Bluetommy

The Bureau of Supernatural Affairs

Appearance:

Hider

Name: Daniel McCollough

Age: 46

Species: Human

Powers:

-Black Magic- Daniel inherited his knowledge of black magic from his mother, a witch. He specializes in summoning incantations and certain curses. His favorites include the curse of light, which causes a target to light up in a bright aura, allowing them to be seen much easier in dark places, the curse of weakness, which weakens a target's physical attributes, the curse of silencing, which prevents targets from using offensive magic, and the curse of locking, which prevents use of teleportation spells, making it harder for opponents to flee. He is able to make much stronger incantations when within his potion forge.

-Potion Crafting- Daniel is skilled at creating magical potions, used to boost morale, heal wounds, or even stop time relative to the observer, though the greater the potion's effect, the longer it takes to craft, and the potions with the most impressive effect are also the ones with the greatest chance of failure.

Strengths:

-Gunplay- Daniel's greatest talent, even above his magical aptitude, is his way with weaponry. Daniel is a skilled marksman, and is able to make well=aimed shots even when within open combat. He is especially skilled at the use of a pistol, though he often uses rifles for combat-heavy situations.

-Tactics- Daniel is a skilled tactician, and is able to set up ambushes, organize defenses, and protect locations with considerable skill.

-Familiar- Daniel has a familiar, a crow by the name of Russel. Russel and Daniel are able to communicate wordlessly, and the crow often acts as an extension of Daniel's body.

Weaknesses:

-Detective Work- Daniel is much more skilled at wet work than he is at the investigative side of being part of a government agency.

-Fatigue- Daniel is getting on in years, and this makes him quick to tire, using magic heavily also causes exhaustion.

-Known of- As a former member of the Boston witch coven, many dark magic users know of his existence and what he's capable of, making him susceptible to ambush.

Bio: Born in Boston to an Irish immigrant father and second-generation Irish-American mother, Daniel seemed to be quite normal amongst the many working class Irishmen in the city, he was unique however, in the fact that his mother was a witch, part of a secret coven living within the seedy underbelly of the city. As he grew, he became a part of this secret world, taught curses, and assigned a familiar.

Daniel did not enjoy being a part of the witches' seedy dark magic, and fled their clutches as soon as possible. For a time he plied his trade as an independent exterminator, using his magics to force rats to follow him out of houses and into traps. He was discovered by the MIB soon after, and offered his help as an associate.

As an associate of the MIB, he worked with them to detain members of his former witch coven, acting as an inside contact. Eventually he became a full agent as a result of this campaign, specializing in detaining or eliminating magical threats.

The Bureau of Supernatural Affairs

Fantastic, I'll work on a character.

The Bureau of Supernatural Affairs

Hey, is there any space left in this?

Return of Erelith

This has been up for quite some time, here's the link for anyone who spots this:

roleplayerguild.com/topics/169662-ret…

Return of Erelith

Darlien Garandinar (MAIN)

Praelian Badlands

Darlien took a weary gulp from his waterskin, sucking the water down as if he hadn't drank in hours.

Mostly because he hadn't.

He'd been trying to scale this godsforsaken mountain for what felt like hours, hopefully it was worth it. He had heard that a branch of the infamous "Beacon" or something of the sort lived up here, they'd help him destroy Praelium, this horrid, brutal country that had cost him anything good in his life, he would show them.

He would make them pay.

He would make them burn.

Darlien's hand lit up in that flame, that same flame that burned behind his furious eyes. He held his flaming hand up to the wind, watching as the flame, stoked by the winds of the Praelian mountains, began to burn ever brighter. His hand tingled, it had long since lost most feeling as a result of his use of the flame, but every now and again he felt that tingle that told him that they were still there, that he was still alive.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that.

His senses were dulled, eyesight weakening, hearing fucked as a result of a poorly-timed detonation, and almost every inch of his skin was burned to some degree. On most parts this just meant stinging pain and bleeding, but on some it meant he felt nothing at all.

He had taken some Sikali herbs that were said to heighten every sense, and it had only given him agony, and it was all his fault. His stupid, moronic fault.

He hadn't taken the time to learn, and as a result he had ruined himself.

He would fix this, he would fix this all. The Beacon had a way, or at least that's what he had been told.

He lowered his hand and again looked at the mountain. He tightened his hood against the cold air and leapt up the steep cliff wall. The snow-covered stone not even registering in his blackened fingers. He cried out in frustration as one of the hand-holds freed itself from the wall and tumbled into the snow below. He cursed all of the earth gods he knew of and attempted to continue his climb.

A hand shot from the newly-made hole and tightly gripped Darlien's ankle, causing him to gasp in shock and almost lose his footing. He kicked at the hand fruitlessly, watching in terror as the rest of the wall crumbled around him. Finally his hand-holds fell too and he began falling. The hand still held on his ankle, and the sudden shock of the hand stopping his fall sent the back of his head slamming into what remained of the cliff.

He awoke later, staring at a blue-stone ceiling, vines growing in every crack and a quiet dripping noise ringing throughout the room from somewhere he didn't know. He was laid upon a firm surface. So firm it caused him to ache. He grappled at it with his hands and felt the sharp square edge, the cracking around the structural weak-points, and the meager cold of polished stone.

He felt.

His hands felt.

Darlien held them in front of his face.

No cuts, no bruises, no scars. Like the hands of an adolescent had been sewed in their place. He stared at them with mouth agape, following the trail of veins as they ran down his arm towards his heart, the connecting sinew on the back of his hands hidden once more by a lair of skin, black hairs innocuously prickling their way out of his pores.

He set a fire on the tip of his pointer finger, feeling the warmth with closed eyes, the slight pain but most of all that sweet warmth. It had been far too long.

A cloaked man tapped the stone floor with a wooden cane, shocking Darlien into a seated position. He had crossed half the room without a sound.

"Darlien Garandinar of Praelium-"

"Sir Garandinar of Nowhere to you. Back off!" Darlien growled with a handful of flame. The man retreated slightly, offering a passive stance.

"We mean no harm to you, Sir Garandinar of Nowhere," the man spoke with a voice like dripping wax.

Darlien had to admit, he hadn't actually expected him to call him that.

"You have come far, Sir Garandinar, do you wish for a heated drink?"

Darlien turned up his nose.

"Er... no, I'm alright. Where am I anyway?"

"You are home, Sir Darlien of Nowhere," the man said, placing extra emphasis on the "nowhere". Darlien got the point.

"Oh, I see, do you belong to the Withered Beacon by any chance?"

"Where can a man be said to 'belong'?" the man waxed. "I simply am, belonging is of no importance."

Darlien snarled.

"Fine, is this the Temple of the Withered Beacon?"

"This is a temple, one of many," the man said, his voice was detached and lacked all emotion, combined with his unmoving body and hidden face it was quite unnerving. "You pursued us for a reason, no?"

"Yes, but... you seem to have already addressed my concerns." Darlien said, again looking at his hand.

"We have fixed your hands, Sir Garandinar, but we have not fixed your body. You have yet to be of use to us."

Darlien bared his teeth and a raging fire appeared in both of his hands.

"Use to you? I am no-one's errandboy! I came here to learn the dark arts and get my hands fixed, not to pledge myself to some bullshit cause!"

Darlien moved to stand, but in an instant the man's walking stick was jabbed into his chest.

"You are powerful but foolish, Darlien, you will do our bidding, consciously or unconsciously."

Darlien roared and fired a powerful ball of flame into the man's chest, sending him flying across the room.

"I am not a toy! Play around with someone else's fate! I am here to destroy Praelium, and you will accommodate me!"

The man's corpse sat on the ground only for a matter of seconds before suddenly appearing, as if he had never been struck.

"It is the nature of time that the old order must fall, and Praelium will fall with it, do not fear, Sir Garandinar. You will learn respect in time. For now, eat your fill of Praelian blood, return to us when you see the truth."

The man lifted his cane and slammed it against the ground, releasing a sound louder than any other Darlien had heard. His hearing became all he could focus on, he grasped at his ears but did not feel them, all he could do was hear.

Then he awoke. He looked around, only grass and the sun shining down, blurried by his failing eyes. He looked at his hands.

Good as new. Ready to be abused again. He would be more careful this time, he knew this was his only second chance.

He wouldn't waste it.

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

December 25th, 12 AM
Hub City

The smashing of glass rang over and over through Shams' mind as the creatures once again slammed their way into the apartment building. The riot officers in front held steady, but their shields began to show noticable cracks, and the line grew thinner and thinner as more of them were struck down by a speedy knife throw or a claw to the neck. One of the bird creatures howled as it dove down the elevator shaft towards the gathered tenants and their stalwart defenders.

As soon as it became visible in the stuck-open elevator doors, Shams fired her shotgun, ripping through the creature's wing and causing it to fall all the way down. Finally the blaring of sirens heralded the arrival of their getaway.

"Everyone fall back to the other exit!" the sergeant roared over the creatures' screeching. Alias gestured the civilians over alongside Officer Adams, kicking open the door and knocking over a centaur who was beating on it. She stopped his attempts to stand with a shotgun blast to the torso, leaving him disabled on the ground.

"Stay behind the shields and get to the vans!" Shams yelled to the civilians as she reloaded the now-empty shotgun. This was a mess of messes, at least most of the building had made it out okay,. What the fuck was even happening? Why were there monsters out of the English class of her nightmares attacking her? She was trying her best to help out, but it was kinda hard to do when every other cop was getting his throat ripped out in front of her.

She looked over at Officer Adams, he always smiled, no matter what the situation, he was one of the few cops in the department who wasn't on the take. She did also have a bit of a thing for him, but that wasn't important. What was important was the fake smile he flashed her in order to keep her from freaking out. He was an angel.

Then an arrow pierced right through his shoulder and he fell to the ground in a heap.

Shams' eyes bulged out of her head in shock, and she rushed over to his side.

"Ah fuck," he moaned as blood stained his outfit. Shams lifted an arm over her shoulder and lifted him onto her back, which drew an agonized growl from his lips. Shams gasped as she looked around for a car to comandeer.

It was her fault. Her fault. She'd distracted him and he'd gotten shot, she had to save him, she had to.

Finally she found a car, directing the civilians into the van as she moved to take the small two-seater. The van was already full to begin with, and crowding an injured person would lead to disaster. She bashed through the window with her shotgun and pulled the door open, placing the injured officer inside.

"I'll meet back up with you at the hospital!" she yelled at the captain, who regarded her with a thumbs up. That was all the confirmation she needed.

She entered the car and moved under the steering wheel to hotwire it.

"Shams?"

"No talking Adams, don't waste your energy."

"Fuck that, I'm dying anyway," his voice cracked in a mixture of fear and resignment.

"No no no, you're gonna be fine, I'm getting you to the hospital."

"I'm bleeding a fuckload, thanks for trying but you should be with the others."

Shams finished hotwiring the car and looked back at Adams with a pained look that somehow had a bit of rage hidden within.

"...Fine, let's go."

On the way to the hospital, Adams began getting paler and paler. Shams slammed the pedal as far down as it could go, smashing into a number of toga-clad monsters as she did. Each bounce drew a weak moan from Adams.

Eventually, Adams fell into her shoulder, she attempted to nudge him away, but he remained limp.

"Adams?"

She looked over at him, noticing his eyes, unfocused and looking off into the distance, his mouth slightly ajar, his chest not moving.

He was dead.

It was her fault.

She stared blankly at his corpse, her eyes tearing up ever-so-slightly.

In a rage she spun the wheel of the car all the way around, leaving a trail of burnt rubber in her wake. She drove towards her warehouse, where she and the Question had met over and over. She needed someone as competent as herself to at least try to take control of the situation.

---

December 24th, 6:14 PM
Oscar's Apartment; Hub City, Illinois

"WHY! WON'T! YOU! FUCKING! DIE?!" Oscar Ellison found himself shouting whilst caving a harpy's skull in with a toaster oven. For a moment, he pondered how ridiculous this situation was. Here he was, having just gotten off work, only to find some abomination right out of Ancient Greece in kitchen.

And so for the past five minutes he has been in a death battle with this beast, only having just gained the upper hand by smashing it in the face with his brand new toaster oven. He had just gotten the thing a few days ago, and he was using it to decorate the kitchen floor with blood and brain matter from this fucking thing he never knew really existed. If he couldn't feel the weight of the damn toaster oven crushing the harpy's head, he would think it was just a bad acid trip.

He eventually came to a halt, sure the harpy was dead. Then it jolted back up, half of it's head crushed like a grape, and Oscar began to wail on it again, not stopping until the only sound that could be heard was splashing. So here he was, dressed in his usual suit which was now soaked with blood, slumped against the wall with a heavily dented and equally bloody toaster in his hands. This was not how he thought this day would go.

"... I need to get the fuck out of here." He needed to head to a safe place to hang out in, and he knew just the place: Alias's warehouse. Maybe if she was smart, she'd head there too, and they might be able to come up with a plan to handle this... Situation.

Heading to his closet, he took out his grey trenchcoat, spotless leather gloves, brown fedora, and mask, not even bothering to change out of his bloody garbs as he got into costume. Releasing a sigh, he becomes the Question, and pulls out his journal to scribble in a quick entry.

'December 24th, Entry #1
Well. Fucking harpies exist. Sure the one in my kitchen wasn't the only one. Going to warehouse to regroup with Shams. Hope she's doing okay. Can only hope Bruce and Rita are safe as well. Would hope for the same for Arcana and Grim but, well, they can handle themselves.'

He snapped the little leather book shut, shoving it back into his pocket along with the pen and heading on his way. Without a car, he can only hope to make it to the warehouse without dying horribly. '... I've been in worse spots.'

With that, he went on his way.

---

December 25th, 1:00 AM
Alias' Hideout, Hub City, Illinois

The police car slammed into a satyr as Shams turned onto the cracked and abandoned road that lead to the old warehouse. The poor fiendly rapist flew over the hood of the car, its goat-like legs shattered and bent horrifically. Where were all these fucking things coming from? She'd already smashed her windshield on that fairy, little bastard somehow broke the whole thing.

As he approached the lab, he spotted a strange thing, a man in a wheelchair, so far out in the wilderness. He was pretty far away, so she couldn't make out much of the details, but he appeared to have something white covering his mouth and nose, and a large green tank attached to the side of the wheelchair. She watched him roll along, his hands not moving to keep the wheels going, but somehow just drifting along.

Shams stopped watching when she noticed the giant cyclops approaching him, she wasn't gonna go kill herself just to help some half-dead old man anyway, this was an example of the circle of life.

She had just looked back at the road when she heard a horrific scream and then a thump. When she looked back, she saw the wheel-chair man rolling on his merry way. She was confused, but when she looked over a bit more, she switched from confusion to shock, her eyes bulging out of her head.

The minotaur laid on the ground, eye torn from its socket, and with a tree rammed through its chest.

What the fuck...?

---

The rest of the ride to her warehouse was silent, she spent most of it wondering just what in hell she had just seen. The unmaintained roads were hell on her ass, but the vibration did seem almost soothing in a way, to the point where she almost felt like going to sleep at the wheel. That was an awful idea, but it felt surprisingly tempting considering it was... she glanced at the radio. Holy shit 1 AM? How long had she been awake?

Too long, too long awake, and judging by the grease in her hair, too long without a shower too. She felt gross, but there was no rest for the law, and Hub City desperately needed a bit of law and order right now. Hopefully Oscar was there. Wait, what if he was there? She had to get her costume. Well, he already knew her name and face, but where could she go to change without him spotting her?

The garage would work just fine.

She was so focused on figuring this out that she only remembered she was driving when she crashed into the wall, sending the dead officer's body careening under the glovebox.

"Fuck's sake."

Shams threw open the door, kicking it once out of frustration, before walking over to the other side and lifting Adams onto her shoulder. It was a pity he had to go, but at least in death he would be able to help the people of Hub City.

She kicked open the metal doors with a crash, before Oscar could round a corner and spot her, she ducked into the small doorway to her right and entered the garage.

Dropping poor Adams' body with a thump, she snuck into the nearby office and grabbed her outfit. She snuck back into the garage and began to change, stopping halfway when she noticed the dead eyes of Adams continuing to stare at her. It was a little uncomfortable for sure.

She placed him into the seat of an old rotting forklift and snickered when he fell into the steering wheel. He made a pretty corpse at least, if a bit of a clumsy one.

It took a bit to button everything up, tie everything up, tie things down, stuff things in places, the usual routine. She'd gotten rather good at it over time, but this time was different. This time she put body-armor on top! That was a unique thing at least.

Finally she was in costume, and with a pull on the collar, she picked Adams out of the forklift and carried him into the main warehouse. She strode across the dusty floors towards her interrogation room.

"Anyone here?! Oscar?!" she called out, her voice echoing through the room.

Alias's voice echoed throughout the warehouse, reaching the secluded corner that the Question had set up for his meditation easily. Releasing his breath with a sigh, he fluidly stood up from his seated position on the floor and began to make his way into the warehouse.

"Shams. Good to see you're doing ok-is that a dead cop?" The masked detective found himself asking, staring at the body Alias had dragged in with her.

Alias looked over at her shoulder.

"Yes," she answered bluntly, walking closer with Adams' corpse in tow. "Good to see you too Oscar, this whole city's even more fucked up than usual, so it's good to see someone who can fight things without dying."

Alias dropped the body on the ground with a thump, leaving a little puddle of blood. She sighed and wiped her brow, pleased to be done with that.

"Right, we both know that this is going to take a lot more than hitting things. What I want you to do right now is take his body armor while I go and get us some guns. Got it?" she said authoritatively, quickly taking charge of the situation.

The Question was following along, only for his eyes to widen at the mention of guns. 'Guns? Oh, God, not guns...' Truth be told, he had never been exceptionally skilled in the use of firearms... That was the polite way to say a blind man with Parkinson's could shoot straighter than him.

He tried not to show it however, simply nodding coolly. "Right. I'll get his body armor on while you go get weapons." He began to take the body armor off of the deceased police officer, all the while racking his brain for ways to explain his... Predicament, to Alias.

Alias ran back out to the garage, picking up her gun-belt from her discarded police uniform, then running back through the warehouse to go out to the car. She hadn't hit the wall too hard, it would probably still run. Hopefully. She popped the trunk and grabbed the shotgun, placed in the proper spot. Whoever owned this car knew what he was doing.

She placed the shotgun over her shoulder and jogged back through the warehouse to where The Question was doing as asked. She pulled the clip out of the pistol on her belt and pulled it back to release the chambered round. As a matter of habit she kept her fingers away from the trigger, holding it by the barrel.

She walked over to the Question and planted the handle of the gun into his chest, offering the clip with the other hand.

"Here, I'm keeping the shotgun because I'm the cop here," she explained, pointing to herself. "Now let's go, no more wasting time, come on, keep up," she pressured as she rushed towards the car, shotgun in tow.

The Question broke out into a cold sweat, staring down at the gun and clip in his hands as he followed after Alias. 'Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck... Just act natural, act like you know what you're doing, play it cool... PLAY IT FUCKING COOL, OSCAR!' He didn't even realize he was in the car until he felt it pull out of the garage.

He gulped. This was gonna suck.

"So, uh... Kinda funny but... I don't... Know... How to use a gun."

One could hear a pin drop in the car as Alias processed what had just been said, she pulled over the car in an instant and took her hands off the steering wheel. One could almost hear the creaking of an old door as her head slowly turned towards Oscar.

"...Right..." she sighed, reaching over and grabbing the gun from his hands. She loaded it in less than five seconds and offered it to him, pointing the barrel out the windshield. "Finger off the trigger until we're in danger, never point at something unless you want it dead, wide stance, one hand under the other and look down the sights, they're there for a reason, if you miss, well, you trained with the kung-fu man for a reason," she stated simply, also handing him the gunbelt which she forgot to hand over.

She gulped. This was gonna suck.

"... Actually, he never taught me Kung-Fu, he taught me Judo, Savate, and more refined boxi-" Question stopped as he realized that maybe, just maybe, continuing on would just make things worse for him. Instead, he attempted to figure out just how to aim down the sights, keeping his finger off the trigger like Alias said.

Alias sighed as Hub City loomed in the horizon, the screeching of harpies and the panic-inducing screams of satyrs permeating the air.

She stopped the car here, pulling the shotgun off of her back and pulling back the stock to a satisfying click. She motioned for Oscar to follow her, watching in the woods around her with a wary eye.

Question nodded, getting out of the car and following after her, himself also keeping an eye out. He holstered his pistol, not trusting himself to not accidentally do something stupid like shoot himself in the foot.

Alias continued towards the city. Watching the bushes and trees that surrounded the road. "Glad you didn't shove that in your pants, I would have had an anyeurism if you'd done that," she said, relieved in a way.

She heard a sound in the nearby brush, and immediately lifted the shotgun to her shoulder, watching cautiously as she sidestepped down the road. Thankfully it was only a squirrel, so she exhaled and lowered the gun.

"Keep an eye out and your head up, I'd take that out of your belt if I were you but that can wait for the more populated areas," she instructed as she walked down towards the city, eying the abandoned cars as she did.

With a screech out of her worst nightmares, a satyr ran out of the woods, making a be-line for her. With a quick motion she lifted the shotgun and dropped the thing, only to hear another screech, and then another, as more satyrs poured into the road around them.

She cocked the shotgun once more, and fired into the shaking brush, she couldn't see them, but she could hope, she turned her head, cocked the gun, and shot the head off of another one making an approach, she started running towards the city now, yelling for Oscar to do the same.

"Oh fuck me!" Question shouted, running away as fast as he could. And he thought the harpies were bad! God, it doesn't get any worse than being chased through the woods at night by satyrs...

He heard a loud caw from the sky. Oh. Shit.

The faceless vigilante looked above him, seeing a swarm of harpies in the sky. "We've got more fucking company!" He yelled to Alias, pointing to the sky.

Those satyrs had attracted more company, now a swarm of harpies had appeared in the sky. So staying in the open was a bad idea, but they had abandoned that car for a reason, a wrecked police-car with no windshield was worthless in this situation, there was an abandoned car or two on this road, but she wanted one that was both defensible and could hold survivors.

A bus would work, Oscar could drive, she could shoot any that ended up in the thing, and that could hold so many people.

Too bad she didn't see any fucking buses. She growled in frustration as a satyr grabbed onto her arm. She headbutted the thing, smearing his nose against his face. She grabbed the shotgun by the neck and slammed the handle into the goat-legged man's face until he stopped moving.

In doing this, she had grown distracted, and a harpy began grappling with her, clawing and biting at her flesh.

"Shams!" Question shouted, coming to a halt as he saw his partner being attacked by a harpy. 'Oh fuck... I gotta do this... I gotta do this!' With that, he pulled out his gun, taking aim at the harpy's head. 'I can do this... I can do this... I can do this... I CAN DO THIS!'

He fired.

He hit the harpy right in the eye, the beast going limp on top of Alias. For a moment, he was stunned, but quickly shook his head and began running towards Alias. 'Holy shit... That was awesome!'

Alias jumped as the harpy's head suddenly exploded into a shower of gore, but her relief was uncontainable, and she released a shaky sigh.

"Good job Oscar! Look for a bus, I want to save as many people as possible!" she yelled over screeching harpies. One of which he shot in the abdomen, spilling her intestines across the road.

Eugh, fuck, I'll never get over that.

She ran down the road, hopping behind an abandoned car to avoid a divebombing harpy, who he dropped with a shotgun blast to the face. Four rounds gone, that was a low amount at least. As she ran, Alias pulled a few rounds from her belt and loaded two into it, not wanting to waste too much time fully loading it.

Are there no fucking buses in this goddamn city?

The Question, through his running, scanned over the high way for a bus. He dove under a car, continuing to look around, only to spot something.

'... Better than nothing." He thought to himself, before shouting to Alias. "Hey, Alias, bus at twelve o'clock!" He shouted. Once Alias looked to where Question had pointed out, she would see a bus alright... A tour bus for the popular bubble gum pop star 'Britney Britney', decked out in glitter and pink everything.

Alias looked at the gaudy thing, it was large enough she supposed.

"Good enough! You drive I'll shoot!" she cried out as she sprinted over to the thing. Thank god for treadmills, if not for them she'd have been dead on her feet by now. She backstepped, shooting a harpy that got a little close, protecting herself and Oscar.

The Question ran as fast as he could to the bus, forcing open the door and heading into the driver's seat. "Come on, Alias!"

Alias hopped into the bus quickly and ran into the middle, placing a foot on one of the luxurious sofas to steady herself.

"Move! Drive! Honk the horn every now and again to pull survivors towards us!" she roared as she fired through a window, accidentally hitting the flat-screen TV.

Return of Erelith

"Do not approach me, unless you wish to risk my wrath."

Darlien Garandinar (MAIN)

Spoilers

---

Sir Garandinar

---

A mage, and a skilled one, Darlien is a born Praelian, having resided in Oranth and Neniza post fleeing his home.

Born to a Dec, Darlien's father hid his son's existence and his own latent magical ability from the Dominus unsuccessfully, though Darlien was thirteen when he was detected. During an attempt to flee, Darlien's father was slain buying time for his son and wife to escape, slaying two Dominus before being beheaded by a third.

Ending up in Benaduza, where they were detained for having weapons on board, Darlien and his mother were tossed into a dungeon and left for dead. Darlien was freed in a prison riot, though his mother was wounded. It was around this time when Darlien's magic began awakening, accidentally causing a forest fire due to a sudden blast of flame. Darlien proved to have exceptionally powerful but hard to control magic.

By the time they reached Neniza his mother had passed due to her infected wound. As the Nenizans were multicultural and quick to adopt others who adopted the call to Order, there were a number of magically talented men amongst them, fleeing persecution and the Artifice, and Darlien was tutored for the rest of his adolescence by some of these men, allowing him much greater control of his abilities.

As an adult, he is set to become one of the most powerful mages in the world, though mage-hunters are always a threat once you leave the forests of Neniza. His first action upon leaving was to take a boat to Praelium and setting a small village to the torch, killing all who lived within it, before sailing to On'hino and beginning to spread tales of the Praelian weakness to the warlike On'hinians, attempting to develop a following to lead an assault on the Praelians.

Appearance

---

Darlien's overuse of magic has had an effect on his appearance, costing him his left ring finger and causing his hands to look horrifically burned, and it's only getting worse, with his face becoming a horrifically pale white.

He is lithe and muscular, with light brown hair that has began to bleach as a result of his magic use.

Character

---

Quick-witted and hot-headed, Darlien is adventurous and youthful. Tutored in blade and magic, he's also quite arrogant, his skill is downplayed due to his "Attack, attack, attack" mentality, but he's far more intelligent than he looks, able to speak Gnomish as well as if he were born a halfling. Darlien is also learned in world history and philosophy, and can identify landmarks he'd only seen once as if he'd seen them every day of his life.

Darlien's luck and lack of need for anything else has lead to him becoming complacent, and he often fights lazily no matter the opponent, a fact that sometimes leads to his defeat. Despite this, when he gets serious, Darlien is incredibly focused, perhaps too focused, leading to him being caught off guard by things that come from elsewhere.

Darlien is idealistic and caring for anyone who isn't Praelian, making actions based on morality, but also attempting to be pragmatic. Darlien's personal goal is to kill as many Praelians as possible, innocent or not, for what they did to his family, not considering Praelians people, despite being one himself. Darlien also never admits fault for any wrong action, instead blaming others rather than himself.

Skills

---

Darlien is a talented swordsman and incredible mage. He's comparable to Gennio e'Dux in personal combat and is only getting stronger by the moment.

Other than that, Darlien is also skilled at tracking and archery, though he does not carry a bow.

Information

---

Age: 20
Place of Birth: Praelium
Likes: Anyone who isn't Praelian, being respected, his magical abilities, Honor, killing, burning.
Dislikes: Praelium, Praelians, the idea of gods.
Morals: MURDER EVERYTHING PRAELIAN

Return of Erelith

The Flotilla Admirals (SIDES)

The Flotilla Docks, Dux.

"Another pint, and make it quick," billowed the powerful voice of Admiral Curo, audible even amongst the cheers and bustle that came to be as a result of one of the largest partipaties in history. Stouts lept from the ships' riggings, tossing waste into the seas beside them, creating a steady splashing in the shallows around them. Each flotilla linked to eachother with a series of firm planks, attached to a series of brackets on the deck. These were usually used to hold the flotilla together at sea during the night, but this linkage was due to the massive over-crowding of the docks, almost every Stout ship outside the royal fleet and Veritas was here, and though the docks of Dux took up half the sea, they were still crowded out by the incredible volume of ships. The scent of incredible food permeated the air, and the orgasmic cheers of those lucky Stouts who were served by Cacophoni's master chefs could be heard above all others.

"Another pint Curo? That's your fifth, I'd have thought you'd be done by now," Admiral Remy stated, astonished by Curo's resilience. Curo rolled his eyes and smacked the table.

"I'm not even tipsty yet!" Curo got out, only slurring the fourth word incredibly. He nudged the man seated next to him with a chuckle. Unfortunately he was seated next to the taciturn Admiral Omegon, who responded with a horrid stare of his sapphire-blue eyes and a slight puckering of his black lips. Curo laughed nervously before turning his head away, sweating only slightly. Omegon returned his stare to the roof of the ship. Integro's flagship, Curo's home. The largest out of all of the Stout's ships, it was usually the home of inter-Flotilla negotiation, and today was no exception. Omegon seemed intrigued by the vessel, staring intently at the dark pine that made up the planking. He quickly twitched a hand, and without a word a black-clad Polako agent stepped out of the shadows and produced a notebook, which Omegon speedily wrote within with naught but a finger. The human seemed massive amongst the Stouts seated within the room, but even he seemed dwarfed by Omegon's terrifying presence. The Order Priests rarely offered assassins to any other than themselves, and it spoke to Omegon's power that he was not only able to escape assassination, but convince the assassin to serve him, as an attendant of all things.

Of the four admirals gathered so far, only one was neither drunk, silent, nor cowed into subservience by Omegon's presence. Admiral Harrion simply sat, feet placed carelessly atop the meeting table. He picked at his teeth with a small toothpick, having had his fill of Cacophani's luxurious and decadent feasts and having already stolen the hearts and kisses of a gaggle of young maidens. He smacked his lips and tossed the toothpick aside haphazardly, grabbing onto a flagon of ale roughly and pouring it into his mouth with a rough motion. Slamming it on the table, he leaned forwards to let out a mighty belch before leaning right back again.

"So what's taking so long? I'm bored out of my skull," Harrion said, letting out a large yawn and stretching his short limbs as far as they could go.

"Just a little longer Harrion, we're waithi-wati-waiting for Duvessa and the high priestsn," Curo slurred out, punctuating his statement with a hiccup.

"Wait no longer, children, the Flotilla Ecclesiaro have arrived," Fulminio grandiosely announced his arrival, flanked on each side by an attendant, one Stout and one Halfling, the latter of which stumbled in a way characteristic of most Halflings when within a hundred feet of alcohol.

Curo belched in greeting, and Duvessa, who had seemingly materialized within the room, offered a bow to the high priest, who reciprocated with a smile.

Harrion snorted out a greeting to the High Priest, gurning in a way that forced a smile to sneak its way onto Fulminio's face.

The smile quickly faded when Fulminio witnessed Admiral Omegon seated at the table.

"I had asked that he not be here," Fulminio said indignantly. "Do my wishes mean nothing?"

Omegon responded with a quizzical tilt of the head.

"Fulminio please-" Duvessa attempted to calm the high priest but he interrupted her with a yell.

"He is an affront to the gods, as were all before him, him and his entire fleet are traitors of our holy oath and should be burnt on the waves!"

The drunk halfling that served as Fulminio's attendant noticed this, and as a result pulled an axe from his back, an overreaction of course, Fulminio had never intended for this to escalate into violence.

By the time the halfling got the axe in his hands his head was beginning to arc through the air.

The Polako assassin had crossed the room in an instant, and now crouched on one knee, his arm still in the air, wielding a curved and freshly-blooded blade.

The room erupted, Harrion attempting to claw his way up the wall, Fulminio retreating in a quite undignified manner to the corner of the room, Duvessa standing up and pulling Remy into a corner of his own, and Curo pulling his massive sword from under the table and steadying the point at the Polako.

Admiral Omegon seemed to be the only one nonplussed by this, twitching a hand in a manner that drew the Polako back towards him.

The room was silent for quite some time.

"...Hmmph," Fulminio finally huffed after looking thoughtful for some time, taking a seat at the table once more, seemingly cowed by the Polako's demonstration, though it was probably moreso him not wanting to cause any more of a scene. He wasn't one to let slights go easily, and everyone in the room knew that eventually he would ensure that he got his revenge.

Everyone else in the room were just as unwilling to escalate the situation any further, and all returned to their seats at the table.

The room remained silent for some time until Curo finally drew the piece of business that had brought them all here.

"Well, thank you all for coming!" Curo said in a way that was clearly ironic. "Well now that we're all settled, I would like to establish why you all were called here."

Curo cleared his throat and unfurled a scroll, seemingly sobered by the events that had just taken place.

"This is a royal decree, it states thusly; 'All fleets and fleet elements shall, under order from the King of Benaduza, prepare for immediate invasion immediately.'... kinda redundant, immediate invasion immediately, damn scribes."

The rest of the room immediately assumed serious expressions.

"Even Flotilla Maxim?"

"Forget Flotilla Maxim, he's literally summoning Flotilla Barbaros! This has to be come kind of joke, some bored scribe or something trying to get himself killed to escape the tedium."

Fulminio had a grim look upon his face, and he spun his scepter in his hand out of worry. In contrast, Admiral Omegon displayed the first hint of emotion he had displayed since entering the room, raising his eyebrows just slightly.

"Calm, everyone, I think the king means that all fleets must be prepared for possible combat, I do not believe that he means to bring us all to campaign."

This was the intention of the statement, and, written in Gnomish, the decree utilized the word "Depreanda", meaning an invasion that must be defended from, in contrast to "Depritus", meaning an invasion that the subject is a part of.

The tension in the room did dissipate at this, if only slightly.

"So he's preparing for war then? Against who?"

"I have reason to believe On'Hino."

"Pointless conflict for the sake of conflict? How horrible."

"Not pointless, this is a war for hegemony over the seas. So that we can show just why Benaduza is called an empire," Curo said proudly, clenching his fist as he did so.

"Though I am loathe to fight, I will prepare Maxim for the conflicts to come, our King knows the way," Remy promised with a sigh, he was clearly not wishing to fight, but he would do so out of loyalty to his king.

Duvessa was visibly growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation, to which Remy placed a tender hand on her shoulder.

"We promise you that, Curo," he said, speaking for his wife due to her quickening breaths. "May we be excused?"

Curo nodded, and they quickly took their leave, Remy placing a cloak over Duvessa's shoulders, covering her raven hair.

Curo sighed and ran a finger over the bridge of his nose, tired blue eyes peeking out under his wild red hair. He looked over at Harrion, who looked down at his feet.

"Flotilla Barbaros will be ready if the need be," he said in a halting way. Curo nodded in response and allowed him to leave.

"This holy quest is what our gods will, I bless our king's holy expedition, and wish you the best of luck, Admiral Curo," Fulminio offered grandiosely. Curo growled in response, and Fulminio took his leave.

Curo was excited at first to fight, but seeing just how it had affected his fellow admirals had made it hard for him to remain excited, he massaged his temples and sighed.

He barely heard Admiral Omegon leaving.

Return of Erelith

The Flotilla and Flotina Admirals (Sides)

The Flotillas are as much a part of Stout society as eating is a part of life. Every Flotilla has its own agenda and leaders must be chosen to reflect their interests. Admirals are suggested by the Flotillas as a whole and then recommended to the King, who decides whether or not they are suitable candidates.

The only exceptions to this rule are Flotilla Omegon, whose leader is chosen by the King, disfigured through magics which are used to place them under a persistent magical field, trackable by Halfling mages, and forced to give up their name, to ensure that they never turn against the Kingdom, Flotilla Rouaume for obvious reasons, Flotilla Ecclesiaro, whose leaders are elected without the insight of the king, and Flotilla Homa, who have no elected leaders and vote on all decisions, except for times of war, where they choose a "Protector", a volunteer from Flotilla Integro, to serve as a military leader.

Admirals act under the guidance of the king, but are allowed to make their own decisions unless called to campaign, where they hand over their power to the king himself. As Flotillas are usually sailing the sea, where they can remain for years on end due to the Stouts' uncanny ability to collect fresh water and a varied group of foods, the Flotina Messi are necessary to insure communication between Flotillas.

The Messi are a group of ten excellent sailors who bring messages between the Flotillas. Flotina means "Small fleet", and the Messi are thus treated much like a Flotilla, following the same rules but remaining out of the spotlight.

The Flotilla Admirals are often compared to a feuding family, and any time they meet is almost certainly going to lead to a Partipati ^{(A cook-off for those who haven't read the wiki)}. Despite all of this, they delight in each-other's company, and there is history of admirals intermarrying.

Admiral Harrion of Flotilla Barbaros

"Onward! To adventure! And friendship! Friendship adventure!"

Harrion is the youngest out of the Flotilla admirals, and this fact is quite clear when you listen to him speak. Harrion seems to be consistently on a sugar high, always energetic, and always talking. An underage Stout, Harrion's ascension was met with a bit of derision amongst the other Admirals, but his adventurous spirit and surprising skill and leadership quickly endeared him to most of them, and he shares a brotherly relationship with Integro leader Curo.

Harrion is easily the most attractive of the Admirals, and many young ladies of Flotilla Maxim leave their fleet just to be near him. Harrion is blond-haired, clean shaven, and often dressed in tight clothes when he is wearing a shirt at all, even the married Admiral Duvessa has expressed... interest in the young explorer.

Age: 16

Personality:
"Tell Curo he's missing the adventure of a lifetime!"
Hyperactive, Brave, Adventurous, Affable.
"Tell the king to shove it, I'm busy going where no Stout has gone before!"
Rebellious, Self-centered, Tactless, Arrogant.

Likes:
"Friends, a bottle, and a hug, what else does a man need?"
Admiral Curo, Admiral Duvessa, Admiral Remy, Booze, Hugs, Love, Adventure.

Dislikes:
"Authority? Pah, I do what I want, and what I want is adventure!"
King Gennio, Admiral Omegon, Shirts, Court Proceedings, Religion, Being Tied Down.

Admiral Duvessa of Fleet Cacophani

"Art is everything, dears, and everything is art."

Duvessa is the beloved Admiral of Fleet Cacophani, a talented singer and arist, she is married to Admiral Remy of Flotilla Maxim but is known for being quite flirtatious, a fact that her husband doesn't seem to mind, judging by their many, many, public displays of affection. Duvessa is friendly with pretty much every other admiral, including the High Priest and the King, the only Admiral who she doesn't get along with is Morte, but he's Admiral of Omegon so it's understandable.

Unbeknownst to most everyone, Duvessa is deeply insecure, as a result of a traumatic childhood, and often has breakdowns alone in her cabin. She refuses to let her insecurities define her, and maintains a sunny outlook on the world through it all.

Age: Thirties. "I'd rather not tell everyone I know, age is a well-kept secret amongst women in my family."

Personality:
"Beauty is to be searched for, and it's better to see for one's self than to be told about it."
Nurturing, Accepting, Overprotective, Humorous.
"But even the most beautiful waterfall has the rocks at the bottom."
Oversharer, Quick to Judge, Slow-going, Self-conscious.

Likes:
"You're all gorgeous to me."
The Members of Flotilla Cacophani, Her Husband, Admiral Harrion, Being in Control, Art, Nature, Peace.

Dislikes:
"I'm in control... I'm in control."
Not Being in Control of a Situation, Her Memories, Being Told What to Do, Her Own Art.

High Priest Fulminio, Admiral of the Flotilla Ecclesiaro

"The gods are my only lords."

Fulminio is the High Priest of the Stout gods, and he truly believes in them, basing his entire life and philosophy off of what the gods believe. He is kind and just to those who he speaks to, but his decrees are often harsh and alienating. He is among the most hated men in the Kingdom, and despite his affable nature, he has done little to appease his detractors, only making it worse.

Age: Old

Personality:
"I believe in Benaduza..."
Good-humored, Selfless, Charitable, Temperate.
"...For we are the only godly kingdom."
Dismissive, Prejudiced, Wroth, Manipulative.

Likes:
"All is well so long as the gods are remembered."
The Gods, Wine, Stouts, Faithfulness.

Dislikes:
"Disbelievers are less than dogs."
Disbelief, Humans, The Unknown.

Admiral Curo of Fleet Integro

"This is our land, our time!"

Curo is the leader of Fleet Integro and by extension the vast majority of Benaduza's militants. Formerly named Flotilla Crania, the Gnomish word for skull, Curo changed the name to Integro in order to remove the stigma that the fleet had possessed up to that point. Flotilla Crania still exists as a breakaway fleet of perhaps ten ships, who raid coastlines and harass traders. The rebranding of the fleet is an example of Curo's level-headedness and care for the fleet, mostly removing the stigma that the fleet had held up to that point as ruthless pirates.

Despite this level-headedness and care for the fleet, Curo is known as the most restrictive Admiral, as he is often known to make rules in order to keep his fleet from getting out of hand. Curo believes in Benaduza above all else, and is incredibly loyal to the King, practically serving as his right-hand. Curo is beloved among the other Admirals for his quick wit and love of humor, and his fleet loves him for his just leadership and willingness to turn a blind eye to their activities during wartime.

Age: 24

Personality:
"Don't laugh! That's not even the funniest part!"
Droll, Quick-witted, Brave, Honorable, Loyal.
"No seriously, don't laugh."
Rude, Strict, Cruel, Prejudiced.

Likes:
"Hah! That cracks me up."
Jokes, Admiral Harrion, Admiral Duvessa, The Royal Family, Beer, Squid-meat.

Dislikes:
"Don't you dare threaten me."
Threats, Rude People, High Priest Fulminio, Religion, Disloyalty, Treason.

Admiral Remy of Flotilla Maxim

"Call me a hopeless romantic or a naive boy, but don't call me stupid."

Admiral Remy is the Admiral of the massive Flotilla Maxim, and one of the most important men in Stout society.
Holding lordship over the majority of Stouts, Remy takes a laissez-faire approach to leadership, mostly leaving the flotilla to their own devices and only choosing the direction of their travel. Remy is among the most approachable Admirals and is known for his love of poetry, food, and his wife Duvessa. Of the two, it is well known that Duvessa is the one that wears the pants in the relationship. Despite his reputation as a naive and easily-manipulated sort, Remy was chosen as Admiral for a reason, and he proves his intelligence when challenged to a battle of wits, in which, he has even managed to defeat the king himself. Attempt to challenge Remy at your own peril.

Age: 37

Personality:
"I enjoy your company, truly."
Kind, Welcoming, Intelligent, Loyal, Honest.
"Okay, we can do that I suppose."
Submissive, Passive, Manipulative, Overthinking.

Likes:
"I like a lot of things, but if I had to choose, you'd be number one."
Duvessa, Their Children, Board Games, Conversation, Sailing, Poetry, Love as a Concept.

Dislikes:
"Sorry that you had to suffer like that, maybe next time you'll be a bit nicer."
Rudeness, Manipulators, Threats on his Family, Arrogance, Revenge.

Admiral Gero of Flotilla Veritas

Admiral Gero is unique amongst the admirals in that he has never been seen by anyone outside his Flotilla,
he has been Admiral for an immense length of time, longer than any Stout should be alive, and some state that the Veritas Flotilla has ignored the King's law and has simply chosen an Admiral amongst themselves to take the persona of Gero. If so, this is an immense crime against the King, and could easily lead to the fleet being disbanded.

Admiral Omegon of Flotilla Omegon

Admiral Omegon is one of many Omegons, who take the name of their Fleet over their birth name. Pale as snow and unable to speak, Omegon is one of the few magically-sensitive Stouts, and by himself is a fleet-destroying force, able to keep his criminal fleet in check through the threat of his magics. Little is known of Omegon's personality, he attends the admiral meet-ups, but sits near the king as a sort-of bodyguard, unable to speak and probably unwilling to.

Admiral Seneca of Flotina Messi

Admiral Seneca is one of the many messengers of the small Flotina Messi. He is also, surprisingly, a Gnome. As a result, he takes his job very seriously and never attends Admiral meet-ups.

Age: 8 (Gnomes reach maturity at age 3)

Personality:
Punctual, Good Work Ethic, Caring.
Unemotional, Impersonal, Socially Dysfunctional.

Likes:
His Job, Working Hard, Sailing, The King.
Dislikes:
Talking, Wasting Time, Halflings.

Return of Erelith

"You see my sails, you run away and beg for your life."

Halfling King Gennio Roueaume(SIDE)

---

The Halfling Lord of the Seas

Stout king of Benaduza, master of seas, lord of all Stouts, halflings, gnomes, and any combination therein. Lawkeeper and blade of the gods.

As a Stout, Gennio's full name in Gnomish is longer than all human names, serving as a history of his life, it repeats five times, signifying the number of past lives he is believed to have had as Halfling King, being considered a reincarnation of his father, grandfather, and the kings before them.

fullname

Ganymariusdraxiclaricusgrentarjulporsanhestalanicaricganymariusdraxiclaricusgrentarjulporsanhestalanicaricganymariusdraxiclaricusgrentarjulporsanhestalanicaricganymariusdraxiclaricusgrentarjulporsanhestalanicaricganymariusdraxiclaricusgrentarjulporsanhestalanicaric

Character

---

Gennio is a stern king, as his title "Lawkeeper" shows, despite sharing the task of policy-making with his human counterpart, most of the land's laws were drafted by Gennio's hand. His personality mirrors his ruling style, stern and a bit of a bully. Due to the Stout tradition of giving nicknames to their rulers for each action they do, Gennio is also known as "Ironwit", "Delayer", "The Yelling king", and "Shipslayer", all of which tell volumes about his character.

Gennio's exceptional skill at naval tactics is only tempered by his impatience and sharp wit, he is known to have quite a stinging tongue and a lack of skill in diplomatic environments due to these facts, and the fact that his fleet usually heralded a long blockade and siege rather than a diplomatic mission.

Beloved by his people, Gennio has his detractors, as his style of leadership has left Benaduza in a constant state of war, despite the attempts of the human nobles to curb his expansion. Gennio's legendarily brutal conquests, refusal to negotiate, and lack of restraint, are all seen to be a symptom of his impatience, but they also show that he cares about establishing a greater Benaduza Empire.

Ability

---

A skilled axeling and godspeaker, Gennio goes into battle wielding a scroll with both his laws and those of the gods upon it. He is able to utilize divine blessings simply by reading this scroll. He is hard to kill, and his very presence is enough to bolster the courage of his men.

Gennio's greatest strength, however, is his abilities as a naval tactician, considered the best in Benaduza. Even prior to his ascension to kingship his skill was renowned. His favored tactics include a massive barrage of flame arrows to burn an enemy fleet into nothing, and a charge to the enemy flagship, which he would ram into splinters. His boarding parties are weak, as halflings are poor melee combatants, but Gennio can easily carry a boarding action by himself through good command and the favor of the gods.

Information:

---

Place of Birth: Flotilla Roueaume, Benaduza
Hair: Black as coal, well kept.
Fitness: Built like a barrel, slow but hardy.
Morals: "I will do all for Benaduza, no matter the case."