inside him was a weapon, he submitted to his Father's instruction and dedicated most of his time to learning and cultivating himself into what his Father constantly called "A Responsible Man." Once Gravity believed his son was fit to return to society, he allowed him to do so; the young and slightly awkward twelve year old Leon returned to public school for the eighth grade where he quickly integrated with some of the more alternative cliques around school. Distant relatives, like Daisy Hunter, would help to ease the transition as things became more normal for Leon, and he would eventually broaden his horizons after participating in the local highschool's football team in his freshman and sophomore years.

Leon continued to participate in sports and various other social activities while training under his Father, living an extremely active lifestyle into his junior year when tragedy struck. While overseas on a fighting tour, Gravity Richoux became involved in a situation involving a local paranormal group. Though there was little evidence in the case, Gravity Richoux has been missing now for 12 years, and is assumed dead. At the time, it was an awful thing for the entire family to be going through, and with their youngest child at age seven, Lynette was left alone to defend her husband's bloodline and lineage as the Stygian Snake's fog rolled across the city of St. Portwell: The Richoux's perceived Eden. With things slowly but surely ramping up around them, Leon was approached by Ashley Stone and his cousin Daisy about joining a cult of their own: A group of young Adepts in defense of St. Portwell against the Stygian Snake. Knowing its what his Father would've done, Leon dove headlong into life among the Sycamore Tree Coven, and with his Mother's blessing he began to use his powerful Lux to aid in the fights to come.
As they received new members, Leon was often the first individual to set rules and boundaries for people to follow, trying his best to convince people like Ashley and Daisy to structure and organize things like how his own family did, he often had something of a superiority complex, often forcing his way into a role of enforcer that would try to straighten troubled people out. Most ending up on the other end of such a treatment ignored Leon at best, or grew to hate him for the superior way he acted. The plight of an old soul, his mother always claimed. But, time passed as the Coven grew in strength and numbers until that fateful day when they were able to seal the Stygian Snake beneath the Sycamore tree, banishing the thought from their minds in a bid to protect the resting place forever. Many left from there, but Leon remained: At age nineteen, he had foregone higher education and a normal life to defend St. Portwell, and the only thing left for him to do was remain as its stalwart guardian.

Six months later, an incident occurred which led to the discovery of a new Apparition stalking the streets of St. Portwell. Similar to Today's problem with Father Wolf, Lady Lelou seemed to be targeting weak or isolated coven or ex coven members, brutally killing them for no apparent rhyme or reason. Eventually, a small team of the Coven's elite met to stop it, at which it made its plans known: Find an avatar worthy of its strength from the Sycamore Tree Coven, and use that body to find and release its Master: The Stygian Snake. In a desperate attempt to stop it, Leon gave every bit of strength and energy he had, which played right into its trap. As with the others it had attacked, Lady Lelou attempted to hijack Leon's physical form and paranormal strength to use as a vessel for itself.
Had he not been so quick to act, or perhaps if they had retreated to gather more forces, Leon may not have dove headlong into a fight with the embodiment of the Werewolf Mythos of the North Western US. If he hadn't been so confident from their fight with the Stygian Snake to begin with, maybe he would've felt less compelled to action... But Leon knew himself better than anyone else: He knew he had to protect St. Portwell, and he was convinced that it had to be done then and there. So, his claim is that he intentionally allowed himself to be possessed. Regardless of his motivation, at first things seemed successful for Lady Lelou. With a howl, the massive wolf-like creature sulked into the forests surrounding St. Portwell after killing most of the other members who had gathered to stop it.

Daisy Hunter entreated her cousin, Leon's Mother, to assist with her resources in sealing Lady Lelou, saving not only Leon but the early safety of the Sycamore Tree itself. Fighting a war of wills within his body kept Lady Lelou from accomplishing her plan, and before she could break him down completely, Lynette and Daisy Hunter worked together to trap the Apparition within Leon. It was by his own Lux that the framework of entrapping lattices was built sturdy enough to house the prisoner, leaving Leon entirely cut off from his precious ancestral Lux that had once made him so confident and capable.
From there, he had to essentially restart his life. Working closely with Daisy, who had volunteered to bind with the Channeler responsible for controlling Leon in the most dire circumstances, and having gone through dozens of "Leash Breaks" and Full Moon events, the two were able to get Leon back into a state where he felt comfortable and capable of carrying out his self perceived duties as Warden of St. Portwell. This didn't do much for the Coven, however, as not only were they splitting at the seams, but incidents like Leon's rampages often just left more people dead, meaning more loss and more pain for all involved. Eventually, he had to watch Ashley and Daisy end things.

With his siblings growing and his Mother moving the Temple to St. Portwell as a support faction for the Coven, it was here that Leon was encouraged to do more for himself. His Mother convinced him to get into the circuits his Father had danced through, and having kept St. Portwell's Gravity Gym open as his personal business, Leon knew he could still perform in the ring. So, at 21, Leon made his debut in the world of Boxing, claiming his father's legacy and catching an upwind of publicity that put him face first into fights no amateur should've gotten.
But he proved himself, and since then he's been working his way up the ladder, winning titles at home and abroad while always coming back home to keep his promise to his Father: To protect and defend St. Portwell, and to bring paradise to their home. For several years, these trends continued upward with the promise of good times for all involved. The gym picked back up after Leon was able to bring notoriety to it with his fighting, his eldest sister was heading an investigation into their Father's unsolved disappearance in Denmark, and Leon assumed that one day soon he'd be able to settle down himself.

But now with Ashley dead, Daisy missing and Father Wolf unaccounted for, Leon has to get his hands dirty in St. Portwell's underbelly. Since the incidents started, he's been undercover (as undercover as a giant man can be), hunting around for any information as to where his friend is or where the Channeler responsible for controlling his powers is, as until that's found, there's an equal risk to Sycamore Coven members lurking in their very ranks. For Auri Auclair, it was easy to track the man down... And he was on board the moment she asked him to return to the coven.

_{Abstraction
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"I hate the claws, they make it difficult to ball a fist."

TYPE ⫻ Adjoined Aberration

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Lady Lelou is an apparition of feral instinct which first attempted to take over Leon before being Sealed, allowing for the two to become Adjoined.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ Lady Lelou is a prisoner trapped in the very body and soul of the individual she chose to take as an avatar in the battle against the Stygian Snake. A complex array of seals act as a set of gates and locks that give both the Vessel and a specific Channeler the ability to redirect the prisoners vast stores of energy in order to empower the Vessel. There are five seals in total, each locking a different aspect of Lady Lelou's power within Leon. While all five aspects are sealed, Leon experiences a generally comfortable upper level of unnatural strength, stamina and endurance.
Due to the complicated nature of the process by which these limitations are built and broken, among other factors discussed later on in the limitations, Leon has a very specific methodology when accessing Lady Lelou's powers beyond his every day base level.

• Earth: The Earth seal is responsible for Lady Lelou's physical presence in the Shimmer. For Leon, this aspect is associated with stamina and endurance.
• Air: The Air seal contains Lady Lelou's powerful sensory and extrasensory abilities. When applied, this aspect imbues Leon with heightened senses and speed.
• Water: The Water seal houses Lady Lelou's vital energies. When drawn from, Leon pulls directly from the sealed Apparition's life force to revitalize, rejuvenate and ultimately transform himself.
• Fire: The Fire seal guards Lady Lelou's hatred and hunger. Utilized in strengthening his attacks through physical and metaphysical means, this energy has the self explanatory drawback of Beastial Rage that Leon has little control over.
• Spirit: The Spirit seal guards Lady Lelou's connection to the energy of its Apparitional Belief. This energy sources the paranormal abilities of the Apparition in addition to translating the other energies into a form processable by Leon's physical body.

Disciplines ⫻ With five seals to draw from, Leon is something like a pressure control supervisor for a nuclear power plant. In his trial and error study of his abilities, he's come to familiarize himself with the different benefits and drawbacks that each seal presents. Some seals should always be opened sequentially, some sequences should never be made: Daisy had been present for these limit tests, utilizing the Channeler dedicated to the Sealing Ritual they had performed. Together, the two came up with the idea of the Disciplines: Different combinations of seals released at different levels which seem to have consistent short term benefits for Leon. Ways to "release the beast" without inviting it out of its cage and back into their world.
There are a great deal of factors that go into the order in which seals are released, and the Disciplines themselves are noted both in Leon's head as a lexicon of spell-like commands, but in the head of his "Master", who holds the Channeler able to repair and control the seals from the outside.

LIMITS ⫻ Above all else, the balancing act required to function above his base level requires a great deal of skill and focus to utilize without causing permanent damage to Leon's body. Loosening them too quickly, or overdrawing from any one particular seal, can cause a catastrophic failure of the entire array that sends Leon into a spiral toward Abscission and ultimately Abomination. However, Leon can't afford to be too slow about utilizing his abilities, as the moment that the Water seal is loosened, the energy requirement for his physical body to continue functioning rises exponentially as the beings begin to merge and feed from one another. As such, Leon has a maximum of a few minutes at a time to utilize his abilities before having to tighten the seals and return to his baseline state. Utilizing his unique "Disciplines” to stretch the energy out as long as possible still only yields a record of five minutes and thirty seven seconds of strenuous usage: a time ended by a broken seal that left him comatose for several days as repairs were made.
To speak of repairs to the seal array, one must mention the fact that there is, essentially, a controller that exists. If someone who was not the "Master" of the Channeler linked to the seal array was to get ahold of it, they would have access to Leon's entire life. They could lock the seals fully, trapping Lady Lelou away in the deepest part of Leon's soul, removing his power fully. Or, perhaps more sinisterly, they could release Lady Lelou back into Shimmer, forcing the destruction of Leon's physical life in the process of bringing about a new dark age for St. Portwell.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ Being an Apparition created by the belief of Werewolves, Lady Lelou's abstraction makes Leon susceptible to all the standard werewolf weaknesses. The primary weakness of Leon is silver, as the mere touch of the substance (whether or not it's a silver blade or silver fork) will cause severe burns that will heal very slowly - not even healers will be able to help him. If he's exposed to Wolfsbane, it will also cause the same effect - but it's highly toxic if ingested. Fire-based attacks are also extra-effective against him, and Leon instinctively fears fire - even a candle will cause him to be unnerved. However, whoever is Leon's "Handler" will have full control of him.

^{Other
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"I'm the Big Bad fucking Wolf, and my only Father is Gravity. "

RIP Peter Steele my beloved. You helped a little goth kid through some of the worst times in his life.
Fun Facts:

• The Temple of Charming and Graceful Individuals is a cult.
• Richoux is French for Ricwulf, translated as Powerful Wolf in Germanic origins.
• Leon plays in a band called DECENT EXPOSURE, a St. Portwell "Supergroup" which is something of a social club for musicians, with members rotating in and out with their involvement in the St. Portwell music scene.

Ken Murakin

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"Life ain't that complex, so chill the fuck out."

_______________________________________________ Kenshiro "Gamaken" Murakin He/Him/Himself | 28 | Japanese | 5'9" | 153lbs _______________________________________________ Hunting _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "The movies always make Samurai look glamorous. It's dirt work." ___________________________________ [+] Wild Upbringing ⫻ Ken's upbringing was, like many Adept Legacies, fraught with danger and violence to which he was purposefully exposed. As such, Ken is always expecting trouble just around the corner, is unsurprised when it appears, and well prepared to deal with it. Son of Gama ⫻ Ken was born to a clan responsible for defending certain temples and artifacts located deep in the Kanto mountains, where it's said the honored spirits of Shimmer's natural environment are free to roam and come for veneration. He has spent almost all his life involved with or surrounded by Apparitions, and he has a wide knowledge of the different spirits and mystical creatures found living in or passing through the Shimmer. Trained in the Arts ⫻ Like a member of any other Palette Clan, Ken was trained from the moment he was able in order to defend his home and the legacy of the Gama clan. To such an end, he's studied the Hundred Scrolls of Master Kai, memorized and mastered the Gama Pact, and is a direct student of the famed "Ten Ton" Takedo, whose signature technique consists of the weaving of Purple Lux not only into one's blows, but to their weapons as well. Toad Sage ⫻ Ken has a close relationship with his branch's Patron Apparition; a mountain spirit known as the Emperor Toad, whose wisdom and patience are matched only by the grandeur of his rotund form. When it comes to the Gama Pact and its association with the Kin Clan, Ken has been taught things in desperation that the Emperor certainly wishes he hadn't disclosed. This gives Ken an uncanny mastery over the clan's Gold Summoning techniques. The Last Samurai ⫻ When Ken's branch was eliminated, he was unprepared and barely managed to escape with his life. Now, all that he has left is the Emperor Toad, whom he smuggled out of his nearly destroyed village and brought back to St. Portwell It's there that the Emperor is kept, in an isolated lake somewhere outside the city limits. Ken's property is a small boathouse permanently docked there, and he serves as the Emperor's last and most distinguished guard. Strange Survivor ⫻ With all the strange bullshit that he's gone through in his life, Ken has an uncanny knack for pushing himself beyond his own limits. Struggle, hardship, these are things he's simply used to; and his mind is hardened to his own suffering. Its left him with a clear head and equally clear goals, and a near superhuman level of bodily willpower in order to meet those ends that he craves.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I'm pretty good at blocking my face." Ken doesn't exactly have any particular sense of style or impression of himself as a fashionable man. While he's made some headway in living like a normal Blind, with a job and a place to live that he can go back to safely and stash magical shit beneath the floorboards, he's not particularly concerned with appearance overall. As far as his physical form, Ken's interdimensional traveling has left his body in something of a suspension since the time of his clan's decimation. As such, his appearance is something close to a twenty-three year old version of himself. Clean shaven, with a long and thick mane of dark brown hair that hides his ears, Ken's face has a bit of a triangular shape with a slightly pronounced inward slope of the chin and forehead. Accompanying, his nose is somewhat flat though not overly wide, and sits perched above a slightly small mouth. His time in America has introduced him to things like tattoos where he had been isolated from them before, and he's since gotten several both in commemoration of his abilities and his lost Family. Prime among them is a back mural depicting a mountainside, wilderness, amphibians; especially these, of which thirty can be found living among the piece. In speaking of his body, it was always expected of him to maintain peak physical condition; which he has managed to do without the esoteric old school torture exercises his Father and Uncles regularly put their kids through. Clothes are usually comfortable things for him, having spent his childhood basically in Fundoshi and sandals and upgrading to robes when he became a Kindled Adept. Nothing overly tight or form-fitting unless it's able to stretch. As such, catching him alone on his property or on the rare occasions he's in town will see him in simple t-shirts and sweatpants, usually in open toed sandals or flip flops no matter how cold it gets. He has managed to gather up something of a wardrobe from different realms he's visited, and often incorporates similar methodology when acquiring said garments. This leads to having a unique and somewhat exotic look despite him neither caring about coordination, nor about general sense overall. Often times a Blind will ask him what brand his shirt is, or what store he buys from, and he always tells them he shops "Out of State".

_{Psychology
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"I'd like to say I'm beyond 'Fuck It.', but I'm still kicking these rocks over so..."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Ken's family was killed. By whom? Ultimately he's still trying to figure that out. Most of his adult life has been spent tracking the trail of his family's artifacts and protecting the Emperor from their Fiends meant to prevent his progress. While he loves his Second Family in the Sycamore Tree Coven, he loves the idea of avenging his clan and restoring it to an honored position just a bit more. Despite his pleas, the other Palette Clans are in no open position to help, and as such his ultimate goal is to achieve that revenge and redemption himself. Isolated from his culture and hiding in an equally strange world of magic, one day he will return to the way of life he was born into. He has vowed this not only to the Emperor, but to the spirits of his Family which he carries close.
But for now, something new is Amiss in St. Portwell, his refuge from the charred remains of his temple, and perhaps it will lead to new clues in his ultimate journey.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Ken is a person who knows loss. He knew it before Father Wolf, before the Stygian Snake even. While he can empathize with those who have lost loved ones in the most recent tragedy, he is a man who is isolated somewhat by his own pain. As a teen, when he assisted with the War against the Snake, he still knew the joy of his people's mutual love and respect for the trials they together knew. He hoped one day that he would lead the branch, but not in the way he does now. Living his life in hermitage, traveling from Verse to Verse like a wandering hunter in search of prey, these tendencies only serve to remove him further from the cycle of life that many of his dear companions know.
In spite of this, his bonds with the Adepts of St. Portwell were born of better, simpler times. These feelings still drum up feelings of great love and ultimately pride. He considers himself lucky to be included among them, and when he is among his Covenmates, he manages a jovial and friendly outward-facing demeanor that somewhat diffuses his otherwise intense desire for action.

SECRETS ⫻ There's only one big secret that Ken makes sure is kept no matter what: Where he's been. Only a select few of his closest Covenmates even have a clue that he travels like he does, and he makes it a point to insure that they stay as uninvolved in his private family business as possible. Not only does he not trust them to keep the artifacts of his family safe should he find any, but he believes his secrecy on the matter is a key factor in protecting his Covenmates and preventing his greatest fears from coming true. Aside from that, he is hiding a small stash of artifacts that are not involved with the Coven; rather he uses them as bartering currency with Adepts of other Verses in order to get vital supplies on his long excursions.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Lonely? Please hold him, he's sad.

FEARS ⫻ While previously alluded to, Ken's greatest direct fear is the repetition of history: That due to his meddling with forces beyond himself, he'd stumble upon something that would give his enemies reason to target his friends. Despite his drive for revenge, Ken wouldn't be able to live with himself if that quest were to fall back on his Covenmates. After all, none of them deserved it. In response, Ken isn't an overly welcoming individual when it comes to his personal property or personal space if he's meeting the occasional familiar face outside the Shimmer. Beyond this, he has Emperor Toad to worry about, who isn't fussy about offerings but is most certainly fussy about feeling protected. Thus, there are certain occasions where he will ask trusted friends to stay in his cabin and protect the Emperor and his new shrine hidden in the nearby hills outside St. Portwell. Both parties are left fairly lonely without one another, despite their vaguely antagonistic.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ In the days of the War against the Stygian Snake, Ken's position was strange. He was, by all accounts, a hostile combatant at first. Some key Sycamore Tree members had "gathered" artifacts that belonged to the Palette Clans. It was Ken's first assignment to track the thieves down and bring the artifacts back. When he arrived, he made his pursuit, but found that those thieves who had absconded with the artifacts were using them to combat a Grand Apparition: A Multiversal threat, and something that permitted him to exercise his right among the clans to authorize the temporary requisition of the items in question. From there, he became a willing ally and eventually a well liked, but somewhat isolated, member of their ranks.

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ Ken played a role of advisor and combatant, assisting and working with other Coven Members who were struggling to develop and control their Lux. While the more gifted flaunted their skills, Ken worked with the rest to make sure that when the time came, everyone would be pulling their weight. In the climactic conclusion, the final battle, Ken's own natural talents shined as he reached deep into the Emperor's Kingdom to summon the Imperial Toad Court: Powerful Apparitions attached to the Gama Pact who provided stalwart defenders and fierce attackers in the final effort.

FLAWS ⫻ Ken's so used to being alone and doing things his own way that he rarely has the mind to make contact with a friend on his own, never mind including them in his plans or adventures. While the gentle guiding hand isn't gone, Ken has lost a great deal of patience since the massacre of his clan, leading him to make more rash decisions with less patience and a lot less concern for his safety. While he knows he has duties, there's a near bloodlust that he feels when he thinks of his desire for revenge, and it urges him ever onward toward danger that he's often unsure of his ability to overcome. Therefore, it may be just a hair worse that he's become somewhat cocky about it all; that his continued risk taking has wounded him gravely but he simply has no plans of stopping. In a strange way, he wonders if he actually likes what's happened to him.

_{Backstory
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"Fuck off."

Kenshiro Murakin isn't from St. Portwell. He's not from America, or even the continental North America. His past has little baring on the local area, and were it not for one incident some twelve years ago involving theft of one of his Clan's ally's most sacred scrolls of Sealing, the two locations would never have been connected. However, some teenagers in a city called St. Portwell were having Apparition troubles. That same time, Ken was coming into his own as a man of his clan; and he was being trusted to reconcile the problem. Due to his gifts and talents, he was selected as part of the team and dispatched to track the thieves to their source. When they arrived in St. Portwell, a strategy of blending and patient waiting was adopted, leadership opting to wait for the scrolls to be used in order to best track their position by the nascent energy they were filled with.
A week passed before they were wrapped up in a conflict that they had never intended to be wrapped up in; a conflict which led to an ominous situation as only Kenshiro managed to escaped from the attack by the Stygian Snake with his life intact. It turned out he only escaped because of the efforts of the Sycamore Tree Coven; the very same small army of young people who managed to steal the scrolls he was looking for. Understanding that his own allies had perished at the hands of the danger here in St. Portwell, Ken decided to dedicate himself to assisting in their plight and overseeing their usage of Clan property until such a time that the threat was eliminated. While he was unable to bolster their effort with more bodies beyond his own, he relished in being able to display a natural sense for instruction to an audience who was not only willing, but in dire need of trained guidance.

Kenshiro became Ken, had English imprinted into him by a Pink Lux user, and despite all the danger in St. Portwell, he had something of a Rumspringa for himself. He discovered the somewhat decadent culture of Western America that he'd been hidden from for so long, and beyond that he had made lasting friendships and relationships with people who accepted him despite his constant culture shock. By the time the Stygian Snake was neutralized and he had to return home to Japan, he didn't want to. He vowed that one day he would come back to St. Portwell as the head of his clan, and he would establish connections between them and the Sycamore Tree Coven.
For a time after his return, things went as normal. Despite his first mission taking almost two years to complete, the Clan Daimyos readily recognized his effort once they were exposed to his memories and experiences through a trusted source. After such an effort, Ken was fast-tracked toward leadership as well as a teaching position of his own. A couple years passed and Ken never made it back to St. Portwell, but he stayed busy as he began his life among his family again. Despite this, his fond memories remained there, though his village's hermited existence prevented the exchange of letters and correspondence from those American Heroes.

One fateful night, Ken's village was attacked. Demons, Fiends, barreled their way through the township under magical camouflage, rending the clan heads and any leadership they could find before stealing the clan scrolls and artifacts and disappearing into the darkness like they'd never been there. Ken and a few other Clan Toughs pursued the fiends into their own realm, but lost them in the endless hopping before they could catch up. They fell into a trap, catching Ken in a moment of foolishness as he expended too much energy to teleport the rest of them to safety.
He attempted to push the teleportation, but as he immerged on the other side, he found that only he had actually made it out. What sprawled in front of him was a scene more horrible than he could have imagined. In their pursuit, the away team had avoided the Cursed Flames that descended upon the village, burning the souls of the people there and leaving a vacant, hollow town of corpses. Bereaved and in fear, Ken rushed for the main temple at the top of the hill, where he found the flames leeching away the essence of their Patron Apparition. Forbidden from adjoining by the pact between them, the great toad accepted being sealed into Ken's Channeler, using his own blood to draw 蝦蟇(Gama - Toad) on the headband's front. Near exhaustion, Ken carried out the sealing and instinctively teleported himself far from that place.

Winding up in the only other place on Earth he felt comfortable, Ken woke up the next morning on a St. Portwell rooftop overlooking the bay facing west toward the Pacific Ocean. He felt like in that moment his life was over: but the power within the headband spoke through their shared Golden Lux energy. Words of encouragement from a soul that had seen his ancestors walk the same Earth that he'd been born to for hundreds of years.
"We have rebuilt before, Grandson. We shall rebuild again. The pact remains unbroken."
He had argued and cursed and raged at the spirit, and the infinitely patient wisdom of the Toad Emperor held its last protector's hand through each step of the grieving process as they came. For a year, the two slept in the wilderness in illegal dugout hideaways as Ken regained his confidence and desire for action. The Emperor, on occasion, recalls being thankful that he'd been sealed as he had, otherwise the faith of his single worshipper may not have been a strong enough tether to the world of cognition... But eventually Ken immerged from the woods and managed to find some of the remaining Sycamore in St. Portwell.

The heartbreak he felt hearing about the schism and how it broke the Coven he loved apart wasn't so bad; he'd come to accept loss of what he loved. But what he couldn't accept was that nobody seemed to want to fight to put it back together. Nobody wanted, he felt, what he wanted. Some tried to pull him into their mundane world hidden among Blinds. He tried to play along for another year or two, but ultimately found that his desire to right the wrongs of the past far outweighed his desire to live in peace. He craved action once more, and despite having found a place that The Emperor accepted to settle into again, Kenshiro craved the taste of his own mountain. Their true home. But he felt he couldn't go; that if he had nothing to restore, nothing to show those dead bones and rotten posts that he was back to reclaim their souls, then there was no reason to go.
His pride in his survival, and his anticipation of a future of his own design: These two emotions gave him the will to cast like he'd never done before, and before long he would begin to use his abilities in order to hunt across the Allverse for the trail of the Fiends who killed his family. Occasionally, Emperor Toad accompanies Ken as a sealed apparition, acting as an amplifier within Ken's Channeler in order to increase the effectiveness of his magic. Ken begs him to do so just about every time he heads across the threshold of realities, but his reckless nature and trigger happy attitude make the Emperor more than a little nervous; thus such a thing is withheld for only the most dangerous and dire situations.

With his latest excursion spanning back before Father Wolf began its rampage across the Sycamore Tree Coven's members, Ken is returning to a situation that he's completely unaware of. Though, he will have text messages and voice messages on the phone he left behind, so his arrival will not be uncalled for. Just unheeded for some time.

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"The endless scrolls were nothing compared to Pacting."

TYPE ⫻ Adept

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Purple and Gold Lux, with a metal fronted headband as the Channeler.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ One would be forgiven for thinking that Ken's abilities come straight out of the panel of a comic or manga; but the truth is that art will always resemble life. Some of the most creative people have their third eye opened, and simply reap the rewards by telling stories of worlds that don't exist to the bulk of mankind. For Ken, the world of "Ninjutsu" is just the native expression of magic passed down through time honored tradition over a period of close to a thousand years of Japanese history. Unlike those mundane Adepts, Ken was brought up Kindled from a very early age, and has since amassed knowledge and mastery over a great number of spells involving his personal affinity, perhaps more than an Adept of his age normally would. Only, Ken hasn't developed a single spell of his own: He's learned every single one from one source or another involved in his upbringing and teaching.

Ken's Spellbook can be boiled down into three disciplines.

The Hundred Scrolls of Master Kai ⫻ All Palette Clan Adepts receive basic educations through the teaching and methodology of the Ten Path Sage, "Miracle" Kai. His famed Hundred Scrolls are a collection of spells he thought that all his disciples across the various Lux Disciplines should learn from, mastering what their abilities permit them to in order to best perform in their particular field. As a Dual-Lux Adept, Ken had the capability to access twenty out of the hundred scrolls, all of which he had at one point mastered; but as some go without material component or consistent practice, they've faded into his memory to be replaced by more complex magics.

• Enlighten: A simple verbo-somatic Purple spell which removes the weight of worn equipment until recast. Can be channeled to increase the effect, turning the Adept or an effected object weightless as well.
• Haste: A somati-material Purple spell allowing the user to increase their perceptive capabilities by warping time for a very small part of the brain. This grants the user vital moments to make micro adjustments to the body and split second decisions with more consideration. Requires small bundle of copper wire for a single use of 3 seconds maximum over a 24 hour period.
• Hazy Doppelganger: Verbo-somatic Gold spell summons a number of minions that are able to mimic a single target object or individual within a meter (3ft) of the caster. Requires an exponential amount more energy per minion and per summon, limiting the overall volume of entities summoned at a given time. They are also entirely ethereal creatures, unable to do any harm and immediately banished once the effected target experiences a sudden change in momentum or if the spell is recast.
• Dummy Buddy: A Verbo-material Gold spell summons a single entity that is of equal weight and size to the caster. The minion is a non-combative entity, cannot defend itself, and is banished a short time after taking damage. Only one Dummy Buddy minion can be summoned at a time, as the only time Dummy Buddies become aggressive is in the presence of another Dummy Buddy. Requires a small vessel filled with wood shavings or clay.
• Send and Receive: A pure somatic Purple spell that swaps the user with an object within a 10m(30ft) radius that is of similar weight to the user. The transition is instant, and will only be successful if the targeted object isn't rooted or bolted down by some force other than its own weight.
• Kai's Caches: This is a somati-material Purple spell requiring a legitimate gold coin to use. A portal is opened to one of Master Kai's many secret caches, where weapons and tools are said to multiply within through magics lost to the Purple Clan. Channeling the spell with the usage of additional material will expel a large number of bladed and heavy weapons such as knives, swords, spears and axes. The main drawback is that gold is in short supply, accompanied by a lengthy somatic input that cause some Purple Clan scholars to consider this ability a Ritual Spell.
• Skin Jack: A Gold spell requiring a somati-material input. A minion is summoned that takes on the form of a large, wet cloth that can be stuck to a surface. The Skin Jack acts as a net trap that can be placed to walls, ceilings and floors in order to trap corridors and entryways. Using more of the material component can change the properties of the Skin Jack, making its surface texture smoother or rougher, as well as a version that can be worn over the user's body as a clothing mimic. Requires rawhide string made from predator throats, and only one can be summoned at a time. Summoning a second will banish the first, as will using any other Gold spell while the Skin Jack is deployed.
• Beacon Beetle: A somati-material Gold spell requiring the carcass or molting of any beetle species native to Shimmer. Summons a small beetle attuned to the user's energy, which the user can sense with directional accuracy up to 3km (1.8M) away.
• The Dojo: A Tri-Component Purple spell meant to trap a single touched target in a temporal arena where time is slowed to a comparative crawl. Originally used for assassination attempts, this spell finds use as a force equalizer that allows the user to focus on an individual target in a situation where they would otherwise be outnumbered. Requires a true hourglass to be smashed over the target as both material and somatic components, and covers a sphere of space roughly 30m(90ft) in diameter and traps the target for two minutes, or until they lose consciousness.
• Phantom Hands: A verbo-somatic Purple spell that effects a basic telekinetic "mage hand" effect. Allows objects up to half the user's weight to be picked up and affected by touch spells with a 5m(15ft) range. Channeling this spell applies an effect capable of lifting more weight at a longer distance (1.5x user weight, 15m(45ft) distance), but removes its ability to apply touch spells from a distance.
• Smoke Sprites: A somati-material Gold spell which summons minions made out of smoke. These sprites flit about in all directions horizontal and vertical, spreading themselves thin until they're too wispy to remain associate, at which point the minion is banished. It's a basic level spell that requires a ready-made source of smoke, causing some Gold scholars to debate if it's a Ritual spell or not, which it clearly isn't thanks to technology.
• Observant Ancestors: A somati-material Gold spell that summons a stationary minion in the shape of a small statue that is able to observe its surroundings through sight and sound, and can be given very basic commands in order to use it as an early warning system, subtle spy or even a cunning distraction. The material is generally a fresh meal, and can be substituted for substantial offerings of fruit or other raw foodstuffs.
• Secret Paths to Nowhere: In his time, Master Kai was said to have walked the soil of a thousand realms. Utilizing a Ritual process requiring a sword made of a certain type of metal being resonated at a particular frequency, the user can channel Purple Lux into the blade and form a particular character in the air. This character is cut into the fabric of reality, and corresponding to the thousand realms, one is able to step through the gap and follow Master Kai's secret path to the destination. This spell requires a great deal of energy, leaving the user vulnerable both before and after making a jump between worlds. In addition, Master Kai's pathways are a thousand years old; not all of them lead to places that are safe to be anymore.

The Gama Pact ⫻ His Father before him had been head of the Branch, whose specialty as one of the Noble Gold Boughs was guardianship of one of Japan's Legendary Apparitions, or Spirits as they call them. The Emperor Toad, like his contemporaries tended to beneath the other Boughs, once worked with Sage Kai in developing a pact which would see his patrons worship and protection in exchange for assistance and strength when it was most needed. The Gama Pact is a summoner's guide to the world of Amphibians, and details the Toad Empire in structure like a bestiary or warlock's grimoire. Specific rituals summon greater minions of the Toad Emperor from their marshland realm, while lesser servants are readily available through quick access spells.
While unable to recreate the Hundred Scrolls for personal use, Toad Emperor's consistent tutelage and guidance of Ken has allowed the Gama Pact to live on through its sole heir in its entirety.

• Salamander Jester: A somati-material spell that summons a troupe of acrobatic, fire breathing salamanders that reach close to the 2 foot mark. Occupying the First Ring of the Gama Pact, they are the most basic Toad Empire summon, requiring only a pile of ash to be summoned from as a spawn point. These salamanders, summoned 8 at a time, are generally obedient if not mischievous creatures prone to starting fires after accidentally (or purposefully) harming one another. Under a skilled leader, they are capable of causing havoc at the point of a needle: Their hyperactivity and particularly dangerous fire breathing can make them quite dangerous in certain environments where flammable materials are plentiful.
  The Salamander troop is banished once they've expended their allotted energy through use of their fire breathing, general mischief, or if they've been damaged by anything bigger than a house cat.
• Tree Frog Scout: A somati-material summoning spell calling upon the smallest and most numerous of the Toad Emperor's army. Tree Frog scouts, summoned from the bark of swamp-bound trees, range between a few centimeters wide to around a foot in total diameter depending on the amount of energy used and bark available. While the larger variants are summoned at up to ten a time, and can be found carrying small daggers and other weapons slicked with poison from their deadly excretions, the smaller variants can be called forth up to a hundred at a time, at which point they make up for their lack of weaponry by excreting different reactive chemicals and toxic agents that can form anything from smoke to nauseous gas and even explosive glycerides.
  Large Scouts can remain in a dormant state for up to a 24 hour period taking no energy from the user in that time, and are banished by either taking damage from anything bigger than a badger, running out of their allotted time/energy, or successfully attacking their target. Smaller variants can lay dormant for up to four hours, and can be set off early by any explosive device wide enough to cover the effected area. Otherwise, without immediate direction, the frogs will simply loiter until they expend their energy and collapse without effect.
• Pacman Tough: The first "Upscale" of the Gama Pact, this Ritual spell summons the Bosses of the First Ring. These Pacman Toughs, at between three and four feet wide, are stout district leaders who are summoned when enough of their lesser kin are offered up as a hearty meal. Up to six Toughs can be spawned at once, and each function independently of the other at the behest of their summoner. Once summoned, these toughs do what they're best at, and begin to rough up whatever they're directed toward. If they can't outright pop their target into their mouths and eat them whole, they will bite with steel jaws, punching and kicking with their piston-like limbs until the target eventually disappears among the rain of blood and viscera.
  Their skin, while moist, is thick and layered in fatty tissue making it a nightmare to grapple against them. With all six pummeling a target at once, their strength and tenacity can become overwhelming. Like their lesser counterparts, they will disappear when their allotted energy has burned up over a maximum of thirty minutes. Impact damage will not cause them to disappear, and they must either be crushed entirely, or something must pierce them from inside their gaping mouths.
• Bullfrog Mercenary: A somati-material summoning spell utilizing money as a material component, up to a hundred dollars can be spent to summon ten bullfrog soldiers of various sizes up to four feet tall. These soldiers are equipped with unique weaponry ranging from clubs to spears, and their powerful frames allow them to fight with surprising strength and speed. These humble mercenaries are, under a skilled commander, a well drilled force capable of applying their particular weapons where they're most needed and supporting one another's weak points.
  However, they aren't exactly loyal to the Emperor, and while the summoner's money may be good, there are morale issues that can see them prematurely flee the Summoner's field of influence, banishing themselves back to the realm from whence they came. Otherwise, they are lightly armored and possess basic level Emotional Fields as magical defenses. They can be banished by technical mortal wounds, or if by some miracle they can make it to the end of their energy supplies after up to an hour.
• Toadskin Trooper: A somati-material summoning spell involving a pre-written scroll signed with ink blessed by the Emperor Toad as a material. This sub-contract summons up to 6 five foot tall Rock Toad Troopers equipped in heavy armor. These troopers carry pot-guns; wide-bellied steel cannons that hold grape shot loads alongside powder charges. These Troopers will attempt to maneuver and position in coordination with the summoner and one another, lining up a perfect crossfire to catch the target in. Once voided, the pot cannons become clubs and shields at once, their girth turning mundane blades and firearms with their thickly walled sides while providing a heft necessary to clobber a man to death.
  While armored, it is still old school ceramic plates. Good for deflecting swords and catching bullets, the tiles tend to break and shatter on impact leaving the armor overall less effective as time passes and a fight rolls on. That said, they can take a brutal impact and get back up thanks to their loose skin and densely packed muscle fibers. As with the Pacman Toughs, impact damage without a crushing effect will not banish them; only a significant enough piercing wound applied to the torso or head, or some rending attack that would sever their bodies outright, will banish them. Otherwise, they have a twenty minute contract before returning to their posts elsewhere.
• Goliath Brute: The Second "Upscale" of the Gama Pact, this Ritual spell summons the most robust and single minded of the Emperor's army. The Goliath Brute is summoned one at a time through sacrifice of enough lesser minions of the Second Ring. Standing at just over thirteen feet tall, these massive amphibian berserkers stand on hunched backs and powerful legs and often carry some of the biggest weaponry the Emperor's Armory can supply. While not particularly intelligent or cunning, the Goliath Brute is an unwavering wall of muscle can lift boulders in its arms and crush them with its kicks. They're able to jump with incredible speed to unexpected heights, often letting their weight slam down upon their enemies rather than trouble themselves actually aiming to swing.
  While other summons are banished by some sort of damage threshold, unless this particular greater minion is killed by magical damage or by some act of God in the form of overwhelming physical damage, simple wounds won't be enough. However, the Goliath is a stupid brute that is difficult to wrangle even for experienced Gama Summoners; and as such can be easily manipulated by mind altering Lux energy.
• Cane Guard: A high energy requirement somati-verbal summoning spell summons three Cane Toad Guardians who stand at six foot tall each. These guardians fight to prove themselves to their Daimyo and their Emperor, and are heroes of the Toad Empire. Unlimited in their energy consumption, the guardians draw directly from the summoner's energy. They are completely dependent on the summoner's upkeep, and piggyback off the emotional field in order to adeptly defend themselves from magical attacks. All three guardians are skilled warriors equipped with the finest weapons in the Toad Emperor's Armory, including metal/ceramic armor and vibrating steel swords meant to convert kinetic energy into independent sawing power.
  While these skilled and patient combatants are able to hold their own against low level Adepts and Apparitions, they're difficult to hang onto for very long as a summoner, as they require a constant channel of one's own energy to continue their pressured onslaught against a target or targets.
• Salamander Priestess: A difficult to perform somati-material summoning spell requiring the dust of pearls to be sprinkled into water blessed by the Emperor Toad himself. The Salamander Priestess, unlike her lesser kin, is a composed giant salamander woman standing just over five feet tall. Calling upon the resonant energy of the Toad Empire's hidden realm, the priestess is able to mend wounds and reinvigorate bodies for a short five minute period of time before she begins to go on about how it'll be noticed if she's gone any longer. After that, she elects to leave the influence area of the summoner and is banished to her realm.
  Otherwise, any damage done to her or unfavorable conditions in weather such as too extreme of a temperature or too dry of an environment will cause her to expend energy at an accelerated rate. If it's intense enough, it just plain counts as damage and the Priestess' pampered form disappears back into the smoke its summoning caused initially.
• Cane Daimyo: The final summoning of the Gama Pact's Third Ring, this Ritual spell requires the presence of the Emperor Toad directly, as well as two Salamander Priestesses and a Cane Toad Guardian. While the two priestesses channel energy directly from the Emperor into his chosen champion, the summoner is swallowed in order to pass along Lux directly to them. Saturated by Lux, the Toad Emperor is able to remold the Can Guard into his own image. This Daimyo is directly linked to the Summoner like a mirror puppet, and the two entities share an equalizing of energy as one nears the point of adjoining.
  With the influence of the Emperor, a barrier is kept between the two entities that never lets them fully adjoin. While their combat ability is significantly increased as a duo, the overall energy constraint of this final summoning is exponentially higher than any other as the Daimyo uses its chameleon-like ability to copy and mimic spells with the summoner's Lux. In order to maintain the symbiosis, both Priestesses must remain alive and summoned, meaning that once their allotted energy is depleted, the Daimyo cannot remain in the Shimmer and is banished like any other dead minion.

Ten Ton Takedo's Teachings ⫻ Lastly, as the nephew of the Purple Clan's main branch household, Ken was permitted to study advanced combat techniques designed for Purple Lux Adepts by one of the venerated Tournament Kings. His great great granduncle, "Ten Ton" Takedo, developed a signature style of Aikido utilizing Purple Lux's propensity toward Telekinetic power. From there, Takedo further molded it for practical use on the field, incorporating Karate, Jit Kun Do and weapon training. Unlike general spellcasting, the specific usage of these powers requires a particular somatic stance to be drawn with the body, as well as unique breathing techniques being implemented.

• Ready Stance: The most basic stance in Takedo's school, Ready Stance allows the Adept to better circulate their Lux through the body by manipulating one's frame into a position where breathing is easiest. In this stance, both legs are spread apart in an A frame shape, while both arms are held up at chest level and winged outward. The fist and the hand meet one another in the center of the chest. All other stances of the school are derived from this neutral position, and for a competent Adept, it should be easy to manipulate oneself into a better position.
  Attempting to cast Purple spells from this stance decreases their overall draw on the body's energy stores and allows more than one to be channeled at the same time.
• Offensive Stance: Assuming a low ready position, this stance instinctively shifts the Adept's Lux flow toward the arms and the legs. This facilitates a more effective style of striking and grappling as verbal shouts and grunts are used to project telekinetic force in different ways. Most commonly, strikes are given additional power and a short range increase by casting matching telekinetic blasts simultaneous to the Adept's own blows. If range doesn't matter, telekinesis is used to manipulate the mass density of the limbs which increases the damage of direct strikes.
  For more range, a small wormhole style portal can be generated mid swing with the fist entering the hole and one spot and leaving in a completely different place.
• Defensive Stance: This is the core that the entire school was predicated and built upon when Ten Ton Takedo began his journey. A stance hand built for strike redirection and ultimate defense, the Adept assumes a low guard position that transitions smoothly with its counterpart the Offensive Stance. With the stance tightened, Lux distributes itself toward the epidermis with each deep and intentional breath the Adept takes, creating strong anchor points for telekinetic padding and temporary shielding to develop. Simply, blows against the Adept are turned away as strong bursts of Telekinetic energy dampen the incoming force.
  In addition, the entire body experiences a shift in mass density. A small layer of outward projected telekinesis prevents a second opposing layer from crushing the Adept, and the two form a high density barrier that causes the Adept's physical form to act as if it were an incredibly heavy and dense object.

LIMITS ⫻ For most of Ken's spells, there are very specific material requirements that ask him to be prepared for a situation he may never even get into. Carrying material components for close to twenty spells at all times is just impossible without some serious pocket artifact. Beyond that, some of the material costs are either time consuming and too tedeous to gather or quite literally too expensive, rare or risky for him to supply them often. Alongside that, his combat potential and ability to function hinge on him being able to cast these spells consistently over a long period of time, leaving him playing with his cards close to his chest while he waits for an opening to strike. On the flip side, a great deal of energy can be expended at once if the necessity arises, but this can leave Ken totally exhausted and ultimately defenseless for at least an eight hour period afterward.
As for the Toad Empire's minions and summons, Ken can only utilize one ring at any given time, meaning that if he's summoned Scouts, he cannot summon another minion besides Jesters and so on through the hierarchy.
Utilizing his advanced combat stances is a process entirely dependent on the Adept's ability to freely breath, meaning that if at any point in time he's without oxygen circulation for more than a few purposeful moments at a time, the stance will lose all effect. At that time, the effects must be reapplied.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ Curse of the Natural Order:
In his attempt to save his Guardian Spirit from certain doom, Kenshiro put his life and well-being on the line. Wretched otherworldly living fires consumed the Lux in the air around their hidden village like a gas leak, stoking incredible blazes of black and blue flames that danced across the corpses of the dead. In his escape, it was inevitable that he would make contact with these cursed flames, and so a curse was passed along to him in turn.

Whether the flames had twisted humors or they were made for something like this specifically, the curse placed upon him is both poignant and deadly. Specifically linked to the usage of Gold Lux, this curse piggybacks Ken's own energy, occasionally sapping it from his body. This wouldn't be so detrimental if the Lux simply went to waste, but the Curse is both a leech and a saboteur.

With the likelihood of effect rising in tandem with the amount of Lux sapped, this bleed-off is redirected through the curse's complex and arcane formula into a summoning all its own. The spell produced by the Curse ushers in a Fiend of varying degrees of complexity dependent on the amount of energy expended by it. This Fiend hails from a world so far inaccessible to Ken, whose masters are those he believes slaughtered his kin, and will actively focus their attention on him and any active summons he's arranged.

While the initial effect doesn't prevent its associated summoning from happening, this isn't necessarily a good thing: With some of his spells requiring multiple previous successful summons to work, the result of a single high level Gold spell being the Curse's trigger can result in a double-casting, both draining Ken of all his Gold Lux reserves and potentially harming him by overdrawing from his vital energies directly.

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"Ken means strong; but some days I really don't feel it."

The True Themesong

Face Claim is Shuntarō Yanagi, whose movies I have never seen.
Ken is my anime love letter stamped and delivered to the Recollection Allverse.
The Emperor Toad is NOT being targeted by the Temple of Charming and Graceful Individuals.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Greyson "Edict" Devola

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"What good is a reunion without a chance to make a few bucks?"

_______________________________________________ Greyson Michael "Edict" Devola He/Him/Himself | 27 | Italian/African American | 6' | 177lbs _______________________________________________ Listening. _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "You ever read Dale Carnegie?" ___________________________________ [+] Smooth Operator ⫻ Edict was known for being smooth like glass long before his Kindling Event. He has a natural way of gauging the mood and interest of those he's speaking to, particularly in crowds and groups where he can deflect attention drawn to him. Wheeler Dealer ⫻ The mindset of a money maker is one that is constantly on the hunt. The mentality is, ultimately, that the vast amount of liquidity can buy peace of mind: To that end, Edict is constantly hunting for the bottom dollar with expertise and efficiency. Underground Broker ⫻ From the moment he realized there was a world beyond the mundanity of his forefathers, Edict has been hunting for a way to profit from it. To that end, his travels since the Sycamore Tree Sealing have diversified his portfolio of accessible supernatural resources. Made Man ⫻ The modern age of the Mafia has opened the books wide for members who would've never been accepted before. To this end, Edict has "made his bones" and is able to call upon elements of the North-Western Outfits as a young but influential Capo. One Step Ahead ⫻ Edict is used to paying for information and scrounging around for it himself when he just can't trust anyone else: He loves the hunt, and even more the puzzle that is putting it all together for a well executed plan. Dirty Hands ⫻ Sometimes there's no other option but to get your hands dirty. It's not fun, and he doesn't relish in the action, but Edict was raised with death being a simple consequence of business. As such, he's not unfamiliar with a firearm, nor is he lacking a source for them.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Wealth is like a Badge: Stupid people flash it constantly, thinking it will impress or intimidate. Smart people flash it with tact knowing that it'll serve them well." Edict is extremely aware of his appearance and the impression it gives to those around him. As such, he does his best to make sure that whatever can be changed to fit a given situation is done so with purpose and intent. His Father always stressed that one should dress for success, and he holds this philosophy close to his heart. At his core, he's a fair skinned individual with thick hair that curls out the longer it gets. His hands and feet are large, and while he doesn't work out heavily he has natural definition and bulk in some areas such as his forearms and calf muscles. He has green eyes, thick eyebrows and wide, flat ears that sit with a slight flare outward from his head. At current day, he has a goatee styled in the fashion of Anton LaVey. His body hosts several tattoos symbolic to his family, their religious practices and his own occult beliefs. A sycamore makes the centerpiece of a large mural hosted upon his back, a dozen axes sticking from various places in its trunk. The leaves remain full and hang over a few other scenes, highlighting them like little panels in a story. A rosary trails down his right arm, the cross at the end situated in his palm. The beads lead back to his neck, where they wrap around several times in a tight pattern. Preferring to keep a business/casual style, he rarely lets his hair get long unless he needs to disappear. Typically he uses a small amount of product to swipe it back; not so much that it becomes a helmeted crust of hair on his head, only enough to organize things. His clothing choices range from jeans and tank tops to fine suits color coordinated and perfectly tailored. He sees his wardrobe as an armory, and is always keen to select the perfect tools to convey the impression he wants. As such, its not uncommon for him to travel with a small duffel bag holding an extra outfit in case the need arises.

_{Psychology
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"Water under the bridge, I say. Bad blood makes bad business."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Edict's life has been spent scraping together attention from people who he assumed would never give him the time of day. The desire to accrue currency and power was always going to be a tributary desire, a means to the ultimate end of respect and love from his peers and superiors. In a different life, Edict could've been a teacher's pet or a brown nosing middle manager of some banking firm... But, he had criminals to appeal to. The attention was never going to be worth the heat that it brought, or at least in the traditional sense. With his options so deep underground you need a precinct wizard to find them, he's managed to garner that kind of respect and love from his peers he's always craved. So what's left? Seeing how far he can really push things... He imagines that, one day, he'll have a family. And they'll have a family. And after them, a dynasty built on the back of his hard work and good luck. Don Devola has a nice ring to it.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ As was quoted, bad blood makes bad business. While most of his time until now has been spent with one hand on a stack of bills and another on a telephone, his main function has been that of the warm little center of a group of people who owe their livelihoods to Edict and the Devola family. Regardless of his own enterprises, he's a big name in consultation work, always willing to settle a dispute with a fair hand and accepting attitude. Hence his nickname, as a ruling from Greyson Devola is good as God's own edicts. He looks at everything from both sides of the fence, constantly listening and watching and observing those around him to ensure that he always knows how to position himself for his personal intervention. All of it has been in service to his personal philosophy, and the idea that there's plenty of action for everyone to break off their own piece.

SECRETS ⫻ What isn't Edict hiding? A deep desire for power? A jaded opinion of the Sycamore Coven? He felt cast aside after those dark days. Once the question of how he was funding their operations came into light, Edict was an instant Pariah unfit for further necessity. They'd go broke before they needed him, and with that a great deal of trauma and angst would be locked up as he cast aside whatever sort of good parts those people had placed within him. Years of eating up their emotions, trying to be the warm little center he always knew he could be: He's a cold brick now. Cordiality is a porcelain facade painted thick across his face as he returns to St. Portwell where even his family had long since moved away.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Edict is, as far as business is concerned, a pansexual who is happy to use intimacy and private moments as another tool in the arsenal of a Smooth Operator.

FEARS ⫻ Federal investigation aside, Edict is in a constant state of concern over whether or not he's in the process of taking his last breath. Using his Lux in such frequency, and the tendency for supernatural beings to attract one another, he's constantly looking over his shoulder for the proverbial hitman that could punch his card with a magic bullet and not think twice. Between members of the Sycamore Coven whom he may have intentionally or unintentionally burned, organizations like Dollhouse who operate in similar circles but outside the purview of La Cosa Nostra and the Wiseguy's Code and any number of other Underground cults and bands of ranting sycophants, he's got a list of enemies taller than himself.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ Things were always a bit rocky between Edict, known then as Greyson, and the Sycamore Tree Coven. Certainly, none of the inner circle trusted him enough to let him in due to the nature of his connections, but they were happy to take his offer whenever a ritual needed some hard to find ingredient or money was necessary for supplies and materials. After the battle with the Stygian Snake, a series of break and enters swept across St. Portwell: Some Coven members were among those who had their possessions ransacked and stolen, and while there was no evidence that he was involved, it was assumed that the mastermind was Greyson. Artifacts gathered over several years of preparation, even something stolen from Ashley Stone herself, seemed to be targeted and picked out as if the individual committing the crimes knew their locations. With nobody else but Greyson to blame, he was banished from the Coven and turned back into the waiting arms of his criminal background.

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ As stated, a great deal of Edict's contribution was resource-based in nature. They needed places to keep things, to hide themselves, to get away from the stress of it all and cut loose for five seconds... He supplied it. Disguises made of clothes off stolen trucks, books burgled from library museums that should've never been given to magic teens, weapons for self defense, the list of what he could get them simply from having the family connection was tremendous. In those days, he felt necessary. Like he had a purpose, even if he was on the outs. It wasn't until it was all gone from underneath him that he became jaded.

FLAWS ⫻ Most likely, everyone would have experienced Edict's tendency to try and ply his Lux smoothly and inconspicuously as possible upon them. He was, and to this day still is, absolutely addicted to the feeling of successfully using and applying the effect of his Lux as it stands. Most, if not just about all of the relationships in his life to this point are incredibly unhealthy cycles of gradual exposure to the "high" that Edict is known for giving the people around him. Some describe it as charm, others an aura, but all mundanes he interacts with will feel his manipulation before he even opens his mouth to speak to them. To a mortal, it may be endearing and they may never notice their mindsets being shifted... Hell, if they did, they may be thankful for the pick-me-up. But in interactions with other Paranormals, its more than annoying. It's easy to know full well when someone is trying to prod at a weak spot, and his propensity to do so instinctively rather than reactively makes being around him somewhat taxing, especially once one realizes they need to worry about what he's saying just as much as what his energy is doing.

_{Backstory
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"Oh, you wanna bring up sensitive shit now?"

Born to Luigi Devola and his mistress Anette Bell out of wedlock, Greyson had a questionable future from the very beginning. As acting Consigliere of the North-Western Outfit, Luigi already had a family and children from his legitimate marriage, and so Greyson was initially kept apart from the family until Devola divorced and was able to take Anette Bell as his bride. With her, Greyson came into his Father's house as the youngest of five children. He was treated poorly by his siblings who slowly but surely began to come around their father less and less until he was practically an only child. It was a rocky situation, losing his children to his ex and looking at his situation filled Luigi with regret as his men below him looked up at their boss with contempt for his actions. To save face, he sent Greyson to live with his brother in St. Portwell where he'd begin to learn the family business in a more intimate light. Luigi would often visit his son, though had little to say about the boy's mother who he typically avoided any questions about.

By the age of ten, Greyson was doing what all good Mafia children do; number running, car washing, shoe shining and generally being an errand boy for any number of soldiers who would be coming through his family's social clubs. Chief among them, "The Brick Harbor", where the Devola family would meet to discuss any sort of business and current affairs. Greyson saw his father here more than in any sort of home setting, and from those influences around him gained a sense of self and an understanding of who he wanted to ultimately be. Just like them, he wanted the flashy car and then jewelry and the suits... But even more, he saw what his Father really had. Loyalty, respect, love of his people. Even he came to feel that way about the man whose laughter echoes in his head to the current day. He began to crave that kind of thing, and quickly took to his charms. He was always listening to people when they spoke, asking questions about why they said things more often than he did about what they were saying. He understood perfectly well, and had a grip on doublespeak before he was allowed to swear openly.
Slowly, surely, Uncle Devola guided the boy with input from Luigi toward the ultimate goal of a well tuned money making machine. Every day, numbers and logistics operations were driven into his brain with such frequency that he began to dream of trucks and jobs and scores. The lifestyle was in front of him every waking moment; school was secondary. Tertiary even. He only showed up to scam kids his age out of their parents' money. Massive toy discounts, boxes of sodas, food delivered at lunchtime right into the cafeteria, he made things happen for people and they paid him to get them. It was foolproof, and for a young teenager the feeling of having a shoebox full of money under your bed is unbeatable.

And then he got "pinched". At fifteen, it was only natural to transition into harder substances, and he was caught with a parcel of drugs on the high school campus. Possession with intent to distribute... He was sweating bullets from the time they moved on him to the very moment those detectives sat down across from him. His family had taught him the score: Keep your mouth shut. As they began to question him about where he got the stuff and about what his family's involvement was, Edict was filled with a recent memory. A family associate made it home from his stint in jail, came back to a big welcome home party at the Brick Harbor. His mind was enraptured by the sights and sounds: Everyone was so pleased and eager to treat the guy like royalty. His Father himself made a speech about loyalty to the code, La Cosa Nostra, and called the man "Just the kind of man I want behind me."
It was high praise, especially coming from Luigi Devola. A well of love and tender feelings, sick as they may have been in origin, began to course through Edict until the whole room was awash with pink. His Kindling Event was upon him, and as the room faded into the soft pink color, a face came to him. Maybe an approximation. Her voice was warm, Caribbean, like a morning on a beach. This potential was never going to be from his Father's bloodline... It had to be hers. His mother, who he barely knew, contributed to him the potential for magic he had never dreamed of. They spoke, and the woman told him to seek his mother. To find her and be whole again.

When next he came to, he was in his father's limousine. There were burns around his mouth, his throat feeling like charred meat. He swallowed, and instinctively his body began the process again. The limo filled with amiability, and through such manipulation, Edict could as questions of his father that he never imagined. It was the first time he'd changed the dynamic of a relationship through magic, and though it was a painful experience he began to understand the fact that he had power. For starters, the power to find out what had happened all those years ago... That Luigi was embarrassed, and that he regretted taking Anette and Edict into his home, and that he only felt it was right at the time because he truly thought he was in love. He couldn't force a severance now, however, and Edict's love for his Father would never change. He had to understand; after all, it damaged his image. At fifteen, Edict made the choice to be useful, and continue to try and find love through that lens.
His reunion with his mother came quickly as Luigi brought Edict to her. She had her own apartment in Portland, where Edict stayed for a few months. As it turned out, she had experienced her own Kindling shortly after being exiled from Luigi's life. Their connection to the shamanistic cultures of the Old South was made clear to Edict, and he studied under the tutelage of his Mother until a time where he was able to utilize his abilities traditionally through a Channeler. Naturally inclined for emotional and mental manipulation, Edict began developing spells with the love of his family and his lifestyle in mind, amassing a twisted book of a criminal's favorite things.

Of course, when he returned to his life in St. Portwell, he did what any superpowered teen could be expected to do: He tried using them. First, on marks and people who owed collections to his family. It was easy to get the money from people who were trained to see him as a good guy, and he tweaked their mundane minds to soak them for as much as he possibly could. Then, it was only natural to go to school and get things taken care of. Attendance records were cleaned, grades were fabricated, dependencies were built. He was a local menace until one fateful night. The Stygian's call gripped him, attempting to claim his soul for its own power. Toyed with him for what felt like eternity until something forced it to release him. By this time, he had already run somewhat afoul of the members of the Sycamore Tree Coven, and with few options he decided to help them in exchange for inclusion, as he naturally believed that safety in numbers would be his best way of avoiding troubles like that.
He fell back, playing to the idea of making himself useful, and provided the Coven with the sort of logistical power that was necessary to acquire artifacts and ritualistic reagents through his Carribean Connections by way of his Mother. Money, material, safe places, he was able to provide it all to the Coven per their agreement. And when it was time to finish things, he was there alongside them in the end, utilizing his power in order to suppress the inherent nerves and fears that come with fighting a God. Essentially, he was a group wide sedative. And when it came time to forget the tree, it was his ritual that was used to purge it from their minds.

He imagined they'd be his new family forever; a family he chose and had the chance to be something for. But, once everything was said and done, he began to receive the cold shoulder. It was clear to him; his services were no longer necessary to the Sycamore Tree Coven. So, in defiance of this, he tried to hold Channelers and other artifacts for ransom, hoping that once he had their attention he'd be able to truly explain his point... But, things didn't work out that way. Nobody was willing to play ball. Some were happy their Channelers were gone, so they had an excuse to escape the Coven themselves. Others simply shifted their focus, passing the attachment to another article that was equally important. Though there was little physical evidence to pin the actions on Edict, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence that gave those presiding members reason to give up on him.
At the end of his senior year, Greyson was excommunicated from the Coven, and without mincing words he was told to leave town. Whether it was respect, fear or boredom that drove him over the Cascades was unclear, but after taking another month to get his affairs in order, he was gone. Headed for the Twin Cities, Edict met with some of his father's associates from the Chicago Outfit, who gave him blessings to begin operations in the Midwest. After his personal brand of convincing, he was left more or less to run things in the burgeoning operations of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. He knew there was a niche that probably wasn't being filled: Paranormal Underground. The Carribean Connection was instrumental in beginning to flood the Twin Cities with products laced in more subtle products. Cigarettes, alcohol, legal products made by legitimate means and taxed through the legal channels, all marked up by thousands of percent thanks to the ingredients laced with magical properties.

With legitimate business run through legitimate channels, it's hard to call him a mafioso at this point. Frankly, even to him, its all a bit farcical. But, he had respect at this point that he didn't even need to manipulate for. The amount of cash rolling into the Midwest Outfit's coffers was satisfying to the big bosses who were happy to open the books for him. Ultimately, this created a strong union between mafia forces in the Midwest and Northwest. With Luigi Devola taking the seat of Don in Seattle Washington and Edict making Capo in the Midwest Outfit, some question if there'll be a greater union given enough time.
Edict has spent his time corporatizing business in his territory, moving weight from illegitimate interests into legitimate businesses utilizing his Carribean Connection and their myriad of questionably sourced products. He's well respected among the various local gangs in the Twin Cities for his skill as a mediator, often inserting himself into and involving himself with their local disputes. Not wanting to draw a great deal of heat from the Federal Authorities, which he's sure have some contingent of Adepts watching his every move, he makes it a point to give everyone he meets with for business what he calls "The Pink Wash", a full system assault of his most subtle manipulative spells and techniques. A population of gangsters, fiends and thugs constantly crave their "re-up", and they can get it at "The Import", his massive nightclub in Downtown Minneapolis.

But, now he's been called by a force he was never expecting to hear from again. Returning to St. Portwell is practically useless, but some small part of him knew he could never leave for good... Now he's concerned about whether or not the peace that counts on him will last until he returns. For now, he's back in St. Portwell and trying to not run the same old games he had in the hay day. Now, he was here to play detective, helping Auri on request with skimming the underbelly for evidence of Father Wolf.

_{Abstraction
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"Oh come on, you're gonna make me cry."

TYPE ⫻ Adept

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Pink Lux, the Channeler being a pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ At surface level, Edict's Lex is a basic emotional manipulation type. Its most natural form is Warm Little Center; a pervasive aura that effects the perception toward the user, making those susceptible to it feel friendly toward and more inclined to engage with the user. Not satisfied with such a friendly and gentle ability, Edict has honed this effect to a razor's edge, deciphering its secrets and developing methods of sharpening and even changing the effect altogether.

Subtle Advance ⫻ Edict reaches out with his aura, attempting to gauge the emotinal status of those around him by distinguishing between various internal and external reactions. Like a thief with a lockpick, Edict prods at a person's psyche on a hunt for the tumbler that will unlock the door to his target's mind. Though able to pinpoint mood and temperment, this ability cannot read minds directly and provides no insight into the reasoning behind an individual's mood. Effects vary with intensity of the search:

• Just a Peek: The most subtle variation barely scratches the surface of an individual's mental state, searching for only the most shallow of connections. While not particularly useful in a single instance, Edict uses such a thing to groom potential targets over time, gradually amplifying the effect until the subject doesn't realize they've become used to, and accepting of, Edict's greater suggestions.
• The Stare: The standard form of Subtle Advance, but augmented by his own personal skill and inclination toward reading people. Edict uses this form to try and fish for a mental opening by actively inviting a mood shift toward him that an individual may be most inclined to leave themselves open with accidentally.
• Let Me In: If previous variations were lockpicks, this is the battering ram. All subtlety is lost as Edict puts every bit of force he has toward breaking down the walls one's mind uses to protect itself. Developed as a last-ditch effort tool in case he was hunted or persued by another Adept, this variation is not only risky to Edict for leaving him entirely defenseless while in use, but can do severe damage to the subject under its effects with side effects such as high fever, increased heart rate and induced trauma from the flood of Pink Lux bombarding the brain's emotional centers. That being said, though he hasn't had the chance to try it out on someone with an Emotional Field, he's confident that he can make it through and lock a potential paranormal assailaint down with it.

More Than a Feeling ⫻ Successful infiltration by way of Subtle Advance allows Edict to pass along suggestions, manipulating them to best match the individual's mood and desires so they're naturally inclined to follow the suggestion. This cuts down on the risk of suggestion denial or conflicting mindsets keeping the target from following subtle orders. While its not a guarantee, repeated usages of this spell on a particular subject will soften them up to suggestions, and shifting moods may provide wider openings for more complex suggestions to be made.
Typically, Edict sticks to simple suggestions: Be honest, don't lie to me. Give me a chance. Let me take you. Phrases and ideas that are so close to being possible in reality that they just need a little extra push. But, given enough time and opportunity, Edict has been able to open channels so wide and deep in a person's psyche that it's practically mind control. Edict calls these individuals "Junkies" because of the drug addict-like fashion that they seek him out in, begging for him to climb back into their minds for more purpose and direction.

Power Words ⫻ In the same vein as suggestions made under the influence of More Than a Feeling, Power Words are highly specific and case-sensitive concepts that Edict has curated through necessity over time in his line of work. Unlike MTF, however, Power Words are stick and go concepts that target natural processes in the body in an attempt to manipulate overall functionality of the target, rarely needing and sort of reaplication unless ultimately broken, either by time or willpower.

• Look/Search/Hunt: These power words are physical, meant to keep someone vigilant and alert at various levels for a long period of time. Someone effected by Power Word: Look may spend several hours watching and observing nothing in particular, unsure of what they're looking for. In contrast, Power Word: Hunt may actively search for a specific target individual or object, foregoing sleep and nutrition until the goal has been met.
• Bullshit: Power Word: Bullshit isn't a mind-wipe so much as it is a broad inclination toward lying ones ass off. For the duration, one simply won't be able to be honest with those around them. They'll lie and embellish, even if the situation doesn't call for it, and any truth that does come out of their mouth is suffused with false happenings and narratives.
• Produce: Specifically targeting chemical production in the brain, Edict uses Power Word: Produce as a monkey's paw method of torture. Often he hears people wishing for more; more muscle or more energy, more desire to love... With this, Edict directly targets the area of the brain and forces it to experience a nerve response suggesting it creates and produces more of the desired chemical. Need more sleep? Produce on the Pineal gland triggers mass amounts of melatonin and adenosine to flood the brain. One gets their wish, at the cost of several days worth of productivity. In a similar vein, Adrenaline or similar chemicals can be coaxed into production at levels so high the individual becomes a walking cardiac risk.
• Silence: Contrary to the idea that Power Word Silence makes it so an individual can't talk, the word actually targets the nervous system involved in controlling the transfer of sound to the brain. Rather than the target not being able to talk, they lose their hearing for several hours until the effect wears off.

Clean Slates ⫻ A ritual spell utilizing Edict's basic area of effect ability as an amplifier, this essentially targets the memory storage center of a willing participant and allows the cleansing of memories to occur. Once the connection between Edict and the individual seeking to wipe their memories is severed, the memories themselves are lost to both Edict and the subject.

LIMITS ⫻ Edict's abilities are almost entirely hinged on the idea of his target being a willing participant in the process. Like the stories of Vampires, one must invite this creature into their temple for him to do any sort of damage in the first place. Most who are not inclined to play at his games; those with strong wills or weak minds are unable to feel any sort of fast acting effect associated with Edict's Lux abilities and often require a great deal of effort for him to infiltrate. Beyond that, Edict runs the risk of overdoing his poking, either leaving an individual entirely disgusted by his presence as they can read his disingenuous nature by his constant mental prodding, or worse leave them like the Junkies that hang around his night club, waiting for the nights that they can go and be near him and get their high.
Beyond these issues, close proximity is necessary as long as he's attempting to apply a suggestion or power word. While Power Words are meant to dissipate over a short amount of time relative to the effort expended in their application, Suggestions often require refreshing if they're not successfully carried out shortly after being applied. As such, its common for most of Edict's time to be spent keeping up frequent appearances or clandestine stakeouts in order to keep the suggestion fresh by the warmth of his aura.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ Due to the low-powered nature of Edict's spells, he has no significant weaknesses or drawbacks of note.

^{Other
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"Do you know what I'm giving up to be here? Pay me a little respect."

SPICY BOY AHHHHHHH BURN NOTICE BURN NOTICE BURN NOTICE
Face Claim: Sean "Slug" Daley of Atmosphere

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree (Witch/Surreal Urban Fantasy)

I can't wait to see where this goes. Light me on fire and send me off.

Black Fall: Demon Complex [INVITE ONLY/PRIVATE]

**Arty Kovačić**

Artyom "Arty".Kovačić

17 | Arty Kovačić | He/Him "Don't mind the dust."

Description: Arty was sick until he died. The whole time, autoimmune issues ravaged his flesh and bones and forced him into a sedentary, bedridden lifestyle. It wasn't until the Delta-Storm, where a rogue Yellow crystal cluster destroyed the family car on a routine trip to the hospital, that he was much more than a stick with some weak limbs and a foul mouth. While both his parents survived the crash, Arty's weak and frail form hadn't been so lucky. Only by the remote chance that he positively reacted to the Delta-Point Energy emitted by the cluster was he able to return, though it was instantly clear that not everything was as it should be. The Arty of today is nothing like the Arty from before. He has long since removed those bits and pieces of himself that he had come to hate and disdain. He has, through his abilities, reformed himself into the picture he'd always wanted to be for the sheer confidence and vanity of it. Though physical sensation is mostly lost to him now, he has rediscovered ways to mimic all of the things that a living, breathing human would do. Thanks to the time he spent as a sickly child, he's hardened his mind against his precarious new unlife, and has pushed himself to make the most of it. Mostly, he's grateful: Even though his life may not be normal at all anymore, he has all the things he wished he had as a nearly crippled child. He was given the gift of freedom and mobility, and as he trained his new abilities further he found more than he could have ever dreamed of. Now, at seventeen, Arty has come to Sparrowdale as the best version of himself that he could think of. Taking from his Father's strong Slavic features, he fancies himself as something of a confident bad-boy type. The kind of character he always admired in stories and television whose no-nonsense attitudes and dedicated focus made him feel like he could relate even from his bed. He tries to be aloof and hold himself a peg higher than his peers, but appealing to the nerdy young man trapped within him shows a more emotional and fun-loving side of him that isn't something he likes to display openly. Power: Type-Yellow Arty's power isn't so much a power as it is a full restructuring of his physical form. Made entirely out of highly reactive fungal cultures, he is essentially a walking Mushroom whose consciousness is maintained by complex mycelial tissue. What this does for him at a surface level is easy to guess: He is extremely durable and difficult to get rid of permanently. Occasionally his pores open and he sheds harmless clouds of spores as a bodily function, and his only known food requirement is organic material. His external layers of tissue can be manipulated like any fungus, and as the whole body is responsible for nervous system function, he doesn't require a head, limbs, or really any sort of concerted piece of himself to regrow his body at a rapid pace. The process only requires a great deal of energy to complete, meaning organic matter is necessary to maximize his strength.

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain [CANCELLED]

Interactions: Shrike, Carrion Crow, Magpie
The Beach

---

Of course, they were right. There was little to be concerned with on the initial contact, and Crow alone packed enough firepower to bring down a dropship like that. He figured maybe reconfiguring Barn Owl well enough, he probably could too. It wasn't his preference. Skillfully, he tilted the Shell backward in mid air to align his high-powered horizontal jump jets to the ground. A big display of his current power over regenerative rate was displayed on his heads-up, giving him a good idea of how much height he could get off this silly maneuver. He still had distance to make up before getting into Fire Support's radius, but he didn't want to be utterly useless until then...
His jets flared, pushing him upward higher into the sky like a rocket. The g-force would've knocked an untrained pilot unconscious, but he'd been around speed and gravity before; and a few augments in his body made the experience practically normal. As he crested the height of the boost, one of the enemy jets made it within engagement range on a lucky draw. Once more, Barn Owl applied a small boost that almost cleaned out his generator, but put him on track to fall back down in the least dangerous way possible.
As he hung for a moment, the jet inched closer and closer. Its defensive guns rattled off, but the flowing cloak made manual aim a bit of a crapshoot. Thirty millimeter high penetration slugs ripped through the anti-thermal cloak and buzzed a section of it into ribbons, but totally missed Barn Owl as it approached the danger zone. Barn Owl could feel his right arm move practically without his consent, the flicking motion having occurred over and over and over again in his long career: The massive hundred and two millimeter "shotgun" that the Shell used as its only form of weaponry struck out at full length. With the CQBFCS and his own internal processing units working at full tandem, he snapshotted the jet just as they passed on a near collision. The twelve tungsten flechette projectiles that a single shell contained were more than enough to demolish the small vessel as they ripped through fuel-laden fuselage and flesh filled cockpit alike.

And then it was mostly quiet again.

"Owl... RELAX... you're acting like we haven't been through worse."

He wanted to bark back, like that makes us invincible? But, in truth, he could do nothing but smile and nod along. What must happen will happen, he said to himself as he shifted his gaze to the burning wreckage of the carrier below him. In the instant, he thought about the hubris of mankind and the courage of youth. The idea that one may feel totally invincible and all powerful so long as they didn't feel the strain of age. He only wished that he could give them more... More of that vainglory, more power, better reactions. He didn't want them to ever feel the sting of defeat, or the potential of death that he had.
You are my Sunshine... My only Sunshine... You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know, Dears, how much I love you. So, please don't take my Sunshine away.
The nursery rhyme echoed in his head. Involuntarily, a tear fell from his left eye and dripped down his bearded cheek to disappear in the mass of gray hair. Many of them were quick to forget that all he had left was them. Overprotective, sure... But not without reason. Losing even one of the precious chicks was a dagger to the soul.

"Keep moving. Crow's alone. Move to support. Watch the skies."

Shrike's voice on his personal comms broke his concentration slightly. Typical Crow, always where you'd least expect her to be.
"Roger Shrike. I'm coming down to you now, Crow. Hopefully I grabbed their attention, I'll try and pull some heat out of the sky on the way: Kill anything on my tail!"
He tapped his break jets, impacting the ground with force enough to make a small crater. His seat compensated, gyroscopes keeping him level inside the core and preventing any strong rattling from unseating him. The Shell's systems reacted in kind to hitting the ground, the massive hydraulic legs releasing their payload instantly and sending him flying forward again like a giant bunny rabbit to hop along the ground at incredibly high speeds en route toward Carrion Crow's location.

Tyrant Shell: The Answer of Rain [CANCELLED]

Interactions: Magpie, Shrike, King Gizzard, Hachidori, Ossifrage Carrion Crow
The Beach

---

Barn Owl impacted a high area with little noise or damage, the massive leg shocks eating up any downward momentum with a loud hiss as the systems regulated the pressure in the hydraulic pistons. The thermaline cloak strapped tight to the machine kept its heat signature low as possible with dozens and dozens of thick aluminum layers, leaving only the deadly sharp blade of his weapon system poking out from beneath. One hand gripped the spire-like surface that flanked the Shell, while the right hand held tight to the massive shot-axe's main grip. He had thought about getting lower, but God forbid they needed to do any sort of aerial operating... So he figured keeping somewhat of an elevated plane would be advantageous. He watched the radar screen at his upper left as his scan pulsed out of the machine to echo across the open air.

And then the delivery came.

Barn Owl's jaw dropped as the Forward ship rolled slowly but surely into the conflict's frame.
"Magpie, you're seeing this?"
He switched his comm line to Vulture's curated frequency.
"Gizzard, Hachidori, we're gonna have a big fucking problem in a second! Recommend rolling on top of it, the cannons aren't up there and the defenses aren't going to fire on their own ship! Take Ossi with you for support!"

Keeping the latches for his disposable cloak intact for now, the great tonnage of machine known as Barn Owl took a springboard leap off its building perch. The aim was link up with Shrike and the other fire supports in order to give them a blocker in case enemy forces got too close.
With next to no heat coming from the initial jump, it was hard to get a read on where Barn Owl was with any sort of automatic aiming assist so long as he didn't use any sort of boosting feature. He'd become used to using such things sparingly, letting his low capacity generator get its chance to recharge every instant he could while keeping any automated weapons more or less out of the range of threat. The principle was demonstrated post haste; one of the smaller forward drones zipped up on him within a few dozen feet. Inside the machine, the man's right arm flicked as if it were a twitch reaction that caused every bit of pent up force held in the upper Shell to rotate and cleave through the unfortunate drone.

In the middle of that hanging, the silhouette of the Shell looked almost like that of its namesake, a friendly cream-colored face punctuated by the sharp beak and two great talons at its rear.
"Shrike, I'm moving to cover Fire Support with you! Crow, don't get caught roosting you hear!?"

Bloody Days: The Adjudicator Saga

There we go! As usual, let me know if you'd like me to change anything. And, we should probably talk about how we want things to go, how far before we get into trouble or if we even get into trouble. Just a quick breakdown of the scene more or less.
Mark's definitely a little lusty for the "fun part" of the work, so if there was someone who was going to get them caught it would probably be his mistake if that were to be the case.

Bloody Days: The Adjudicator Saga

"I've got your back, Brother. Lead on."
It was good to have no Comms in his ear. No barking handler trying to feed in info from a logistics lieutenant in some office bunkers six miles away spewing crap about statistics and thermal imaging. Just the eyes and a calm, quiet demeanor. Professionals. Mark appreciated that kind of knowledge, only hoping they'd be able to sync up in a positive way once the bullets started flying. For now, it was playing the hunting game.
It was best to get as far into the muck as one could before things started going crazy. The element of surprise was the only thing a soldier could pray for on the field, getting the drop on whoever you could usually ended up being like shooting fish in a barrel. Once a flank could be established, a direction one could be sure was clear and unmolested by some hammering force providing reinforcement, you could essentially open up to whatever sort of tactic you wanted. Continue the clandestine assault was always most difficult, especially once communication between the targets started to get more spotty with each corpse. Check-ins become discoveries, and quickly the element of surprise is all but consumed in a swarm of angry morons.

As the duo hugged the edge of the building, the schematics they'd gone over became clearer from a ground perspective. The warehouses, hastily built hangar-like structures with single or double layer corrugated metal exteriors, formed something of an upside-down "U" shape in relation to the main gate of which both men had a fairly clear view. That front was guarded by a small row of men with guns, their equipment half bundled beneath jackets or sweaters to protect from the cold autumn morning. They blocked the space between an airlock of gates with a set of mechanical bollards between each of them to prevent frontal vehicular assault.
"What, do they think we're just gonna drive up and subpoena them? We're not fucking cops..." Mark gritted out from between his clenched jaw.
He raised the barrel of his rifle up instinctively, the integral suppressor capable of making things a hair quieter than its screw-on cousin. At least, it would if they shared a caliber... The two and a half times magnified sight lined up perfect into the back of a guard's neck, and he could see the man's breath rising up from behind the silhouette of his head in a vague pattern. He's humming, Mark thought.

But he dropped his stance as they reached the corner of the building. The flood lights from inside one of the open hangar doors filled the section of the courtyard with electric light that couldn't be avoided, and was probably the main reason they had so much shadow cover currently. It simply drew the eye, though things became a bit more complicated when half a dozen chatty voices started to echo out from just around the corner.
They sauntered out; clearly another group of toughs, and from their plodding path toward the front, it looked like there was a shift change coming in just a couple seconds. Mark automatically wondered if the whole facility was swapping hands. His watch said o'five-fifty.
"I think we've got a ten minute split, partner. Looks like shift change is six? You wanna get in there, or try to head for the long way around back and look for another possible entrance?"

Mark had only paused a moment before a grim expression crossed over his fully covered face.
"Or, you know... Ten ducks in a row." he said, throwing a hand gesture toward the gate guards and the slowly approaching relief crew. "Great way to get the party started."