Cello

Rising Stars: A Fairy Tail AU

Ky Lien

Ky Lien

Appearance

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✦ Character Theme | When I See Pigs Fly ✦

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Full Name

Ky Lien

Age

13

Gender

Male

Species

Human

Personality

There’s not much about Ky Lien that most won’t immediately recognise as the typical traits of any ordinary thirteen year old boy. He is possessed of a boundless energy, insatiable curiosity and a mischievous streak that his elders find both endearing and quite irksome at times. He’s as hard headed as the rocks he throws around; quick to show his bravado and spirit when either are challenged. He brings a playful energy to most situations and often plays the clown in lieu of treating a situation seriously.

Ky has a distinct lack of emotional maturity and often speaks his mind, which often comes off as insensitive or crass. Grappling with the emotional rollercoaster of adolescence and his own trauma often makes it hard for him to process emotional responses that are uncomfortable for him. When this panic grips him he has quite a temper and often regulates his feelings with violent outbursts against whatever inanimate object happens to draw his ire. Joining up with Rising Starborn has definitely been a welcome help in working to process those feelings; especially with so many friendly, experienced mages around to offer their support when needed. In a lot of ways, being with them reminds him of what his own family was once like before things got complicated.

Strengths

✦ Confident. Ky is fearlessly naïve and willing to take on most challenges head on.
✦ Lighthearted. He brings an energetic, positive vibe to almost every situation.
✦ Strength. Physically strong and able for his age.

Weaknesses

✦ Untrained. Has little martial or magical training.
✦ Stubborn. His hardheadedness is often a detriment.
✦ Emotional. He is easily flustered and prone to losing his cool.

Guild

Rising Starborn
Marked on his right shoulder.

Mage Rank

C Rank

Team Members

None

Magic

Geomancy: Caster Magic that allows for the manipulation of earth and geomagnetic forces. Unlike Earth Make, Geomancy is focused around controlling the earth that is present nearby the caster. They are unable to produce their own matter. Earth is not an element that is easily tamed, requiring not only magical fortitude but also great physical strength in order to manipulate effectively. For this reason, Geomancer’s train their bodies to become exceptionally strong; able to shift and shape the earth with mighty blows.

Spell List

Lesser Geokinesis: Ky can manipulate small to moderate amounts of earthly material with his magic. He can shape this matter into basic forms, but not to the extent that they can be effectively weaponized.

Rock Surfing: Ky kicks up a slab of earth from beneath him that he can freely maneuver around with. Allows for quick movement and repositioning.

Stone Remnant: The Geomancer conjures an effigy of themselves from the earth at a desired location. The remnant remains and can be manipulated with their other abilities. In a pinch, Remnant’s can be used as cover. Ky can conjure up to 3 remnants currently.

Stoneskin: The Geomancer encases parts of their body in a thick layer of earth, decreasing their speed and agility in exchange for enhanced durability and weight. Ky can encase both of his fists in Stoneskin.

Rock Sling: Claws up the ground to send a wide volley of jagged rocks in a targeted direction. While not the strongest of spells, it is very fast and can be easily chained into after other attacks.

Threaded Volley: Ky tears up a series of five small to medium rocks that orbit him temporarily. On command, he can fire individual rocks at desired targets or volley all of them at once as a stronger attack.

Boulder Smash: Winds up a heavy punch, encasing Ky’s fists in Stoneskin if not already applied, before delivering a solid haymaker to the opponent. Can also be used to shatter relatively solid constructs.

If used on a Stone Remnant, the strike will send it flying a considerable distance before the effigy erupts for heavy damage when it collides with something.

Upheaval: Ky raises up a large slab of earth to act as cover. Can be fired forward to slam into opponents.

Earth Shock: Blasts a target with geomagnetic energy that shocks and Magnetizes them for a short duration. Magnetized targets charge any Stone Remnants near them, causing them to strike them with a lesser Earth Shock; refreshing the magnetized duration and destroying the remnant.

Geomagnetic Grip: Pulls a Magnetized target towards Ky. Can also be used on Stone Remnants to quickly pull them back to Ky, colliding with anything along their path.

Equipment

✦ Training Bo. A wooden staff with no remarkable qualities. The grain is splintered from excessive force being applied.

✦ Handwritten Note. The letter meant for his mother. He can't seem to part with it.

✦ Strange Rocks. Ky enjoys collecting any oddly shaped or coloured rocks and crystals he comes across.

]History

Ky, the younger of the two Lien sons, grew up with much adoration for his elder brother Kim. The two were inseparable and were the pride of their parents. The name Lien holds some significant weight in Fiore, being the namesake for a prominent wizarding corporation. Ky’s great grandfather had originated the organization, passing it unto his son and so forth. It was expected that Kim was to be groomed to inherit his father’s position, but the boy had loftier ambitions. Their mother was far less stringent than the boy’s father was; a free spirit who fondly remembered the old ways. She shared stories of heroic mages banding together in guilds not out of some sense of profitable pragmatism, but real comradery and heart.

It was these tales that drew Kim to Pergrande in the first place - a land free of the bureaucracy that had tainted Fiore’s guilds. Of course, confessing his desire to migrate to a foreign nation did not go over well with his father. Ky was quite young at the time, but even he remembers the argument that tore their family apart. Feelings that sat just beneath the surface burst forth in a tidal wave of screaming and crying. Words said that could never be unsaid.
Their father offered an ultimatum.
Leave and you will never be welcomed back.

Ky knew a choice had been made when he saw his brother slip away through the front door of their home for the last time.

Wracked by grief, resentment, and abandonment, the Lien family was never quite the same after Kim left. The father absorbed himself in his work and became irritable at any mention of his first born. His anger often misdirected towards Ky’s mother. She grew withdrawn, the flame of passion having sputtered and faded from her eyes on the night everything changed. Ky, too young to understand and process his own feelings, grew agitated and impulsive. Labeled a problem child and delinquent. Soon enough it felt as though everyone, even his parents, had simply forgotten he was still there. As though he had left with Kim that night.
Perhaps he should have.

The finality of that thought set things in motion. He packed a knapsack and pilfered a hefty amount of jewels appropriate for enticing a morally dubious ferryman into looking the other way while he stowed away on one of the trading ships headed to Pergrande. His hands clutched the handwritten note he had decided not to leave his mother. Doubt crept in but he pushed it out. Instead, he thought of his brother. Finding Kim was his priority. He wasn’t sure where to start, but his aimless wandering once the ship landed ashore eventually led to a chance encounter with Jenna Wolfsbane. She offered a warm bed and a chance to earn his keep. Ky accepted, joining up with the Rising Starborn guild in Rembrandt.

Phoenix Wing: New Dawn

Bullet | Wolven Pyre Guildhall

Bullet woke to a wave nausea wracking his body, lying face first in a small puddle of his own drool. He pushed his torso off of the wooden floorboards and onto an elbow, having regained barely enough strength to support his own weight. His head felt foggy and his stomach lurched at the smell of sulfur and rot. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness around him, the faint silhouette of a woman against a dim, dark purple backlight in the corner of the room.
Realizing where he was, panic gripped him. He knew the silhouette to be none other than the witch Karla, a grief wracked young lady who, before now, would never have harmed a fly. He remembered Talos and the reason why she had been so distraught. Distraught enough to debilitate him and keep him from interfering with the dark forces she had brought down upon the Glade this day. Her own home.

Even now, Bullet could feel it. Karla’s unbridled rage and sorrow warped the very space around her, creating a miasma of dread and hate that threatened to pull Bullet into it’s dark embrace. He was no stranger to such emotions. Memories of his own father, the catalyst of his own long string of misfortunes and painful experiences, came to mind. He couldn’t blame Karla for such an extreme reaction. To her, Talos was family. A cherished loved one taken right before your eyes warranted such a reaction. There was a time when hatred was all that drove Bullet. Yet even he, engulfed in so much pain and anger, was not beyond salvation.

He brought himself up onto one knee, pushing off the ground with a strained grunt. Karla’s head turned ever so slightly, enough to see the blackness of her eyes, which wept tears of onyx. The serpent, Nigel, coiled itself around her - equally entranced. They were deep within their spell, her body taut as though enclosed in a giant’s grip. She chanted strange incantations in a tongue that was not her own. Despite noticing Bullet, she seemed to entranced in her own curse to regard his stirring as any significant threat. This was his chance.

Lifting himself into a shaky stance, fists clenched and brought up to the ready beside his face. He ignored the stinging in his side where his injured ribs cried out in pain. He was starting to regret stubbornly ignoring Priscilla and Meredith’s orders to rest over the last month. Perhaps he’d be in better shape to deal with this situation.
Too late for regrets He thought with a smirk, conjuring his Hellforged Gauntlets from a flash of bright light that cut through the dreadful darkness for but a brief moment. This caught Karla’s attention, her melodic chanting coming to a pause. Slowly her head tilted backwards, spine curving to accommodate the unsettling movement until Bullet was face to face with her upside down visage.

“I’m sorry Karla.” Bullet locked and loaded the gauss pistons in his gauntlets, the heat emanating from them further pushing back the dark miasma of Karla’s scornful wrath. Karla flinched, a wheeze escaping her lips as her body twisted and contorted to re-align itself as she began her approach.
“I get it, you're pissed. Can’t say that I blame ya, to be honest.” He stepped forward to meet her approach, locking another gauss piston into place. Now his gauntlets started to steam and whir with intense heat, beads of sweat starting to streak down his torso. Karla opened her arms, revealing sharp, spindly fingers that clawed along the floor. The serpent hissed a command and the witch broke into a gangly sprint, lurching across the room whilst a wretched screech curdled Bullet’s blood with a brief lapse of fear. But he would not back down.

Bullet ran to meet her at the center of the room, fists at the rady. She swiped at him with her claws and he narrowly ducked to avoid them, pushing forward off his back foot and colliding his right shoulder into her abdomen. Wrapping his arms around her torso, Bullet heaved and ran forward towards the wall of the room. All the while Karla lashed at his back, leaving a trail of bleeding lacerations along his spine. With one final shove, Bullet forced her into the wall of Priscilla’s room. Stunned momentarily, she wasn’t able to react quick enough to the straight punch that caught her dead in the chest. The eruptive force of his strike shattered the wall behind her, the fiery blast from his gauntlets sending the witch flying through and into the glade below. Unable to halt his own momentum, his ribs wracked with pain, Bullet also fell from the newly formed exit and into the woods below.

Meredith Clagnan

Wolven Pyre Greenhouse | Silverbranch Glade
Interacting with: | Manami Fuyu @Lunarlord34

---

Meredith delighted in Manami’s eagerness to hear more of her culture and traditions. An inquisitive soul was truly a rare find nowadays; especially in such a young lady. Young comparatively, anyway. The assistant witches finished bottling up the calming draft, pushing a cork to seal the shimmering concoction before bringing it before the older woman.
“Very good ladies. I dare say we should make haste and bring this potion to Talos.” She fastened the vial to her belt, drawing her olive green traveling cloak over her shoulders and fixing her satchel of various herbs and reagents to her hip. She reached for a few spare flasks, just in case she came across the sorely missed treant sap on their way to the battle, when a loud crash and bang from downstairs startled her to attention. Could it have come from the guild hall? No, it was too close. They were quite a considerable distance up in the canopy greenhouse. Then realization hit her.
“Karla!” She turned to the two witches, offering a curt nod. They responded in kind, rushing past Manami and heading down the stairs towards the commotion. “We must make sure the others are safe. From what? God knows. Let’s go.”

Meredith took the steps two at a time, surprisingly spritely for her old age. She clutched at the moth brooch securing her cloak, letting it trail behind her as the door to Priscilla’s room came into view. Standing before it, there was no mistaking this was where the disturbance had come from. A palpable malignance wafted from the room, one that was unmistakable to Meredith in its nature. A witch’s curse.

The two accompanying witches entered first, their hands at the ready to conjure any defensive spells should the need arise. Meredith felt a shiver down her spine as she entered the room. She looked around in disbelief. Priscilla’s quarters were almost unrecognizable, despite no physical difference aside from the gaping hole across the room. The sensation was, regrettably, familiar to her; a witch’s curse. Curses had a way of afflicting the physical spaces they were cast in, an eerie feeling of disjointment that sapped one of all positive emotions. She approached the hole blasted through the side of the great hollow, lamenting the damage of their home for a brief moment before a figure caught their eyes far below in the glade. A young man that she almost instantly recognised as Bullet. Was he responsible for this damage? He didn’t look well at all. Another figure a few meters in front of him was crumpled in a small pile, though unmistakingly female.

“Karla, she’s hurt. We have to get down the-” Meredith stopped in her tracks, watching as Karla’s lithe figure began to lift from the earth. Her torso raised first, limbs dangling as though an invisible claw had just plucked her from the soil. Soon her arms and legs followed suit, rigidly straightening themselves up as though the young lady were a string drawn puppet rather than a living being. Standing at her full posture, Meredith could clearly see the physical deformities that her curse had inflicted upon her.

Panic gripped her and her gaze shifted back to Bullet, lying helpless before Karla. Sure enough, the witch lunged forward and made a charge for the unconscious man with sickeningly sharp claws at the ready.
“Stop her! Quick! Meredith ordered, one of her witches leaping into the fray from the tree, a conjured magic circle beneath her slowing her descent enough to land safely. The other grabbed onto Meredith and leapt alongside her, helping the older woman down to the soil. The pair rushed forward to protect Bullet, arms outspread as ephemeral chains burst forth from their sleeves, linking them to each other. Stepping between each other, weaving their bonds over and under each other in an intricate dance of quick steps to create a makeshift net that quickly found itself wrapped around Karla. The two witches reeled their magical chains back, pulling them taut and keeping the rampaging witch in place.

Meredith stepped forward, unfastening the calming draught from her satchel. She stared down at it, momentarily thinking of Talos and their allies caught afield. If she used the draught here, there was no telling what could happen to Karla’s familiar. A blood curdling screech brought her attention back to Karla, fighting against her restraints. She could see her two companions struggling to keep hold of the binding spell.
At that moment she knew there was no other option.
Karla had to be stopped here and now.

Meredith moved forward a few more paces, reeling her arm back in preparation to pitch the vial at the rampaging witch. Her aim was poised to hit her mark, if not for the sudden tightening of what she assumed was some sort of barbed rope around her ankle. She winced in pain, looking down to find her leg ensnared in a thorny vine that had sprouted from the ground. The realization spread across her face as a look of pure panic.
Plant magic was a specialty of Karla’s.

“Watch the ground!” Meredith called to the other two, but it was too late. Their bindings faltered as both witches found themselves ensnared in a thick bramble of thorns. Karla burst free of the chains, her form twisting into the sky atop an ascending thicket of enlarged plantlife. The vines that had ensnared the three of them were connected to the main plant, lifting them from the ground and letting them dangle like baubles as Karla cackled maniacally.

The calming draught slipped from Meredith’s grasp, landing on the soft earth below and rolling a few feet away. She tried to spin around to find Manami. As far as she was aware, the young lady hadn’t descended with them and was still free to move about. Despite her efforts, her position was too inconvenient to spend much time looking for her.
“Get help, Manami!” She called out, hoping that the commotion would have drawn the attention of any stragglers at the Guild hall. She prayed that not everyone had departed for the battle.

Henri Baptiste

Keeper’s Crossroads | Silverbranch Glade
Interacting with: Regan Hadou @CitrusArms and Shiro

---

Hagar watched Shiro approach him with a bemused smirk, his arms folded over his chest. He was almost a little too cocky, which didn’t bode well with Henri. Yet it seemed as though Shiro was winding up for something big, so he’d do what he had to to make an opening for her. He drew a magic circle in the air with his spare hand, pressing it into the dampened soil beneath him with a quick whistle. The circle made a noise reminiscent of a single drop of water falling into a vast ocean, sending ripples across the watery surface of the arena. Henry watched the ripples encircle his position, a large dorsal fin emerging for a brief moment before disappearing back beneath the surface and silently making his way towards Hagar.
Now all he needed to do was deal with these bindings.

Focussing his power into his spare arm, a mass of three watery tentacles encased themselves around the limb; twisting around each other to create a singular appendage that was as thick as Henri’s torso. He whips his arm around, twisting the rest of his body to add to the momentum. The tentacle mass crashes into the two swords that were binding the left side of his body, the sheer weight behind the attack enough to disrupt their bonds and free him. He looked over to Hagar who was busy deflecting Shiro’s blows, almost delighting in her enfeebled state. Henri made note of the two swords from his previous spell that were still channeling their bindings onto his companion before letting himself slip into the soil as though he were diving beneath the waves.

Hagar chuckled to himself, directing his dancing blades to parry Shiro’s attacks with nonchalant hand gestures. He only needed a single hand to direct them, whilst the other conjured a magic circle at his side.
“Step off, love. I don’t need some annoying brat in me face.” said Hagar, twisting the magic circle anti-clockwise by about a hundred and eighty degrees. The blades that were linked to Shiro’s bound limbs lit up, following the motion of the circle. Shiro would find herself being dragged away from Hagar by the bindings. Hagar had aimed her towards the location he remembered Henri being, only to find that she had just been shoved to the center of the arena; where she stood alone.

“Hah! You’re mate ditch you, eh?” Laughed Hagar, failing to hide the dumbfounded look on his face. Yet before he could wonder where the larger man had escaped to, a sudden tremor at his feet brought his attention to the ground. Just as Hagar looked down to investigate, Henri burst forth from the depths, blanketed in a churning current of battering water.
“Abyssal Torpedo!” Henri landed a devastating uppercut against Hagar’s chin, the additional force behind the attack enough to send the brute flying. The swords that comprised the arena shifted to ensure they did not harm him.

At the same time, a similar ripple of the currents appeared near Shiro; the massive head of a great white shark constructed entirely of water launching up from the ground and into the wall of swords. The shark’s size was so great it would have pushed Shiro to the side slightly to make room for it’s sudden entrance. It’s gargantuan jaw clasped down around a large portion of the arena, shattering a myriad of swords; including the two that kept Shiro’s limbs bound. Then as quickly as it had appeared, the shark disappeared beneath the depths.
The gaping hole in the sword arena was a parting gift.

---

The battle between Talos and Regan raged on, the sword women's graceful movements and strikes proving too much for a beast, even one as intelligent as he was, to keep up with. On top of that, it would seem as though his master’s concentration was waning. Karla was being kept from properly channeling the enchantment that had morphed Talos into the beast he was now, and the power that sustained him was lacking compared to before. The serpent’s tail hissed a hasty command, and the beast looked to take on a more defensive stance.
Yet Regan had already disappeared from view. Talos was able to quickly identify that she had leaped above them, but not before that sword came driving down into the skull of the boa constrictor tail. Pinned down by Regan’s strike, Talos made every attempt to claw himself away, howling in pain as the animated appendage fell silent. Though it would seem the damage wasn’t as devastating as one might think. The great wolf seemed to be able to easily release himself from the grip of the sword, turning to stare at what he assumed was a dismembered serpent's head.

Though when Regan’s blade struck the serpent’s head, she would find it to be far more hollow than one would intend. Then the head began to heat up rapidly, little patches of flame melting away what was now obviously a molted snakeskin. The snakeskin grew hotter and hotter, large chunks of it beginning to burst into flame before the entire thing erupted in a large explosion. Talos leapt away, a familiar hissing from behind him catching the wolf’s attention. Slowly, a pink, soft fleshed serpent writhed it’s way from behind the wolf. Left in it’s vulnerable state, the serpent seemed content to remove itself from the battle, hiding behind the great wolf as it began snarling and snapping at Regan once more.

Phoenix Wing: New Dawn

My Discord has been hacked so if you get random messages from me please ignore them and delete me

Grimm Noir [Rebooting~]

_{Mentions | Dune @Bartimaeus
Location | Haven Academy, Entrance Quadrangle}

---

Heather sat among a small circle of her peers from Sanctum in the quadrangle of Haven academy. She’d struggle to call them friends as none of them were particularly friendly towards her. They viewed her as some charity case, needing to be plucked from the bowels of mediocrity by their graces. Still, it was better than being perceived as some sort of weird loner. The girls had insisted on meeting early to grab some coffees to go before heading up the laborious stairway, now perched to observe the flood of prospective students. They eagerly exchanged gossip as a few persons of intrigue passed through the gates.

“Is that the Al Mond heiress?” One girl said, her cheeks flushed with bewilderment. “Do you think I should ask for an autograph?”

“Desperation isn’t a good look for you, Olive.” Another giggled, the group chiming in to offer their own equally vague and uninteresting opinions on the matter. They made little effort to include Heather in their conversations. It would seem they were just as content to keep her on the periphery of the social circle as she was to remain there.

Don’t make waves, Heather. Those were the last words she heard from her Aunt Camelia that morning as she departed. They had certainly dampened her spirit somewhat. Her aunt was never one to shy away from praise or offer support, but she had made her disapproval of Heather’s ambition to attend Shade apparent ever since she expressed an interest in the entrance exam.

“Hey Heather, look over there.” Gwyn, the ringleader, pulled Heather from her train of thought, drawing her attention to a silver haired faunus who they were all too familiar with. Silme. He’d garnered quite a reputation for his violent outbursts and callous attitude.
“You know,” Another girl began, sneering sidelong at Heather whilst talking to her friend beside her in a whisper loud enough for the group to hear. “I thought allowing her admission was just the Headmaster being generous, but if they’re letting him attend then clearly whoever’s in charge has a screw loose.”
“Do you think the school has some sort of benefits program for troubled youths? Maybe they’re trying to rake in the Lien.”

Heather dug her nails into her palms, staring down at the grass whilst the gaggle of hens cackled away.
Don’t make waves. Don’t make waves. She repeated the words again and again, bringing herself to her feet with as much poise and dignity as she could manage in the face of their jabs.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take a walk.” Heather snapped, staring daggers at the girls. They took little notice of her departure, their attention drawn to another student. She practically stormed off from them, reassuring herself with the same mantra that had gotten her through Sanctum.

I will not let that woman define me. I’m here to become a Huntress and that’s what I’ll do. No two ways about it. The affirmations failed to invigorate her as they normally would. No amount of manifesting positivity could hide just how nervous she was. She found herself leaning against a tree in the courtyard, slumping down into a seated position with a forlorn sigh.

“I’ll be better off if I never have to speak to those nasty, vapid cretin’s again.” She cursed aloud, turning her head to the side to notice that the tree in question was already being occupied by another girl.
Startled to her feet, Heather’s cheeks went beet red. No doubt the gray haired girl had heard her and the idea of airing her business to a complete stranger by accident was mortifying. She’d need to think fast.
“Wh-what I mean to say is, uh, what a lovely day we’re having isn’t it? Truly splendid.” Truly splendid. Who talks like that anymore? Today was her chance to redefine herself among people who had no idea who she was. She’d hoped to have a bit more class than to out herself as a nervous wreck and a dweeb to the first stranger she met.

Phoenix Wing: New Dawn

Priscilla Duran

Harvest Festival | Magnolia
Interacting with: Jamie Beltras @MarshiestMallow | Jack Goran @Zarkun

---

Among the crowd of adoring fans Priscilla observes the spectacle fight with more than a mild sense of awe and wonder. She’d heard many tales of the strength of Phoenix Wing’s mages but to see it in person was something else entirely. Her eyes dart from one combatant to the next, unsure where best to hold her gaze to take in all of the action. Stalwart steel clashes against elusive shadow magics, their respective wielders deftly parrying each other's blows. The other side of the ring sports an ardent display of fire and ash that piques the flame witch’s curiosity somewhat.
Priscilla outstretches a hand to catch a falling ember from the clash. Both the flames and the ashes held an energy unknown to her. She rubs the soot between her fingers.
“Those two,” She begins, addressing Jamie without averting her eyes from the combatants. “they are no ordinary elementalists, correct?” She didn’t expect much of an answer, for she knew better than most how essential it is to safeguard one’s secrets - especially where peculiar magics were concerned.
The mages continue to clash and the crowd grows more and more uproarious at their showcase of skills.
Priscilla’s lips curl into a smile.
Peculiar magics indeed.

Meredith Clagnan

Wolven Pyre Greenhouse | Silverbranch Glade
Interacting with: | Manami Fuyu @Lunarlord34

---

“That’s it, love, you’re doing great.” Meredith found Manami’s contribution to the ritual to be more than stellar; even if the young lady was unsure of its purpose. The two witches lift their veils and gaze into the cauldron. The mixture had bubbled away, absorbing the blessings of all those present and becoming something more than the sum of its parts. A calming draft that would see a startled familiar to rest.

Meredith sat herself down on a stool while her companions prepared the final touches, offering a seat to Manami.
“Our practices can be a little more delicate than the magic you’re used to, but they’re rooted in traditions that span back thousands of years. We draw inspiration from the old ways not because it is necessarily more effective than modern magic, but out of respect for our ancestors and the struggles they endured to freely practice their craft.” Meredith wasn’t quite sure how a history lesson would go down with Manami, but far be it for her to pass up the opportunity to enlighten someone from a different walk of life than her own.

Henri Baptiste

Keeper’s Crossroads | Silverbranch Glade
Interacting with: Regan Hadou @CitrusArms and Shiro

---

Shiro’s confidence in the heat of battle brought on a low chuckle from the older man. Hopefully she wasn’t just all talk. Her sudden disappearance caught both Henri and Hagar off guard, but the latter was sent reeling by the sudden headbut. He spat out a curse, leveraging himself against Shiro’s successive blows by digging his back foot into the dampened soil. His dancing blades struck against her hardened skin to little avail, prompting a grunt of frustration from the brute.

Meanwhile Henri was already in motion, enveloping his arms in their watery appendages once again. Two directed blasts of water saw the dancing blades struck from the air as they landed in a muddy pile. Henri plunges his fists into the soil once again, the tentacles emerging beneath Hagar’s feat and enveloping themselves around his legs and then up his waist. Henri pushes clenched palms even further into the earth, corresponding with Hagar beginning to be dragged into the earth. He figured Shiro would appreciate a stationary punching bag.
Though it would seem Hagar had other plans.

“You slippery brat.” He snarled, his hands suddenly reaching out to clasp the side of Shiro’s head. “Keep still a while, would ya?” Hagar heaves Shiro a few feet from the ground whilst a few of the blades surrounding them turn to point towards her.
“Sword Magic: Four Point Binding” Four beams of ethereal energy burst forth in an attempt to pierce Shiro’s limbs. Rather than slicing or dealing damage, they would instead lock onto whatever they struck in an attempt to keep it bound in place.
"Look out!" Henri bolts forward in a desperate attempt to bowl down Hagar to aid in Shiro escaping the spell, but as a result finds himself taking two of the swords in his left arm and leg. A sudden numbness overcomes his left side, his limbs no longer responding to his commands as they are suspended from him.

Hagar looks to capitalize on his partially trapped opponent, raising his arms into the air before thrusting them forward.
“Sword Magic: Vorpal Blade” A few more of the swords comprising the arena release sudden flashes of light that bend and twist at sharp angles to slice at the pair from all manner of directions. A couple slashes release Hagar from Henri’s tentacles. Henri uses his right arm to deflect as many of the slashes as he can, but his left side sustains a few gashes in the process. He redirects his tentacle to strike at one of the swords binding him. It’s grip falters slightly at the impact, but not quite enough to release him.

---

Talos snapped and swiped at Regan as she danced circles around the beast, taking cursory swipes while taking care to avoid the serpent’s head. The serpent lays low, it’s eyes fiercely keeping track of the woman's movements. Talos whimpers at Regan’s slices, but they are of little effect mostly in part to her purposely holding back. The serpent hisses towards it’s wolf head, prompting a low growl as though the two are communicating with one another. When Regan stops her assault Talos leaps forward to take another swipe at her, though this time there is a strange hesitation to the attack as though the beast is attempting to feint her. Sure enough the attack purposefully misses and Talos bows low, revealing the open jaws of the great serpent lashing forward towards Regan once again.

At this point the beast has revealed itself to be of a higher intelligence than the average monster, it’s wolf head bowed low whilst magic gathers inside it’s throat. The serpent continues to reel itself back and lash out in a series of bites against Regan, but immediately pulls away when the crack of electricity fills the air. Talos let’s out a howl that is accompanied by a crack of thunder, a beam of lightning bursting forth from his gullet directly at Regan.

Grimm Noir [Rebooting~]

Heather Claret

_{Theme: Strictly and Purity}

“I'm not comfortable with this. We could get in serious trouble.”

Heather Claret, Professional Wet Blanket

Heather Claret

Name

Heather Claret

Age

Seventeen

Race

Human

Nationality

Mistrali

Physical Description

Heather is a petite thing standing at 5’2” with a lithe, athletic frame. She has light auburn hair styled in a shoulder length, curly bob and chestnut eyes. Her cheeks are flushed with a natural rose tint. She has a very youthful visage about her and is often mistaken for being a few years younger than she actually is. This is exasperated by her very modest, childish choice of attire. Thigh high white stockings, a proper gray combat skirt hemmed just above the knee and a cream, long sleeved turtle neck embroidered with a small, pink flower along the right breast. She’ll often wear a rose cardigan given the climate. Even her supply satchels, which are fastened to her hip, sport a very dated, conservative design that matches the rest of her attire.

Characterization

Heather has often been referred to as uptight or even a killjoy by her peers. She’s a serious stickler for the rules and her morals leave no room for any shades of gray. While it wouldn’t be unfair to label her as abrasive and condescending, it should be noted that for the most part her heart is in the right place. It’s no secret that she flourishes best when order is maintained. She’s not one for unprecedented riff raff and you best believe she has little tolerance or sympathy for rulebreakers.

Any rebellious nature or curiosity was knocked out of her when her mother’s crimes were exposed. Her obedience comes from a place of fear. She fears that even the slightest altercation would have her further scrutinized or perhaps removed from the Huntsman program. She doesn’t feel as though she has the wriggle room of her peers where tomfoolery is concerned. What might be seen as harmless fun for others could be a sign of the apple not falling far from the tree for her. Whether or not this is the reality of the situation is irrelevant. Heather’s anxiety over how she is perceived has such a great hold over her that sometimes she’s not even sure if the ‘self’ she presents to others is who she truly is.

Backstory

The Clarets, while not considered to be a Mistrali clan of much import, were once well known and respected by their peers for their lineage of Huntsmen that spanned back fifteen generations. Heather was born the only child of Blanche Claret and an unknown father, raised by her mother on the ideals of heroism, honor and dignity that had seen her much success in life - both on the battlefield and off. Enamoured with her mother’s profession, as many children of huntsmen were, Heather knew from a ripe young age that she wished to follow in her footsteps. Her fondest memories with her mother involve sitting alongside the fireplace, listening to Blanche recount her exploits of derring do and grace whilst she fought to keep Mistral safe.

But they were only stories; a glamorous fabrication masking a much sinister truth.

Heather was in her first year at Sanctum Academy when the scandalous truth about Blanche Claret came to light. A woman who was regarded as a shining beacon of integrity, loyalty and courage was revealed to be anything but. Among a few others, Blanche’s ties to organised crime and corruption among the Huntsmen of Mistral were unapologetically exposed by a recently incarcerated member of the very same crime family who she had been in cahoots with. It didn’t take much for the authorities to confirm his accusations once the spotlight had been shined on the now scorned Huntress.

Blanche was imprisoned and the Claret name was dragged through the mud. Heather was sent to stay with her aunt Camelia. Though Camelia was a kind-hearted woman with good intentions, the mortification brought upon her by her sister led her to dissuade Heather from completing her training at Sanctum. That perhaps some time away from the limelight would do some good. Daunting as it was to face her peers after the revelation of her mother’s treachery, she persisted with her goal to become a Huntress. No longer would she do so out of adoration for her mother. Instead she sought to become the Huntress she had always envisioned could be real. The kind who truly did fight for justice and were enshrined for their fearless valor and determination. She graduated Sanctum with flying colors.

Semblance

Barrier

Heather’s Semblance allows her to project her own aura as an expansive shield that is able to cover a moderate area. This essentially bolsters the natural defensive capabilities that a Huntsman's aura provides as well protecting her physical body from the trauma of a direct strike. The Barrier is able to sustain heavy damage before shattering, as indicated by the transparent effect gaining an increasingly saturated hue of red before eventually breaking. Heather’s natural defensive aura on her person is lessened whilst the barrier is maintained.

Currently Heather is able to create a decently sized wall with her Barrier as well as protect a single ally with a projected bubble, but she must concentrate to maintain them. In both cases, the barriers will prevent attacks and projectiles from entering but do allow for ranged attacks to pass through from inside them.

Weapon & Fighting Style

Caduceus

A sleek, ornately crafted hooked cane with an eggshell white finish and embellished with rose gold crests. A revolving dust chamber is built into the cane to allow for various types of dust to be utilized on the fly; rotating through by simply holding down a switch on the grip. In its base form, Caduceus acts as a simple casting apparatus for dust based, ranged attacks. Heather can rain down elemental artillery upon her foes from a safe distance. Simple attacks can be utilized at will, but anything resulting in a larger than modest effect will require the dust to first be channeled and shaped before released. This can leave Heather exposed in the heat of battle, meaning she must take great care when choosing to channel a heftier strike.

For close quarter combat Heather is able to draw the hooked grip from Caduceus to reveal a sheathed, hard light whip imbued with the current dust her staff is rotated to. The whip is not the best choice for foes who fight up close and personal, but it is effective at keeping enemies at bay with it’s wide sweeping, elemental attacks. However the dust imbued into the whip is finite and it will need to be sheathed to re-apply an element after a short duration in combat.

The way Heather fights with her whip is similar to a ribbon dancer.

Intangibles

✦ Heather possesses a great deal of book smarts but lacks the critical thinking skills to adapt on the fly and make crucial decisions in the heat of the moment.

✦ An adept dust user, Heather is well practiced in the art of weaving and applying dust for combat purposes.

✦ She has quite a nasty competitive streak where academics are concerned. This paired with how high strung she is makes it incredibly easy to wind her up.

Grimm Noir [Rebooting~]

Apologies for taking so long, it's been a week. Will most likely do a quick re-read and edit tomorrow morning, time allowing.

Heather Claret

_{Theme: Strictly and Purity}

“I'm not comfortable with this. We could get in serious trouble.”

Heather Claret, Professional Wet Blanket

Heather Claret

Name

Heather Claret

Age

Seventeen

Race

Human

Nationality

Mistrali

Physical Description

Heather is a petite thing standing at 5’2” with a lithe, athletic frame. She has light auburn hair styled in a shoulder length, curly bob and chestnut eyes. Her cheeks are flushed with a natural rose tint. She has a very youthful visage about her and is often mistaken for being a few years younger than she actually is. This is exasperated by her very modest, childish choice of attire. Thigh high white stockings, a proper gray combat skirt hemmed just above the knee and a cream, long sleeved turtle neck embroidered with a small, pink flower along the right breast. She’ll often wear a rose cardigan given the climate. Even her supply satchels, which are fastened to her hip, sport a very dated, conservative design that matches the rest of her attire.

Characterization

Heather has often been referred to as uptight or even a killjoy by her peers. She’s a serious stickler for the rules and her morals leave no room for any shades of gray. While it wouldn’t be unfair to label her as abrasive and condescending, it should be noted that for the most part her heart is in the right place. It’s no secret that she flourishes best when order is maintained. She’s not one for unprecedented riff raff and you best believe she has little tolerance or sympathy for rulebreakers.

Any rebellious nature or curiosity was knocked out of her when her mother’s crimes were exposed. Her obedience comes from a place of fear. She fears that even the slightest altercation would have her further scrutinized or perhaps removed from the Huntsman program. She doesn’t feel as though she has the wriggle room of her peers where tomfoolery is concerned. What might be seen as harmless fun for others could be a sign of the apple not falling far from the tree for her. Whether or not this is the reality of the situation is irrelevant. Heather’s anxiety over how she is perceived has such a great hold over her that sometimes she’s not even sure if the ‘self’ she presents to others is who she truly is.

Backstory

The Clarets, while not considered to be a Mistrali clan of much import, were once well known and respected by their peers for their lineage of Huntsmen that spanned back fifteen generations. Heather was born the only child of Blanche Claret and an unknown father, raised by her mother on the ideals of heroism, honor and dignity that had seen her much success in life - both on the battlefield and off. Enamoured with her mother’s profession, as many children of huntsmen were, Heather knew from a ripe young age that she wished to follow in her footsteps. Her fondest memories with her mother involve sitting alongside the fireplace, listening to Blanche recount her exploits of derring do and grace whilst she fought to keep Mistral safe.

But they were only stories; a glamorous fabrication masking a much sinister truth.

Heather was in her first year at Sanctum Academy when the scandalous truth about Blanche Claret came to light. A woman who was regarded as a shining beacon of integrity, loyalty and courage was revealed to be anything but. Among a few others, Blanche’s ties to organised crime and corruption among the Huntsmen of Mistral were unapologetically exposed by a recently incarcerated member of the very same crime family who she had been in cahoots with. It didn’t take much for the authorities to confirm his accusations once the spotlight had been shined on the now scorned Huntress.

Blanche was imprisoned and the Claret name was dragged through the mud. Heather was sent to stay with her aunt Camelia. Though Camelia was a kind-hearted woman with good intentions, the mortification brought upon her by her sister led her to dissuade Heather from completing her training at Sanctum. That perhaps some time away from the limelight would do some good. Daunting as it was to face her peers after the revelation of her mother’s treachery, she persisted with her goal to become a Huntress. No longer would she do so out of adoration for her mother. Instead she sought to become the Huntress she had always envisioned could be real. The kind who truly did fight for justice and were enshrined for their fearless valor and determination. She graduated Sanctum with flying colors.

Semblance

Barrier

Heather’s Semblance allows her to project her own aura as an expansive shield that is able to cover a moderate area. This essentially bolsters the natural defensive capabilities that a Huntsman's aura provides as well protecting her physical body from the trauma of a direct strike. The Barrier is able to sustain heavy damage before shattering, as indicated by the transparent effect gaining an increasingly saturated hue of red before eventually breaking. Heather’s natural defensive aura on her person is lessened whilst the barrier is maintained.

Currently Heather is able to create a decently sized wall with her Barrier as well as protect a single ally with a projected bubble, but she must concentrate to maintain them. In both cases, the barriers will prevent attacks and projectiles from entering but do allow for ranged attacks to pass through from inside them.

Weapon & Fighting Style

Caduceus

A sleek, ornately crafted hooked cane with an eggshell white finish and embellished with rose gold crests. A revolving dust chamber is built into the cane to allow for various types of dust to be utilized on the fly; rotating through by simply holding down a switch on the grip. In its base form, Caduceus acts as a simple casting apparatus for dust based, ranged attacks. Heather can rain down elemental artillery upon her foes from a safe distance. Simple attacks can be utilized at will, but anything resulting in a larger than modest effect will require the dust to first be channeled and shaped before released. This can leave Heather exposed in the heat of battle, meaning she must take great care when choosing to channel a heftier strike.

For close quarter combat Heather is able to draw the hooked grip from Caduceus to reveal a sheathed, hard light whip imbued with the current dust her staff is rotated to. The whip is not the best choice for foes who fight up close and personal, but it is effective at keeping enemies at bay with it’s wide sweeping, elemental attacks. However the dust imbued into the whip is finite and it will need to be sheathed to re-apply an element after a short duration in combat.

The way Heather fights with her whip is similar to a ribbon dancer.

Intangibles

✦ Heather possesses a great deal of book smarts but lacks the critical thinking skills to adapt on the fly and make crucial decisions in the heat of the moment.

✦ An adept dust user, Heather is well practiced in the art of weaving and applying dust for combat purposes.

✦ She has quite a nasty competitive streak where academics are concerned. This paired with how high strung she is makes it incredibly easy to wind her up.

Grimm Noir: A RWBY Story

I am, as the kids say, intrigued.

RWBY: Chasing Shadows

---

Jet turns away from the group while Auron preaches on the weight of the kids' decisions to become Hunters. The lecture had him feeling somewhat guilty for offering such a blasé response. The fact that it wasn’t true was of little comfort when he recalls how equally uninspiring and thoughtless the actual reason was. He briefly wonders if Caramelle feels the same, but the blunt assuredness of her answer didn’t suggest as much.
And people reckon I’m cocky.

He reaches down to pick up a handful of coarse, desert sand while Auron continues by reminding the quartet of how Shade Hunters are generally received around these parts. He let’s the sand sift through his fingers, watching the streams in quiet contemplation. His old mentor Diesel was once a Shade hunter and he had often heard as much in one of his caregiver’s ramblings. Honestly he’d usually chalk it up to the old geezer just enjoying a good whine about almost anything.

Bleedin’ Vacuans got no respect for us Hunters! Jet holds back a snicker, mimicking Diesel’s voice in his head. He claps his hands free of any remaining dust and dirt, turning back to see the group's attention had shifted to something about tinted windows?
Crap, he really ought to be paying more attention.

Jet’s teammates were convinced that Auron’s test had not truly ended. Go figures. He could tell gramps was the type of sly bastard to pull a stunt like that. The stragglers in the junkyard caught his eye, shifting around the trash as if they were looking for something a little too specific to be found in a pile of crap. He slides his visor back over his eyes, scoping in to get a clearer view of them.

Closer inspection revealed that they weren’t in fact searching for something, but rather unearthing a peculiar structure embedded into the ground itself. It was white and jutted from the earth like some sort of rod.
“Awfully clean hands for junkers.” He muses aloud, reminiscing on the many evenings spent scrubbing dirt and grime from his hands after a long day in the junkyard. He scans the remainder of the gathering, keeping an eye out for any other details of note. A few of them have flecks of what he thinks to be dried blood scattered about their garbs.

The same uneasiness and suspicion that gripped Veloce and Turq now churns within Jet’s own gut. He rises to his feet, slinging Obsidian End back into his grip. An accusing glare meets Auron’s eye.
“What game are you playin’ at Gramps?” He said, keeping his rifle at the ready. A younger, more naïve Jet would have hoped this to be some sort of misunderstanding.
But this was Vacuo; where hopes come to die.

Phoenix Wing: New Dawn

Priscilla Duran

Jamie's Office | Magnolia
Interacting with: Jamie Beltras @MarshiestMallow | Jack Goran @Zarkun

---

Priscilla found herself unexpectedly heartened by the thought of Jack coming to visit her quaint home in the Silverbranch Glade.
“Oh you simply must visit. It is a lovely place.” She takes a drink from her cup, holding a finger up with a startlingly abrupt mumble. Downing the mouthful she turns her attention back towards Jamie. “Oh of course the invitation is extended to yourself as well, my dear.”
They so rarely received visitors, even now. It was a shame. She had spent her entire life there and couldn’t think of a more magical place. The forest raised her equally, if not more so, than her own mother. She had many teachers over her life. From the whispering canopy above to the rich soil beneath her feet. The rivers and creeks that pooled into great lakes, flowing from the mountaintop like veins pumping blood from the heart. The wolves were her favourite. They taught her resourcefulness, loyalty and the importance of keeping those you loved close. In her younger years she once confessed to her mother that she wished to become a wolf.

Perhaps you will, one day.

She finishes the last of her tea, eyes gazing downwards into her cup. The remaining leaves, well steeped and happy to have been of service, clump together to form a chalice. Three hands hold it up. The three of cups.
“Of course.” Priscilla smiles, musing to no one in particular. She places the saucer down upon the table, thanking Jamie once more for the tea. She hears a commotion downstairs. Revelry. A party, perhaps? Jack is quick to comment on the noise and Jamie confirms her suspicions.
Her lips curl even further into a cheerful grin.
“A festival, you say?” She wraps her fingers around the grain of her staff, bringing herself to her feet.
“Well,” She continues, flourishing her robes with a quick turn on her heel towards the door. “I see no better way to end our meeting than with a celebration such as this. Jamie my dear, please lead the way.”
She takes one final look at the cup on it’s little saucer and then takes a moment to look upon the faces of Jack and Jamie. Perhaps she stares for a moment longer than she should, but she doesn’t mind.
Some moments shouldn’t be rushed.

Meredith Clagnan

Wolven Pyre Greenhouse | Silverbranch Glade
Interacting with: | Manami Fuyu @Lunarlord34

---

Meredith sits with her nose buried within Grizabella’s tome. Her glasses start to slip from her nose and she readjusts them. Her eyes never leave the pages, even when she addresses the two witches assisting her; hustling about the greenhouse with arms full of powders, crystals and candles. She barks orders, demands specific reagents and corrects rookie mistakes with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes. Amateurs.
“Honestly, have either of you never drawn an alchemical circle before?” She snaps, their heads lowering under her scrutiny.
“Those sigils need to be written in the proper order. These are the basics, girls!” The two hurried off at a brisker pace, eager to meet Meredith’s standards and avoid another scolding. She peers up through the canopy to see the sun just starting to poke out from behind the verdant veil.
Almost noon. They ought to hurry.

Manami returns with a bottle of translucent, yellow venom and a mortar filled with a fragrant, ashy powder. Meredith nods in appreciation, holding the vial up to the light to confirm if the venom is still potent enough for her purposes. She swirls it around. The substance is viscous and clings to the glass for a moment before seeping down and settling back at the bottom. She keeps an ear open whilst Manami confides her own opinion on their young, fiery friend.
Her work takes a momentary pause to consider if perhaps she had been somewhat dismissive.
“No, I’m sure we can make something suitable.” She says with a comforting certainty. She pops the cork from the vial and watches the thick, honey-like venom decant into the cast iron cauldron bubbling away over a candle. The venom sizzles and sputters, a nasty odour of sulfur filling the room.
“Zhulie does not need her feelings spared. If I had a need for her I would have asked, but I didn’t.” She says, sprinkling a handful of the ground clove into her mixture and beginning to stir in a counter-clockwise motion. “The best place she can be right now is by Karla’s side. I’m sure that foul mouthed meathead will keep her adequately entertained as well.”

Meredith rose, gesturing for her assistant to prepare the now completed potion for the ritual. The circle, drawn upon the ground in chalk and soot, was an array of varying lines, shapes and symbols. At each cardinal point a specific, elemental offering was placed with an empty circle. A peacock feather, grave dirt, a red candle and a fossilized abalone. Large rods of selenite and quartz points were purposefully placed in a grid, interwoven among the other components and charged with energy. A witch placed the still bubbling cauldron in the center, her partner crouching before it with a black, silken veil obscuring her face. A shadow. The two hold hands, chanting in a tongue unfamiliar to most. Meredith slipped the elastic for a small set of copper cymbals.
She offered a similar pair to Manami.
“Follow my lead, if you feel comfortable to do so.” She steps towards the circle, wandering around it’s circumference with soft, purposeful movements. Orbiting the two witches, she clashes the cymbals together at each inter-cardinal point. The clang reverberated with a frequency that caused the crystal grid to resonate with energy.
A small contribution of her own magic power was all Meredith could offer.
the ritual. She was no longer a witch, relying on others to bring her carefully crafted potions and salves to life. She didn’t mind so much anymore.
If she could play a small part in easing the pain of her beloved sisters then it would all be worth it.

---

Bullet | Wolven Pyre Guildhall

Bullet stares after Zhulie for a moment after her ginger braids trail down and around the curve of the spiraling staircase, leaving only the flickering candelabras and the elongated, spiderleg-like shadows they cast upon the steps. He has walked these halls many times during his stay within Wolven Pyre, but it only now has daunted on him how stiflingly dark they are. Now he stands at the landing to Priscilla’s quarters, holding a silver tray of the same baked pastries he had eaten earlier. Alongside it Olga had also fashioned some asparagus wrapped in thinly sliced pork belly, as well as a steaming cup of tea.
Chamomile, with the sweet scent of honey and lemon and warm hugs, mornings spent wrapped in thick blankets and all the comforts one feels when surrounded by those who make their heart flutter. For a moment he is taken back by the sensations, overpowering his palate with memories and smells that are somehow one in the same. His chest aches with nostalgia for scenes that did not unfold in his own life, and only then does he feel the familiar tinge of magic emanating from within the cup.
Only Olga could masterfully bind such intense, vivid feelings to a cup of tea and serve it on a porcelain saucer shaped like a golden lilypad.
It need only be delivered to the one who requires it most of all.

Bullet turns to face the door leading into Priscilla’s chambers. The door is nestled in cozy alcove, framed by piles of beeswax candles that burn at different heights. Their multi-coloured wax pools on the floor around them, melting into one another and hardening into a spiral of colour. The door itself is in stark contrast to the rest of the wall, being made of timber that was not cut from the same tree as the guild hall. He hazards a guess that it could be oak; it is about as educated a guess as one who is not familiar with such things can make. His eye is drawn to a recurring pattern of carvings at eye length in an embossed circle that sits right in the middle of the door. A torch, a key and a branch. He remembers that Priscilla herself wields a torch. He can’t quite place the relevance of the key and the branch.

There is no handle, but a cursory nudge with the sole of his boot pushes the door slightly ajar and he can hear the strained creaking of worn hinges. He leans his shoulder against it, heaving with more might than he had anticipated needing and pushes himself into the antechamber.

If the stairwell had felt uncomfortably dark, then the room Bullet now found himself in was suffocatingly so. He blinked a couple times, hoping his vision would adjust but it did not. He could make out a few details thanks to a muted, violet light that seemed to wax and wane from behind the velvet drapes which led to the main chambers. Each step forward brings with it a palpable dread, like icy claws clasped around his chest. He parted the drapes, revealing the purple light to be far more illuminating than he had initially thought. As it waxes into it’s full radiance he can clearly make out various pieces of furniture throughout Priscilla’s room. A four poster bed draped in the same velvet as her entrance, matching side tables littered in various crystals, candles and cards used for fortune telling with intricately drawn illustrations upon them that would have been better appreciated with better lighting. In the corner of the room is a large desk covered in half open books, messy notes scrawled onto scraps of paper and many an empty wine bottle. Priscilla’s latest vintage was still half filled with a rich, burgundy liquid. The thought of her pacing about the room, glass in hand, whilst musing over paperwork seemed appropriate to him. The light once again began to wane and the darkness crept inwards and all around them. He follows the light to a dark crystal that he does not recognise (though he does not recognise many crystals). It beats in Karla’s hands, a soft murmur of a heartbeat. Her face is the only part of the room illuminated by it now. Her eyes are puffy from crying, her hair tangled and strewn across her face in uneven strands. Her mouth is moving, whispering something just above a breath.
One word stood out to Bullet. A name. One he had heard from the tongue of many a witch during his stay.
Hecate.

The light flares to life once more. This time it burns hotter and brighter than before. The darkness skitters back into the nooks and crannies it had flooded in from, shielding itself from the all encompassing light. Now, face to face with Karla, Bullet is able to see a magic circle drawn into the wooden floors in blood. The witch’s fingers are stained red, her eyes bloodshot and fierce. He took an instinctive step back, eyes locked with the source of the encroaching dread from earlier. He wanted to ask her what was going on. He wanted to crack a joke or make a blunt remark and then she would laugh and explain herself and his mind would be at ease. But he doesn’t. He already knows what is happening. He has never seen a witch’s curse before, but the sheer malignance that festered within Karla was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. It was both poignant and malevolent, writhing with the most intense of emotions. He could feel all of it. Karla’s maelstrom of rage and sorrow and anguish tore at him from the inside out. The tray had long since fallen to the floor, it’s contents scattered. The tea filled with warmth, love and all things comforting seeped into the cracks in the wood and Bullet wasn’t sure he’d ever feel those things again.
His vision began to blur and turn white.
“I’m sorry, Bullet.” He heard Karla say. The tightness that had gripped his chest earlier now spreads to his arms and his legs and his head and every part of him he could imagine.
“But I won’t let them take him.” She continued, watching his body fall limp in a heaped pile at the entranceway. Nigel coils himself around her, the slits of his eyes gazing up into Karla’s. Her chanting resumes, a vision of a clear meadow amidst the Silverbranch Glade flittering to life in the black depths of the serpent’s eyes.
There is a wolf. It is larger than most wolves.
The serpent hisses, sharing his secrets with wolf and master alike.

---

Henri Baptiste

Keeper’s Crossroads | Silverbranch Glade
Interacting with: Regan Hadou @CitrusArms, Argus Leandras @Raijinslayer and Shiro @Lunarlord34

---

The last blow from Hagar struck Henri’s jaw with a resounding crack. His face stung and he could feel something sticky and warm trickling down his temple. Head to head with his assailant, he could see the hungry ferocity deep within the constricted blacks of his eyes. Between the ringing of each blow in his head he could hear the hearty laughter of the brute. He wrestled against him with all his might, but Hagar’s knees were pressed firmly against his forearms, keeping his upper body pinned.
“Ain’t got nothin’ smart to say now, aye mate?” He taunted.
Henri tilts his head, glaring at him whilst a low growl forms in the back of his throat. This guy was an eyesore. He would love nothing more than to smack that sick grin from his face. He digs his fingers into the dirt, magic swelling at his fingertips and into the soil. The ground became damp and bloated, his weight sinking him down an inch or so into the mud. Murky waters rose to form small puddles across the meadow, a sticky humidity clinging to the air like flies to honey.
Hagar reels his fist back, prepared to strike once more when his face shifts from smug satisfaction to a bewildered discomfort. His tunic clung to his skin with sweat and his blows were far more laboured than they ought to be. He glared down at his victim, rightfully assuming him responsible for the drenching pressure.
And that was when the kick landed, in that moment of realisation.

Hagar tumbled a few meters away, planting face first into the mud with a satisfying squelch. His assuming build carried enough weight so that he wasn’t sent flying by Shiro’s kick, but he was nothing if not shell shocked.

Henri brings himself to his feet with only a slight falter. He spits a glob of spit mixed with blood and discards his muddied overcoat. His torso and arms are adorned with a sprawling tattoo of a kraken. It’s tentacles wrap around his chest, neck and biceps. The inked appendages glow a luminescent teal.
Henri leans his head to the side with a satisfying crack, glaring as the lumbering Hagar rose to his knees and groaned. His eyes settle on Shiro. He stood tall, flaring his arms out into a wide stance with a magic circle forming at his feet.
“Right spoilsport you are, love. Was startin’ to enjoy meself I was.” With each word his magic power spiked, radiating from him like a burning sun. The circle expanded to encompass the soil beneath their feet. Henri stares down, gasping in alarm, water spilling forth from his tattoos and engulfing his arms in the wet visage of squid tentacles. He takes a knee, pounding the earth with his knuckles. The ground besides Hagar began to gurgle and bubble, two identical cephalopod appendages sprout upwards before collapsing downwards onto Hagar as he attempts to finish his spell. The interruption is all but certain, were it not for the sudden flash of steel swiftly dispatching Henri’s conjurations with a hefty slash.
Hagar’s dancing blades hover at his side. He lets out a rapturous laugh.
“Aw, bit slow mate. No matter. We’re just getting started. Sword Magic: Iron Maiden.” He bellowed, the circle collapsing beneath their feet to reveal a familiar gleam of light crisscrossing across the soil and erecting around the trio in a large, dome grid. The light fades, revealing rows upon rows of steel blades. The blades share a likeness to each other, but are all somewhat different in their own way. Different blade lengths, hilt designs and engravings distinguish the collection. The swords orbit the arena. Henri attempts to disperse their formation on one side with two water jets thrust from both palms, but the blades flourish nigh instantaneously to dissect the attack with razor precision before settling back into their former position.

The realisation that he’d have to fight his way out of this arena was no cause for alarm. Henri had already hoped to repay Hagar’s earlier punishment with interest.
He takes a firm stance, tentacles at the ready.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Talos had grown silent amidst the conflict between Regan and the other poachers. More bared arms against her after she so easily dispatched the first two. No doubt she wouldn’t struggle too much with them. There were a couple mages among them, but their sorcery was of little impact.
The direwolf had halted his movements completely, his eyes turning cloudy and vacant. It was as if he were in a trance.
When the dark returned to his eyes the wolf raised his snout to the sky and howled. A short lived but intense pulse of magic washed over everyone present. The crippling dread that gripped their very souls was there only for a moment, but it was enough to stop the poachers in their tracks. A growl unlike any Talos had ever uttered burst forth from his gullet. It was a discordant screech that tangled the anguished cry of a woman with the sputtering hiss of a serpent and then ended with a pained yelp.
The yelping persisted, Talos’ legs buckling beneath him. He collapses to the ground, clearly discomforted by a writhing sensation beneath his skin. Talos’ bones snap and contort with sickening crunches, his limbs almost doubling in size before soon being accompanied by the rest of his body. His fur hardens into razor needles, fangs grow and sharpen to the point where they threatened to tear the sides of his mouth.

A familiar hiss comes from behind him, the wolf’s tail extending and shifting into the form of a great, tawny boa constrictor with cream patches. The snake sets its sights on the only poacher too stunned to run for the hills like the others.
The serpent stiffens, but there is nary a moment for the poacher’s heart to beat one last time before it lashes out to strike.
The beast wastes no time savouring the kill, hungry wolf and serpent eyes befalling upon Regan as an enraged Talos pounces with tooth and claw.