In the very back of the truck, tucked away in a corner like a rock, slept a man who could move mountains and hold up the sky. During most of the trip, from the time they left home, he had been out cold in spite of all the commotion his comrades had made. The explosions, the beer being flung out of the windows, the radio, even Silje being Silje could not wake the slumbering giant known as Morden Garrus. He was detached from the world as he knew it, asleep like a century old corpse. The rickety, beaten-up truck would fall apart at last before he woke up. At least, it would have until something finally stirred the man up from his rest against all conceivable odds. The constant hum of the truck riding down a worn road had lulled him into slumber, but now, every little sound put him on high alert, meaning his was up on his feet the moment his eyes opened. Like a machine, Morden was ready to do... Whatever he was doing on vacation. In one swift motion, he rolled out of his seat and into the warm, dry air of Sapple Springs. Dressed in nothing more than a red tank top, exercise pants and old casual shoes, he looked around.
This place... Was a ghost town. Why did they stop here? And where was everyone?
He swayed his neck left and right, eliciting a deep crack or two and listened to the wind. Sapple Springs was clearly a sleepy place, with damn near nothing happening. Morden looked into the sky and saw the sun was notable lower than when he fell asleep, so they had clearly been driving for a while... There they are.
He heard the voices Gerard and someone else, and followed until he met up with them, walking up behind his comrades in full view of an authority figure.
"Hopefully I'm not offendin' ya'll when I say this, but what's a bunch of WARDEN types doing out here?"
"We're on a road trip," Morden cut in with an imposing voice, heavy with iron yet smooth as a deep river. "Before we officially join the fight. What did you do, this soon after we stopped, Gerard?"
Location: Hedge Maze > AA Gear: A bloodstained dress and a sword Skills: Oh god oh fuck
It was undeniably impressive that Sabine was able to completely shut Marrok’s behavior. In another time and place he would’ve been a compelling ally to have knowing how fucked up things could get around the school. But Sabine’s words fell on deaf ears, because Leah had already left the ground by the time Sabine made her move. And in the time she took to tell Leah not to harm Marrok, she descended upon him like a landslide, burying her sword in his skull and killing him on the spot. The sword was one with her in that moment, as if she had always been a master of the blade. It was simply too fast for her to be stopped.
Marrok went up in smoke, but at least he died at peace.
Their surroundings changed, and they were back in AA. But it wasn’t quite as victorious as she thought, because the beast was right there, his body laid out on the ground cold and dead. They did what they came to do, but it could’ve been different.
Leah looked at the corpse, a twinge of guilt fixed on her face. Leah just killed what was basically a dog. Did werewolves count as dogs? ”…Sabine? Are you alright?” It wasn’t the first time she had killed, or rather, wasn’t the first time she thought she had killed. But still… It didn’t feel right. It was too easy, and not quite the same as killing an abuser.
8th Street left. Luca was in control again. Babylon didn't try anything, and neither did the Maiden. That was enough for Stormy to consider the situation dealt with. Jasper was taking care of Luca now, so Stormy let him go gently, just in time for none other than the PRA to appear. Bianca- he finally put a name to her face- waved but he didn't react immediately. Lila and Lynn were choking up at the sight of their French maid costumes, but Stormy, stone cold and stoic like a rock, didn't give anything away. That didn't mean he didn't appreciate the art on display, but Stormy was a bit more composed than the others present.
And, of course, Bianca called out exactly why everyone was giving Meifeng and Cindy that look. "Everything is fine, now. 8th Street crossed a line that no one with a sense of common decency would cross," He explained. "But then again, Emily Reed doesn't fit that description, now does she?" He wasn't giving anything away about it, about how the whole thing started when she started deadnaming Lila. If he did, he'd basically be outing Lila around strangers, and that would put him on Emily's level. And Stormy was, in every sense of the word, leagues and bounds above her level.
"And if she tries that with any of you again, let me know," He said to the friends Emily tried to antagonize. "I'll rough up her and her henchmen until they take a hint." Not a threat, but a promise. Not a plot to kill, just to teach a lesson.
"Now!" Time to shift gears. "How many drinks do I need to buy everyone for this to be put behind us? And I do mean everyone," including the PRA agents that gassed them.
"If you two are going to stick around, I think all have a few things to talk about, and I'm in a generous mood," he added.
_______________________________________________ Amara Talia King
She/Her | 26 | Black | 5'7" | 180lbs _______________________________________________ ass _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "When you’ve got an army in your head, you pick up a few tricks." ___________________________________
PRA Background â«» Back when Amara was a senior agent going by the callsign Legion, she often occupied multiple roles on and off the battlefield. Amara developed a diverse range of operative skills including recon, CQC, small and long arm combat, and field leadership.
Strategy ⫻ Amara could outsmart damn near anybody in a chess game, and also come up with some clever tricks in a more practical situation. She can look at evidence of past actions taken by someone, and use those to predict how they’ll act in the future.
Slippery ⫻ Go ahead, just try and keep her contained. Even without her phantoms, Amara has a knack for getting out of places she’s not meant to get out of. If you tie her wrists with a bunch of rope, she’ll just dislocate her wrists to slip them free.
Multilingual ⫻ Amara can speak French, Spanish, Korean, and a bit of Russian. She’s working on that last one.
Handy â«» Amara happens to know how to fix a lot of things, which comes naturally since she owns her own place. Busted light switch? Easy. Busted floorboards? Sure. Busted sink pipes? Bitch, please.
Amara typically dresses for comfort, wearing wool cardigans and sweatpants 24/7 and keeping her hair permanently buzzed down short. All of her clothes are usually old, as she doesn’t like to throw anything out unless it doesn’t fit her anymore. Amara has a slim and athletic build, thanks to her years as an active agent of the PRA. She only shows off when she has something to gain, but she has plenty of visible muscle under those clothes, enough to imply that she occasionally hits the gym. She also usually wears a pair of gold earrings when not “on the job,” which doesn’t mean much these days.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Get over here, so I can kick your ass."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Amara doesn’t have a goal, currently. She’s at a point in her life where she’s not sure what she should be doing, let alone what she wants to be doing. What she wants out of life itself, however, is to have a purpose that fulfills her. So far, she hasn’t found it.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Take it a day at a time, get through it and look out for one another. Amara believes in toughing things out and that nothing worth doing is ever easy. Amara wholeheartedly believes in punching up when it counts, on behalf of the ones who can’t. As far as she’s aware, every other Amara shares her outlook on life to some extent.
SECRETS ⫻ There are some things Amara takes pride in, and others she does not. Most of the things she isn’t proud of were done during her PRA days. She did good as an agent, but some things keep her up at night. Amara doesn’t like to talk about just how high up the chain she found herself before quitting. Of course, anyone with the badge and a bit of clearance could easily dig it all up.
SEXUALITY â«» Lesbian
FEARS ⫻ Amara is afraid of dying in obscurity. Dying itself doesn’t scare her, but she wants to die in peace, when people would miss her.
REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN â«» Amara was fun to be around. She knew when to get serious, and knew when to be easygoing and enjoy life. From time to time, she may have been a bit too tough for others to tolerate, but she always made it up to them in the end. Her chill demeanor certainly helped others keep their spirits reasonably high, especially when the death toll got worse.
ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ Back in the day, Amara was a mix of the commander and the general. She’d spend two or three days plotting out battle plans like a chess grandmaster with the other intellectual members. And then she’d spend the next week executing them and being a powerhouse on the battlefield. Her phantoms protected the injured and got them to safety, shot up apparitions like it was open season and took blows for others that would kill the living.
FLAWS â«» Everyone has their reasons for fighting. Some take up arms for an idea, others fight and die for the people they love. But Amara is the exception. She doesn't have anything grounding her, nothing to feel conviction for. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing anymore, and it's not easy to change that.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "They don’t call me Legion anymore, let’s keep it that way"
The earliest memories Amara has are not bonding with her mother and father, learning to walk for the first time, or even learning to speak her first words. Though she has those memories just like anyone else, Amara first remembers seeing herself. All of the countless trillion versions of herself, stretching across a boundless field overlooked by a castle. Its presence was like the bedrock of everything in the scope of existence to her young mind, and she saw it every single night, long before she had the words to even understand it. By the time she was 12, she began to really grasp this. Her parents never understood it to be anything more than just a child's active imagination whenever she'd bring it up, but the paranormal opened itself up to her at a time before most Adepts were taught about what magic itself even is. At an age where the children of paranormal families were learning how Lux and individuals spells behaved, Amara was learning about the Army of One and the All-Verse's strange nature. At an age where paranormal teenagers were learning the fine nuances of magic, Amara was being trained, in secret, by her long-dead counterparts to fight. In her dreams, she saw the counterparts of herself that had lived longer and would tell her of the things they all faced. Amara was essentially raised by an Apparition to be a soldier, behind the backs of the Blind, and fight for the causes that she considered worth her efforts.
And then, the Snake happened.
Amara met a girl at school named Bianca, who happened to rope her into the antics of the Sycamore Tree Coven, along with a few other antics between her and her girlfriend. (Sometimes literally between them.) Everyone has their own story to tell about how the battle went down, and their own personal traumas. But Amara? She endured it all, never allowing herself to feel the pain because it wasn't what she was trained to do. On the battlefield, her phantoms stepped through reality by the dozens, enough to match to tide of apparitions summoned by the world-ending threat. She took up the responsibility to make battle plans when others wouldn't, and personally oversaw the rescue of many friends. It wasn't all perfect, even if she got to relax sometimes like the others, but they all pulled through.
To many of the Coven's members, it was all just temporary. They came together to fight, but not to last. Everyone fell apart, and Amara's role in that was more to keep the peace and help everyone fall apart gently. It wasn't long until everyone packed up and left. Amara made sure to keep contact with the friends she made, and told them to call her if something crazy happened again. She left to get her life in order, and to decide what she wanted out of it. She didn’t go to college or find a girl to settle down with, but the next few years of her life were still the most eventful ever. Amara never swore off her magic, she would use it occasionally when it was convenient. A phantom would hold a wrench while she fixed her car on the side of the road, or help her carry things indoors when no one was looking. Or at least, no one she noticed.
She found herself crossing paths with the PRA, an agency dedicated to keeping the peace and protecting the Blind from magic. This resonated with Amara, and so she sought them out more intensely, eventually getting a chance to have a proper conversation with them. She explained how she had a desire to protect others from the dangers of magic and had her own experience in doing that very thing. So she trained, and trained, and trained some more, until she became a full agent. Thanks to Amara’s particular brand of magic, she was put on dozens of missions in multiple roles. She would run overwatch during stakeouts while her phantoms did ground patrol, direct gunfight in eliminations, and evacuations when no one else was available. It was rough, but Amara found it fulfilling, so she kept climbing.
Eight years in the PRA turned her into a senior agent. But after climbing the ladder so long, after getting involved in so much of the broader operations, Amara’s appreciation for her line of work had faded. At a higher level, the PRA were just like mundane cops, more concerned for stamping everything out and disregarding others to make ends meet. All too often she’d argue with her superiors about the right course of action, about whether or not a cursed Blind should be killed for everyone’s sake or whether or not an adept who was just defending themselves should be put away for life. Little things added up, and the PRA’s absolute lack of accountability meant she could only take things up with internal affairs, who never gave a shit.
Amara found herself at a fork in the road. The PRA weren’t the good guys to her anymore, just a bunch of heartless pricks. So one day, after her missions became shittier and shittier, she tossed her badge in her boss’s face. Amara walked out and quit, but she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore. Just like years ago, she was winless again. Amara settled down somewhere, bought a house and decided to take a break from things while she got her life together. Months later, she got a call from Auri, telling her about the murders. Amara was hesitant at first, and only told Auri she would consider coming back. But after a week or two to think about it and get her things into a suitcase, she’s coming home.
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "We never fight alone."
TYPE â«» Aberration, Adjoined
ABSTRACTION â«» Army of One
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION â«» The All-Verse is a theoretically infinite place, with counterparts of every single person spanning across them. In one of these universes, a counterpart of Amara died, and became the progenitor of the Army of One. Amara bonds with other version of herself from across realities, allowing all of them to work together. The Army of One consists of every single dead counterpart of Amara in all of existence, and has the ability to bond with the living, who will then join the collective in death themselves. Every Amara across the All-Verse shares a few universal constants: They protect others, show no fear in the face of disaster, and die for what they believe in.
Living and dead Amaras are separated into two categories for convenience, soldiers and phantoms respectively. This distinction is important to make, since there are quite literally billions of each. As one of the soldiers, the Amara King who occupies Shimmer is connected to the Army of One, and can call on the phantoms to assist her however she may need it. This includes summoning them in a fight, having extra hands for moving things, or managing information. Phantoms can appear at her location the moment they think she needs assistance, and will defer to the living soldiers for direction if they aren't sure what to do. Amara has a numbers advantage up her sleeve at every opportunity, and can always outsource her problem to someone else if she can't solve it herself.
Phantoms are essentially magical foot soldiers. They are fully sentient and sapient, and follow Amara’s orders to the best of their ability. Their strengths lie in using numbers and strategy to solve problems. Where some can throw giant fireballs at their enemies or teleport across the country in seconds, Amara and her phantoms work to execute strategies and methodically come out ahead like a game of chess. Her phantoms are capable of using guns, and fighting with all the other skills that Amara herself has, since they are quite literally her.
Limits ⫻ The Army of One is numerous beyond comprehension, but so is the All-Verse itself. So, to avoid leaving any one universe without backup, every living soldier is only able to call on up to five phantoms at a time. This isn’t a matter of the abstraction’s strength, but is a deliberate decision made by the collective. Therefore, power-boosting abstractions can’t make more phantoms appear. It would take a particularly extreme crisis for an exception to be made, such as the Stygian Snake waking up again.
Also, the phantoms being technically undead doesn’t do anything for their toughness. A solid shot from a gun would be enough to phase a phantom out of reality for a while. This doesn’t kill them, but it does take them out of consideration. Phantoms always emerge from a short distance around Amara, which is important because if one is sent deep into enemy territory, another can’t simply take its place right on the spot after someone shoots them.
WEAKNESSES â«»
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
"I’ve seen some crazy shit, but I’ve never seen shit like this before. A serial killer? I got this.."
Morden is nothing short of a mountain on legs. Standing taller than armored Vanguards with a flowing mane of hair that stretches down to his chest, and more muscles in one arm than most people can achieve in decades, he is built like a tank even by WARDEN standards. Cracks and burn marks dot his skin from head to toe, as a side effect of an absurd amount of mist burn that came from his training. Morden’s appearance is otherwise relatively plain, since he doesn’t put a lot of work into his look beyond keeping himself maintained. Though, he does always keep a small pocket-sized case with him, separate from whatever he has in his mist pocket, as a precaution due to the nature of his magic.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Composed, but not peaceful. Reserved, but not passive. Morden is the eye of the storm, a raging hurricane that holds up the sky and stands veiled by a passing demeanor of calm. Morden’s personality is a study in extremes, he is either the most unassuming person in a room or a presence you can’t hope to ignore. In times of peace, he is a gentle giant who can be seen with the occasional, weary smile on his face and not a word to say. The very definition of serenity. In times of conflict, he is rage incarnate, fury given shape, and wrath made manifest. When Morden expresses an emotion, he expressed all of it, without a clear concept of a social filter.
Towards his fellow WARDENs, Morden is the brother in arms; Loyal to an indomitable fault and commanding respect with an iron will, and his “get behind me” attitude like a decorated general. In Morden’s mind, protecting Rassfet is everything. He is a true believer in the fight against the empire, and will fight and stay unbroken for as long as it takes to save his homeland. His attitude is never anything less than 100 regarding any subject whatsoever, including his own personal well-being. There is no challenge that Morden can back down from, not because he is egotistical, but because he is Morden fucking Garrus. Surrender is not an option to him, and he will hold up the universe for what he believes to be just and true.
Even if he does not survive.
B A C K G R O U N D
Morden can barely remember his time before Rassfet took him in, but he was a refugee from a distant kingdom. His family had come seeking safety from the war, but they didn’t survive. Only an older sibling who is now a faceless memory made it to safety with Morden. After being picked out of a crowd of children for his aptitude for taking in the mist, they quickly began to make a soldier out of Morden. He wasn’t particularly strong, not like the Goliath he is today, and all of his training officers noted that his physical stature was something he had to work around. So, his simple 10 year old mind came up with a solution: Just get stronger.
He started down the path of a Battlemage, learning to develop a tolerance for the mist quickly. Only rather than stay in one lane, he branched into armored combat on top of it. He trained relentlessly for the purpose of growing his strength through magic. The people who trained him helped as much as possible, and pushed him to break past limits. But even they had to stop him countless times. Records show that Morden has been hospitalized over 43 times for coming dangerously close to stage 3 mistburn, and even had to be chained to a hospital bed for a week because of how determined he was to become more powerful.
Someone up the chain seemed to approve of his dedication and diligence to the cause. After all, he’s still here.
An intensive psychological evaluation was conducted, and it was determined that Morden is mentally sound. He simply displays an absurd level of passion for his training and the life of a soldier. It was decided that Morden should be allowed to continue his training, albeit under a bit more supervision. Now that he’s an official WARDEN, Morden has been granted the rank of 3rd Class, but this is not good enough for him. Like Icarus chasing the sun, Morden strives to be the best of the best; He wants to receive the rank of 1st Class, and will not let anything stop him from making his goals a reality.
C O M B A T
Combat Class: Vanguard/Battlemage
Combat Style: Morden channels the mist through his body to boost his physical strength to absurd levels beyond what most people can achieve. His training before now has been impossibly brutal, with the goal of accumulating more physical strength than the average WARDEN of his level, and becoming the resident brick with legs. In regular combat, Morden resorts to melee with his bare hands, or the heaviest infantry weapon that a military budget can buy. Give him the heaviest sword you have and he will put it to good use.
When Morden pulls in the mist, he becomes a monster on the battlefield. Flecks of red energy spark outwards from his body and harden his skin while causing his muscles to grow denser. In simpler terms, he gets even stronger and very, very hard to kill. Bullets from a high caliber rifle will bounce off of Morden like a tin can, and he’ll eat lethal explosions from grenades for breakfast. His enhanced strength matches the best power armor around, allowing Morden to cave a fully armored soldier’s chest in like a battering ram and slam someone through a table in an arm wrestle with it on. Morden has all the benefits of power armor while exploiting the mobility of lightweight infantry.
This also makes Morden even more mobile than some of the quicker scouts in the military, as his strength gives him enough power to run at approximately 40 feet per second. A troop carrier or a tank might outrun him, but enemy soldiers damn sure won’t get away from Morden once he gets going.
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
Specifically, your character's general impressions/relationships with other player characters. This section can stay blank until characters have been accepted.
Location: The Sanctum Sanctorum Skills: Spells: Outfit
Jack could feel all the strength in his legs give out as he was forced to one knee. So Klara could magically compel someone to do her bidding, but she didn't even think to use that on the woman who was trying to sacrifice the universe to a god? Well, he could hardly blame her for that, since she was just a child. A child by Asgardian standards, but a child no less. Everyone was picking sides now because of his attempt to quickly stop whatever plan Runa had come to, and Jack couldn't blame them for that either. Murder wasn't something he enjoyed, but what choice did they have right now? Were they supposed to just let this happen? Let them walk free while the others sorted out a mess that Runa was only going to make worse with her refusal to help? Max had an idea that was sound in theory, but it would only delay the inevitable.
"Destroying the pentagram is not enough. The Veil is in tatters," he explained, after Max had left. "Even if we stop Limbo from deliberately merging with Earth, there is very little standing in the way of it happening regardless. The Veil is what separates one world from the next! The demons can still cross over without resistance! Without the Veil, there is no long-term chance of Earth surviving this, and Runa will sacrifice us all afterwards if she has her way!"
They had to understand, even if the others in the circuit were the only ones capable of grasping the logic, someone here had to understand. That the scale of this disaster encompassed all of humanity and other worlds. Runa was a vulture waiting to pick apart a corpse, and would do what must be done to ensure that the corpse truly died. She had a piece of the power they needed, and she wanted to use it for an unspeakable act. One that would get them all killed. It was something they could not allow to happen, or none of them would see the end of it.
He got to his feet again, and faced the others who hadn't left already. "Imagine everyone you've ever known and loved- Everyone you've ever cared for and held dear- Gone, reduced to a memory. Cast into a funeral pyre while the Earth is left to rot. Is this everlasting peace that Runa promises worth that to you? I have no desire whatsoever to harm anyone," he stated firmly. "But there will be nothing. Left. If we cannot find a way to fully stop this invasion... Decide for yourselves what you believe to be the correct decision."
And then, he did the mature thing, and walked out of the Sanctum.
He saw the pentagram and decided to fly upwards. The cloak responded and carried him up, but as he flew towards the construction, Jack could feel his skin since and threaten to fall off his bones. Getting up personal was definitely not an option, so he thought about it for a moment.
”That is made of energy… And all energy must go somewhere. So, what if… Yes.”
Jack had an idea.
Roll for Jack to make an Everdark portal bisecting part of the pentagram to make a way for the energy to be drained away. Magic expertise skill plz and thank.
Morden is nothing short of a mountain on legs. Standing taller than armored Vanguards with a flowing mane of hair that stretches down to his chest, and more muscles in one arm than most people can achieve in decades, he is built like a tank even by WARDEN standards. Cracks and burn marks dot his skin from head to toe, as a side effect of an absurd amount of mist burn that came from his training. Morden’s appearance is otherwise relatively plain, since he doesn’t put a lot of work into his look beyond keeping himself maintained. Though, he does always keep a small pocket-sized case with him, separate from whatever he has in his mist pocket, as a precaution due to the nature of his magic.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Composed, but not peaceful. Reserved, but not passive. Morden is the eye of the storm, a raging hurricane that holds up the sky and stands veiled by a passing demeanor of calm. Morden’s personality is a study in extremes, he is either the most unassuming person in a room or a presence you can’t hope to ignore. In times of peace, he is a gentle giant who can be seen with the occasional, weary smile on his face and not a word to say. The very definition of serenity. In times of conflict, he is rage incarnate, fury given shape, and wrath made manifest. When Morden expresses an emotion, he expressed all of it, without a clear concept of a social filter.
Towards his fellow WARDENs, Morden is the brother in arms; Loyal to an indomitable fault and commanding respect with an iron will, and his “get behind me” attitude like a decorated general. In Morden’s mind, protecting Rassfet is everything. He is a true believer in the fight against the empire, and will fight and stay unbroken for as long as it takes to save his homeland. His attitude is never anything less than 100 regarding any subject whatsoever, including his own personal well-being. There is no challenge that Morden can back down from, not because he is egotistical, but because he is Morden fucking Garrus. Surrender is not an option to him, and he will hold up the universe for what he believes to be just and true.
Even if he does not survive.
B A C K G R O U N D
Morden can barely remember his time before Rassfet took him in, but he was a refugee from a distant kingdom. His family had come seeking safety from the war, but they didn’t survive. Only an older sibling who is now a faceless memory made it to safety with Morden. After being picked out of a crowd of children for his aptitude for taking in the mist, they quickly began to make a soldier out of Morden. He wasn’t particularly strong, not like the Goliath he is today, and all of his training officers noted that his physical stature was something he had to work around. So, his simple 10 year old mind came up with a solution: Just get stronger.
He started down the path of a Battlemage, learning to develop a tolerance for the mist quickly. Only rather than stay in one lane, he branched into armored combat on top of it. He trained relentlessly for the purpose of growing his strength through magic. The people who trained him helped as much as possible, and pushed him to break past limits. But even they had to stop him countless times. Records show that Morden has been hospitalized over 43 times for coming dangerously close to stage 3 mistburn, and even had to be chained to a hospital bed for a week because of how determined he was to become more powerful.
Someone up the chain seemed to approve of his dedication and diligence to the cause. After all, he’s still here.
An intensive psychological evaluation was conducted, and it was determined that Morden is mentally sound. He simply displays an absurd level of passion for his training and the life of a soldier. It was decided that Morden should be allowed to continue his training, albeit under a bit more supervision. Now that he’s an official WARDEN, Morden has been granted the rank of 3rd Class, but this is not good enough for him. Like Icarus chasing the sun, Morden strives to be the best of the best; He wants to receive the rank of 1st Class, and will not let anything stop him from making his goals a reality.
C O M B A T
Combat Class: Vanguard/Battlemage
Combat Style: Morden channels the mist through his body to boost his physical strength to absurd levels beyond what most people can achieve. His training before now has been impossibly brutal, with the goal of accumulating more physical strength than the average WARDEN of his level, and becoming the resident brick with legs. In regular combat, Morden resorts to melee with his bare hands, or the heaviest infantry weapon that a military budget can buy. Give him the heaviest sword you have and he will put it to good use.
When Morden pulls in the mist, he becomes a monster on the battlefield. Flecks of red energy spark outwards from his body and harden his skin while causing his muscles to grow denser. In simpler terms, he gets even stronger and very, very hard to kill. Bullets from a high caliber rifle will bounce off of Morden like a tin can, and he’ll eat lethal explosions from grenades for breakfast. His enhanced strength matches the best power armor around, allowing Morden to cave a fully armored soldier’s chest in like a battering ram and slam someone through a table in an arm wrestle with it on. Morden has all the benefits of power armor while exploiting the mobility of lightweight infantry.
This also makes Morden even more mobile than some of the quicker scouts in the military, as his strength gives him enough power to run at approximately 40 feet per second. A troop carrier or a tank might outrun him, but enemy soldiers damn sure won’t get away from Morden once he gets going.
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
Specifically, your character's general impressions/relationships with other player characters. This section can stay blank until characters have been accepted.
Interactions: A few apparitions that thought they would misbehave
Isle of Cracks
Luca being soaked like Emily was entirely overshadowed by the way the argument heated up. Lila explained why she hit Emily, and Stormy wondered why she didn’t punch her again. And then the apparitions present started getting… Antsy. Right before his eyes, Stormy could see the mental battle that Luca was going through, only to lose and collapse to the floor. And of course, Lila’s was only stoking the flames while Babylon at least had the common sense to keep quiet.
”Luca-“ The Rot was taking over. It was eating its way out and taking him over like a parasite. Like watching a swarm of maggots burst from a corpse, Stormy felt a twist of fear inside himself. It would kill Luca is this didn’t wasn’t stopped immediately.
Stormy snapped his fingers, and lit himself up with the glow of his Phantombane aura. All of the Apparitions in the immediate vicinity would be affected- The Maiden, Babylon, but especially the Rot. Under no circumstances was he going to watch them kill each other without intervening. And it was for that reason that he stepped up and stuck an arm out to catch Luca before the Rot could grab someone. It was a conscious decision to make physical contact with him, pulling him away with just enough force that his frail body wouldn’t be able to anything about it. Even while his skin withered and peeled under the creature’s influence.
”Get back, all of you! Now!”
The Rot’s magic would be weakened, drained away the longer it was this close to Stormy. But even still, it was going to leave a mark on Stormy this soon after the spell was used.. Except Stormy didn’t care. Because in that moment, Stormy experiencing the barest fraction of what Luca had been through for so long was nothing. All that mattered was cutting this tantrum short, and knocking the wind out of the sails.
He held Luca close, and held a stare into those dead eyes. He would subject himself to this pain until Luca could pull himself together again, for as long as it took.
”I will drain every last scrap of your power until you are just a speck of dust in the wind, do you understand me? I’ll erase you from the earth before you can take him away- Before you get away with your tantrum.”
It was hard to ignore the conviction in his voice, rising up like a fire. The Rot could struggle for all he wanted, but Stormy would just bare it until Luca was stronger.
In his arms, Luca was safe. In his presence, the Rot’s days were numbered.
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