Edard may not have known sign language, but as they would say a few generations ago, 'there's an app for that'. He'd found it before the blackout, an app for his AR driver that translated finger spelling and common and tactical sign languages into text he could read off the Eye-Net display. As a short man, Ed knew he'd have to choose to speak up, or be forgotten.
"Pathfinder. My specs are wilderness survival and Close Quarters Combat. Considering the still-forming plan we seem to be putting together, I could run supplies and intel from the sniper and/or recon posts and mission hq to and from the man inside. I know how to move around, and speaking as a man who hasn't broken six foot, I tend to do hide and seek pretty well." Feeling that this was introduction enough, he fell silent, moving only to cast the lesbian red-head a respectful nod before looking over the rest of the group once more.
He'd always been of the opinion that real love didn't care what body you wore, as it was mainly concerned with the heart, with the soul. From what he gathered from their interaction, she had found something true. That was worth protecting. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her, and do whatever was required to help her keep her promise to come back home to her woman. Even if all that was truly required, was to stay out of the way.
His eyes fell on codename: Red. a Heavy with fingers nimble enough for hacking? Well, he could mark that off of his 'paradoxes to watch for' list. Still, the man was already proving his usefulness, and Ed couldn't deny that. And considering this was a mission where collateral damage was preferably kept to a minimum [easier to patch a bullet hole in a wall, or paint over blood stains or replace gore stained carpet with linoleum than it was to repair infrastructure after someone let fly their gatling cannon], it was a good thing he had the techno-savvy. Otherwise, well, sending him in with 2000 rounds seemed like a perfectly viable plan 'B'. Maybe co-ordinate so the sniper takes out the leader a moment before?
Something upset him about Rook/Winterbourne though. Nothing he could see or anything that seemed odd about the man's speaking, maybe it was the set in his shoulders, or something in the man's eyes, but Ed got the sense that it wasn't a situation of 'either of these names is fine' introduction, but more of a 'have a care about which side of me has your attention' introduction. Perhaps this was just instinct honed after so long in nature, but the man seemed a bit cracked in the head, and the survivalist made another mental note equating that one with a claymore mine, with it's infamous labeling: Front- toward enemy'.
He looked the others over, still trying to get a decent read on the others, but knowing all too well he may be grossly misjudging people. It was why he liked to keep those thoughts to himself. Firstly, because it really wasn't their business what he thought of them, secondly, because he knew at every step any or all of them may surprise him, and continually prove him wrong, and thirdly, because he really needed to see how the group dynamics were going to play out before trying to weave them into a cohesive unit.
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i'm down. can i be a amity-born dauntless?
i'm here, now, >_>
better?
shall I just go and edit my post into something a bit more mesh-able with the settings, then? alright, consider it done.
It had only been a week since the last time the world made sense, but each day felt like a month to those not used to living like animals. For Edard, the anarchy really only made the city feel more like the wilds he was more comfortable in anyway. Sure it meant a few of the would-be muggers would find themselves face down in a pool of their own rapidly freezing blood after wrongly thinking him an easy target, but that was the new societal law, kill, or be killed. Ed wasn't bloodthirsty by any means, but if put in a situation of 'me or them, he had a very strong inclination to defend his own right to live.
He'd been huddled into what had once been a posh penthouse, but had since been looted and vandalized rather heavily, but as most of the windows this high up in the hotel building were somewhat intact, the broken panes were easily enough covered over with the spare roll of duct tape he'd found while rooting through the other rooms on the way up. Climbing that many stairs had been murder, but he figured most human predators would ignore him for the difficulty in reaching him, and as a side perk, he was closer to the roof, which was his preferred method of getting around, parkouring across the rooftops.
After recieving the summons, Edard prepped his gear, slipping the gauntlet with his xiphod over his left forearm, and secured it in place before tugging his sleeve down over it. considering it was hoodie and a long-coat weather, he decided layers were his friend and bundled up appropriately. strapping the rest of his gear on, including the ammo belt and stuffing the automatic shottie in his rucksack with all his other meager, but essential possessions, -including the duct tape- he stepped out into the hallway, glad for the muffling effect of the carpet under his boots, and warily made his way up to the rooftop access so he could get to St. Michael's a few blocks away. having arrived, he made his way down to street level along a rusted fire escape a few buildings over, passed one transvestite hooker and three who were obviously women, but just as obviously diseased and or drug addled, none of whom appealed to him in the least, and passed two muggings and an attempted raping. Attempted because of his own timely intervention, though when the woman offered to *thank* him, he turned away. "I didn't do it for the thanks. Learn to protect yourself. Most strangers are more like him than me."
Finally making it inside, he waited in the back pew for the sermon to end, and, when it had, he moved to the alter under the pretense of offering up a prayer for this world gone mad, which, in truth, it was in his heart to do so, but it was an inarticulate cry, as he could not find the words to aptly describe the state of his fellow man in recent days. Finally, all he'd said aloud was, "oh, how the mighty have fallen... amen." With that, he rose, stepped back, and gazed up at the crucifix while he waited for the promised orders to come. Surreptitiously, he glanced around at the others gathered at the altar, sizing them up as a wolf sizes up potential pack members.
He'd been huddled into what had once been a posh penthouse, but had since been looted and vandalized rather heavily, but as most of the windows this high up in the hotel building were somewhat intact, the broken panes were easily enough covered over with the spare roll of duct tape he'd found while rooting through the other rooms on the way up. Climbing that many stairs had been murder, but he figured most human predators would ignore him for the difficulty in reaching him, and as a side perk, he was closer to the roof, which was his preferred method of getting around, parkouring across the rooftops.
After recieving the summons, Edard prepped his gear, slipping the gauntlet with his xiphod over his left forearm, and secured it in place before tugging his sleeve down over it. considering it was hoodie and a long-coat weather, he decided layers were his friend and bundled up appropriately. strapping the rest of his gear on, including the ammo belt and stuffing the automatic shottie in his rucksack with all his other meager, but essential possessions, -including the duct tape- he stepped out into the hallway, glad for the muffling effect of the carpet under his boots, and warily made his way up to the rooftop access so he could get to St. Michael's a few blocks away. having arrived, he made his way down to street level along a rusted fire escape a few buildings over, passed one transvestite hooker and three who were obviously women, but just as obviously diseased and or drug addled, none of whom appealed to him in the least, and passed two muggings and an attempted raping. Attempted because of his own timely intervention, though when the woman offered to *thank* him, he turned away. "I didn't do it for the thanks. Learn to protect yourself. Most strangers are more like him than me."
Finally making it inside, he waited in the back pew for the sermon to end, and, when it had, he moved to the alter under the pretense of offering up a prayer for this world gone mad, which, in truth, it was in his heart to do so, but it was an inarticulate cry, as he could not find the words to aptly describe the state of his fellow man in recent days. Finally, all he'd said aloud was, "oh, how the mighty have fallen... amen." With that, he rose, stepped back, and gazed up at the crucifix while he waited for the promised orders to come. Surreptitiously, he glanced around at the others gathered at the altar, sizing them up as a wolf sizes up potential pack members.
Name:Mervin the Magnificent
Age:16
Gender:M
Personality: Quiaint, Quirky, but not quarrelsome, trying to be polite and pleasant to anyone he meets.
Picture or a good description : Mervin enjoys dark shades, though never wears straight black. His favorite looks always oncorporate a cane, sometimes a long coat and vest, and often a hat of some sort, but not always.
Which Academy preferred- Draconic:
Type of Dragon preferred:
was thinking i'd go for more of a shadow dragon with onyx scales, an idea reinforced by the many ice dragons.
Bio: Many believe Mervin wasn't born, so much as he just appeared on the streets of town one day, performing minor acts of street-magic to entertain the masses and gather enough money to eat and sleep at an inn. While he has some skill with prestidigitation [read: the illusion 'magic' put on showcase today, making balls and coins disappear and reappear, pulling silk scarves from sleeves, ad nauseum], his true talent as a magical prodigy lie in a field rarely understood, as so few mages are born with this gift- he's an artificer, able to weave ambient magical energy into items and constructs by will.
In truth, he was born, though he doesn't remember his hometown anymore. A mishap with his magic saw him teleporting into town, but as it was an untrained, fledgeling working, it left him with amnesia. The lost memories don't bother him, however, as he is perfectly happy in his day to day life. Hearing of a nearby school for the magically gifted, and noting that it had a sub-school for those who would be bonded with dragons, Mervin sent in an application right away, hoping that with training, he might become a much better -and thus more well-fed- magician.
Age:16
Gender:M
Personality: Quiaint, Quirky, but not quarrelsome, trying to be polite and pleasant to anyone he meets.
Picture or a good description : Mervin enjoys dark shades, though never wears straight black. His favorite looks always oncorporate a cane, sometimes a long coat and vest, and often a hat of some sort, but not always.
Which Academy preferred- Draconic:
Type of Dragon preferred:
Bio: Many believe Mervin wasn't born, so much as he just appeared on the streets of town one day, performing minor acts of street-magic to entertain the masses and gather enough money to eat and sleep at an inn. While he has some skill with prestidigitation [read: the illusion 'magic' put on showcase today, making balls and coins disappear and reappear, pulling silk scarves from sleeves, ad nauseum], his true talent as a magical prodigy lie in a field rarely understood, as so few mages are born with this gift- he's an artificer, able to weave ambient magical energy into items and constructs by will.
In truth, he was born, though he doesn't remember his hometown anymore. A mishap with his magic saw him teleporting into town, but as it was an untrained, fledgeling working, it left him with amnesia. The lost memories don't bother him, however, as he is perfectly happy in his day to day life. Hearing of a nearby school for the magically gifted, and noting that it had a sub-school for those who would be bonded with dragons, Mervin sent in an application right away, hoping that with training, he might become a much better -and thus more well-fed- magician.
In
A magic academy combined with a dragon academy interest check
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Free Interest Checks
ooh, can i be a dragon? i wouldn't mind being a youngling.
edited. :)
Hailfire said
It is a very good cs. The one thing I would ask is that perhaps you cut down the amount of grenades you have to three overall for now for balancing reasons. There will be chances to pick up more as we go along.
fair enough.
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