Ok, here you go. I'm happy with how it turned out but amenable to suggestions.
Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan: Human (Supposedly), 34, 2 years 8 months and 1 day
Appearance: Though ostensibly human, Gru possesses an odd assortment of shapes and proportions that make him seem less like a real person and more like a caricature come to life. Standing on the shorter side at a mere 5’7”, Gru possesses a somewhat unimpressive, heavyset physique, with thin arms and legs, a rotund middle, and not much neck, which his hunched posture certainly doesn’t help. His eyes are small, sunken, and a beady black. He bears a very prominent hooked nose, a strong chin made even stronger by his pointed goatee, and what might be termed a triple mustache with three tapered lengths extending to either side. It’s wenge, a dark drab brown, like his somewhat greasy hair, which is worn slicked back with a long, thin ponytail. Large, scruffy eyebrows and sideburns complete the look. His skin is quite pale, though it gets quite pink around his nose, ears, chin, et cetera
History: For centuries, if anyone were to go searching around the world for a place they could call ‘paradise’, they might have very well ended up at Arcadia, the Valley of Plenty. Its famous black soil, rich with minerals and impossibly fertile, can be traced back to the activity of volcanoes that arose long ago thanks to the region’s fault line. Exactly when settlers first arrived to farm the valley is up for debate, but eventually people of all shapes and sizes would flock to the region in an unprecedented gold rush not for metal, but for grain. For a time budding nations fought over the Valley of Plenty, but after almost destroying the area’s natural beauty and abundance forever, wiser heads prevailed in the nick of time to strike a truce. The paradise became Arcadia, a no-man’s land and a shared blessing to all, governed by a council with representatives from various nations and hailed by many as the agricultural capital of the world. It would remain that way for an age, so valuable to surrounding nations that any threat to it would result in action from all the rest, keeping the Valley of Plenty in peace.
During that time, many mercantile guilds would come and go, managing trade both within Arcadia and with foreign countries. With so many competing interests, its economy was in a state of constant flux, but a few guilds endured. One was the Chemists’ Guild. It specialized in investment, repayment, research, and development, with fingers in countless given pies at any one moment despite the rather tight-knit, clandestine nature with which it operated. The Chemists provided miraculous fertilizers and other products that enriched their clients with harvests of unprecedented bounty even for Arcadia, with vegetables and livestock larger than usual, as well as cultivation of crops not typically climate with the region. Other suppliers just couldn’t compete. Despite the whispers about unconventional, even occult methods, official investigators found nothing amiss, and the Chemists became rich. Of course, they new this couldn’t last. In their underground laboratories they pursued ever more ambitious means to combat soil depletion and ensure that the perennial bumper crop never wavered. One day, things went wrong.
That night, there was no massive explosion. No destruction or indication of any calamity whatsoever. Yet in the morning, with no fanfare, the Chemists quietly packed their bags and left. Those who saw them thought nothing of it, for the Chemists often traveled to secure the rare and exotic materials for their craft, but in the weeks afterward things began to change. It began with the soil, as it became slightly discolored, adopting an odd, fuzzy texture. The crops planted at the time began to experience accelerated growth, initially celebrated by the farmers as the Chemists’ latest innovation made free to all in as a mark of respect for the age-old, often-forgotten tradition of Arcadian generosity. But as large as they grew, the crops weren’t quite right. They came out with strange colors and textures, tasting terrible. Livestock experienced madness and premature death. Soon, the people began to curse the Chemists for unleashing a plague upon them. Those with the means began to leave, but the rest did what they could to purge the disease and try again for the better. Instead, things continued to worsen. Strange, fuzzy growths appeared all over the ground. Animals began to experience grotesque deformities, dying or rampaging in large numbers. The people who remained were in denial, eventually to a delusional extent, and evidencing signs of infection themselves. Attempts at stopping the infection failed, and soon the whole valley was under quarantine.
Within months, fungal mold had infested all of Arcadia, taking over and eventually consuming everything that had ever eaten infected food. Few witnesses ever risked going into what would come to be known as Mycelia, the Valley of Blight, but disturbing rumors got out about what happened deep inside. They say that the mold eventually replaced everything that it killed. Mold birds singing in mold trees that bore mold fruits. Mold predators roaming mold woods hunting mold beasts that nibbled mold grass. Mold farmers tilling mold fields and selling mold grains. Mold men worshiping mold gods and dreaming mold dreams about a land of perfect peace and happiness with neither grief, nor disparity, nor greed.
Well before the point that the ruin of Arcadia became known far and wide, a man who called himself Gruyere E.C. Yarg, known to his friends as Gru (if only he had any, as he often jokes), joined the Pilgrim’s Caravan with a small carriage run by rats. Styling himself as a self-made merchant, he used his travels with them to run a small-scale cheese-making operation. Rather than horde money, he put most of his earnings back into his business, either improving his ever-evolving Chuck Wagon or purchasing milk, feed, rennet, grapes, salt, and cheese-making tips from the various farms he visited during his travels. Gradually he’d build up a reputation as a sleazy-looking but reliable itinerant merchant, his quality products (if not his attitude) earning him a good reputation. Like many members of the Caravan, he doesn’t talk about his past much, and if asked only ever mentions a boring and humble beginning in the small village of Stilton, never bothering to mention where it was. The past, as Gru says, is behind him. He wants nothing more than to practice his beloved craft, care for his beloved rats, and live a comfortable, quiet life.
Personality: To most, Gruyere would appear to be the archetypal unsavory businessman or snake oil salesman. He’s greedy, cunning, jocular, and capricious, bitingly sarcastic one moment and an obsequious lickspittle the next. Whatever it takes to make the sale. In fact, his manner sometimes undermines the fact that his products are actually very high quality, made to his exacting standards. In terms of his business dealings, he’s actually pretty honest. He’s just not very nice. Highly secretive and private, both about his trade skills and life, he isn’t very social and minds his own business as much as possible. While he doesn’t like conflict, he’s competitive and vindictive, never forgetting a slight. He cares a lot about his rats, both for their own sake and for the joy they bring him, and he gives them all the love that withholds from his fellow man. A perennial miser, he never does anything for free, and he expects anyone he deals with to honor their word
Motivation: To continue building up his business and ‘family’ in pursuit of a comfortable life
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:
+ Cheesemonger: Gru’s trade skill. He’s cultivated almost encyclopedic knowledge of how to make cheeses, from the chemistry of their creation to the tools needed to produce them. The cheeses he makes are of very high quality and nutritional value, and he prides himself on their appearances and flavors across a whole host of different styles. This is how he makes his money while in the Caravan; taking and orders while on the road, selling pre-made cheeses or taking orders for clients, then aging the cheeses he makes until the Caravan visits them again and he can fulfill those orders. Somewhat more recently he’s also tried diversifying into wine, a trade that demands even more patience but pairs well with his main craft. He makes these foodstuffs with a speed and efficiency few can match
+ Friend of Animals: Gru is much better with animals than he is with people. This extends to most (domesticated) animals, so whether it’s cows, goats, sheep, or even camels and yaks, they feel comfortable and affectionate around him, and he around them. This means he can often get top yield from whatever animals he encounters, and he’s a surprisingly good companion on hunts
+ Rat Authority - His natural bond with one animal completely transcends all the rest: rats. For whatever reason, he’s so completely in-tune with rats that they lack any fear of or hostility toward him, even in huge numbers. He knows how to take good care of rats, and ‘his’ rats listen to him almost unconditionally, obeying his orders like trained dogs and exhibiting unusual intelligence, strength, and dexterity. This goes double for his four favorite rats: Pepper Jack, Rick Otta, Wensley Dale, and Reggie Ano. If Gru is the general, they are the captains. Working as hordes under his command, his rats are capable of astonishing feats, so much so that one can’t help but wonder if this bond is supernatural
+ The Chuck Wagon: Named after his father Charles, Gru’s personal method of transportation is possibly the most impressive thing about him. It’s the largest wagon in the Pilgrim’s Caravan by far, and isn’t just a living space, but a mobile cheese factory that he’s put huge amounts of money into perfecting. It’s divided into ‘wet’ and ‘dry’ halves, each with their own doors on the right side. The wet half is essentially a laboratory, with multiple vats and tanks for liquid storage, milk coagulation, curd separation, brining, and so forth, all watertight and able to be locked down during travel. There’s even vat for the crushing and fermentation of grapes The dry half has shelves for drying and aging cheese (and also wine), and is where Gru lives. The top floor of the Chuck Wagon, about a foot in height and known as the ‘attic’, is a compartment reserved exclusively for his rats. They have little houses in there with straw bedding, food stores, etc, and on good days Gru can open up the top of the wagon to make the little village open to the air. On the left side of the wagon are two large silos, one filled with water and the other with rat food, including grains, seeds, and nuts. Perhaps most interesting is how the wagon moves; instead of being drawn by horses or other beasts of burden, it has eight enormous wheels, four in the front and four in the back. These are hollow and function as giant hamster wheels, making the Chuck Wagon entirely rat-powered. The rats work the wheels (and, under Gru’s supervision, the kitchen) in shifts and go up into the attic to rest
- Noncombatant: Gru isn’t really a fighter. He doesn’t have the constitution for it, nor the interest. He prefers to get others -people or otherwise- to do his fighting for him, especially if there’s serious risk and/or publicity involved
- Something Irreplaceable: Although Gru’s greatest strength, the Chuck Wagon is also his greatest weakness. It’s very important to him, and he’s extremely averse to any damage to it. Losing it is practically out of the question, and there’s very little he wouldn’t do to keep it safe. After all, it’s not just the source of his livelihood; it’s everything he owns, and without it, he’d be almost nothing. The same goes for his rats. While losing them isn’t the end of the world, they’re all his friends, and not just tools for him
- Unlikeable: In contrast to animals, people generally don’t like him, and he doesn’t like them. His generally acerbic attitude makes it difficult for genuine relationships to form, and he prefers businesslike arrangements of give and take where expectations are clear and no strings are attached
Mycomancy Gru isn’t just a businessman. He’s also a practitioner of a dark school of magic that manipulates fungi, especially mold–a fact he’s gone to great lengths to hide. He only ever practices it in the privacy of the Chuck Wagon’s interior, and even then in very small scale, manipulating mold to make cheese and the yeast that ferments wine to speed up the processes. In his time with the Caravan to date, he’s never needed to resort to using it for combat in front of the others, instead relying on his rats for self-defense. However, it’s possible for him to infest living things with mold that corrupt and weaken them from within, reducing their speed and defense so much that even he can kill them easily, let alone his rats. This mold can also be used to break down and dispose of dead organic matter, and create mold creatures under his control
Gru also owns four cheese-making tools that he keeps in his Chuck Wagon which happen to be usable as weapons. This includes:
Two cheese knives the size of scimitars, curved and with double-pointed tips
A cheese fork with a shaft so long it functions as a bident
A spico, a kind of curd-cutting tool about the size and shape of a large mace, but with a head shaped like a round cage of blades
A curd harp, essentially a shovel where the head is a square array of cutting blades
He could try fighting with these if he wanted, but they're mostly wielded by his favorite rats when they become Rat Kings. This is when Gru commands them to use swarms of their fellow rats to create large, bear-shaped rat masses that Pepper, Rick, Wensley, and Reggie 'pilot'. These Rat Kings are very strong, but since at least a few rats die whenever the Rat Kings take a hit, they'll typically fall back to regroup if threatened with serious losses
Greatest Desire: To never face the consequences of his actions
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Three Likes: His rats, his cheese, and his trade
Three Dislikes: Nosy people, unreasonable people, unmanageable people
Driving Organ: After seeing where his mind got him, Gru decided to follow his heart
Worst Fear: His secret getting out
Favorite Color: Wine red
Most Like The Animal: It’s hard to say
Favorite Time of Day: Dinnertime
Style of Dress: Gru dresses in the style of early industrialists, like the archetypal oil baron, with a rough, outdoorsy sort of formal wear. He’s given to large, heavy, long coats, expensive but still highly functional, worn over a pinstriped suit vest and pants with accompanying tie, ascot, or bow tie (his favorite). He prefers dark, desaturated colors, including black, brown, gray, and red. Most often he wears gray, accentuated by wine red. He’s seldom seen without gloves or boots, a mix of function and (perhaps questionable) fashion that nevertheless form a iconic aesthetic. Most iconic of all are his very small dark spectacles and his tricorn hat. That hat’s side flaps are much larger and rounder than the forward one, which together with its pink underside give the impression of big, floppy ears. One other thing to note is that all of his coats seemingly have a big gray fur collar. On closer inspection, this collar is actually a mass of live rats, so he literally has rats on him at all times (when possible, anyway). He also keeps one of his four favorite rats under his hat at all times, which itself wears a hat while doing so
Favorite Season: Spring, the best season for farm animals to feed on fresh growth, and thus the best season for cheese
Beliefs: That everybody deserves a second chance
One very important question, which I'm asking right now real quick at the end of my break at work this evening:
.......Is the rat hiding under his hat also wearing it's own tiny tricorn hat? You mentioned it does wear a hat, but not the kind of hat. Yes. Hat-ception
Finally....completed...the app! Finally. Not that it wouldn't perhaps need edits to fix it as it gets reviewed, but I am just happy to finally have it completed. Lol. XD
Now it is time to sleep..
Alcides
"What is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"
-Paarthunax, The Elder Scrolls Skyrim
Real Name: Jason Alexander Smith (the name given to him at the facility he was in) ((Daniel Craig Taylor" is his actual birth name when he went missing as a kid, but its not what he goes by currently either.))
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Alias/Nicknames: Alcides
Color Choice: Coral
Appearance: A younger man with a physique seemingly that that of an ancient greco-roman statue, which is to say his body is at its uttermost prime and then some to an extent enabled by the modified Extremis he was exposed to and treated with for over a decade. His body and face and limbs and such are muscular, toned, and well-defined to a a frankly superhuman level in terms of body shape and build, and yet overall he is not overly large akin to big bodybuilders either in the end. Could even keep that build even if he stopped working out, frankly, due to how his body was altered by modified Extremis as well over the years. His height of 5'11" falls below that of 6-foot-tall people, but is tall enough to reach the top shelf spectacularly well while having to avoid low-hanging entranceways as a tradeoff. His once childhood-age dirty blonde hair has been altered and tweaked to be jet black by this point, and his eyes are a dark chocolate brown color that he seemingly still had as a young child at least. While not pale or otherwise tan-skinned naturally, though, he can still get a proper tan rather than burn in the sun as well.
A person who could be seen as a ‘true stoic’, having learned how to endure much without showing any visible emotion and while keeping his mouth properly and tightly shut. To others Jason would likely appear ‘unfeeling’ and ‘no-nonsense’ otherwise, or simply like a ‘man of action but no words unless they’re barking orders’, but in reality it's more he’s been trained and pushed and frankly forced to learn how to compartmentalize, internalize, process, and then handle his emotions and such in a different way than most humans normally do. Otherwise he can and is able to express himself much like other human beings, though it's taken a solid year in SHIELD custody to get him to do it somewhat more naturally and learn how to better ‘flip the expressive switch’ inside of his head when doing so in a mental sense. It isn’t perfect, but it's more than he ever had the option of being able to do before. In that sense he’s ‘grown’ in the human sense since his capture.
He is also someone who enjoys spicy foods and cooking, and is a nerd who enjoys ‘geeky’ type of media and cheeky silly pop-culture references since he first began to indulge in such things for the first time (even plays a few video games to boot). At the same time he has remained someone highly-disciplined in how he holds himself and acts in general, and continues to do so. He is someone who enjoys sitting on the porch and watching the sun set over the hill, and feeling the cool air of a gentle fall breeze on his skin when sitting outside, or floating on his back in water even, to soothe his mind when he’s feeling either stressed enough or simply wants to be (or already is) lost in thought. He is also someone who has become detached from the trauma of his early childhood due to how he’s lived for over a decade by now, and yet at the same time retains some passing curiosity about it and is able to recall it with a superhuman clarity now that he never asked for in the first place. Yet he is also someone who feels a number of mixed emotions about those he was around in the past to boot, ones which have yet to unravel or be fully worked out as of yet.
In the end, Jason has expressed well enough that he ultimately wants to find a better course for himself. To do something better. To become someone better. Likewise, he has mostly without speaking sought to reclaim his humanity to enough of an extent moving forward. He is essentially a shooting star in the heavens, seeking a path all his own in a cold and dangerous universe that he is trying to better navigate now than he was able to before….but whose warmth and ‘warm spots’ have also consequently become more brightly visible to him than they were prior as well.
History:
It all began with an idea. A goal. A vision. An advanced weapon platform, one similar to the likes of the legendary Iron Man and yet also surpassing his designs. Something akin to a ‘miniaturized mech’ worn as powered armor by the pilot, capable of incredible speed, precision, and firepower. Something that, in the mind of its original designer, would be a tool of hope for Earth’s people to use in a seemingly very much ‘mad’ universe. Alien invasions. Ultron. Magic. Technology. Mutants. Whatever had produced all these sorts of villains, they tore apart cities. Wrecked countries. Destroyed any sense of safety and comfort that humanity perhaps had at some point in time, whenever that last was, and made them reliant on the charity and whims of what boiled down to a small few who themselves were far from incorruptible.
This was what the eventual Greek-German polymath Atticus Meyer came to believe, even after moving to the United States with his family as a young boy after a traumatic disaster back home in Germany before rising up the ranks of academia and seeking to see his vision be made manifest. Was it an obsession for him? Certainly to some extent, and yet at the same time the genius of a man was shaped by the chaos of the places he and his family lived in before he set out on his own in his adulthood. Someone who had lived in a world where security was not guaranteed, technology was rapidly advancing, and where superheroes and horrible villains alike existed around him. Thus in the end Atticus would calculate his chances, look at potential avenues, and then approach a company known as the Paradigm Corporation in an effort to see his idea to fruition.
The Paradigm Corporation, a subsidiary of Hammer Industries, seemed to be the perfect target. It was no secret that Hammer Industries was on less than amicable terms with Stark Industries and its own superhero of a ‘leading man’, as it were, and thus the promise of defeating or surpassing the number one enemy of Hammer Industries’ own CEO would likely come off as wholly enticing. Too enticing to resist, even, as the polymath hoped. Tugging at contacts before approaching the Paradigm Corporation with his formal presentation, Atticus would in particular seek to bend the ears of Hammer Industries CEO Justin Hammer to him. Anything to ‘set the stage’ and ‘rig the odds’ in his favor before he went in. And indeed the idea would find purchase with the board of the Paradigm Corporation as its potential was brought to light, likewise being helped along as Hammer Industries’ CEO would put some notable but indirect pressure on the subsidiary to take on the project. Thus “Project Talos” would be brought into existence, as it would so be named, with Atticus being hired on to assist with the project at a black site under the company’s facilities under the supervision of the Paradigm Corporation’s own Head of R&D: Sergei Radovich.
The technology itself could be developed using various advanced designs and the like that were in existence on Earth, and there were also a number of necessary ‘acquisitions’ of things like alien wreckage or the like to study and use in the project’s development in turn over time. However, the main issue of the project ended up not being the technology as much as the….pilots. Even while the project’s initial prototypes were functional enough, their specs were greater than what a human being could handle at first. Likewise, dumbed down versions lacked the promised potential in terms of firepower and capabilities that the project had tempted Paradigm and Justin Hammer himself with. Human augmentation using things such as implants, prosthetics, protective clothing, and even illegally-acquired samples of Extremis only did so much to potentially bridge the gap. Likewise, despite falling into hiring on ‘highly resilient’ mutant test pilots most human or mutant test pilots alike were hurt or maimed in one way or another by the suit or the very means being used to try to adjust them to surviving use of the prototypes.
There was a development called an “inhibitor device” that would eventually be created in the pursuit of increasing pilot survivability as well. This device acted as a sort of ‘addition’ to the prototypes, as it would automatically monitor pilot health and adjust the prototype suits’ capabilities to be survivable for the pilot based on futuristic biometric data analysis. It saw a notable increase in test pilot efficiency and a vast drop in damage done to them, and some increased funding given to Project Talos at that, though even then it was only serving to hurt the end product by further degrading its capabilities when used in combination. It did, however, save a fortune on further medical bills and the like. Even so, its success was part of the frustrations of Project Talos only grew and Atticus as well as Sergei tried to find a solution.
This solution would come with the hiring of a few ‘less scrupulous’ individuals, a decision that was made at the rather indirectly-applied pressure of Justin Hammer to the Paradigm Corporation as he discreetly monitored the development of the project from afar. Cue the entrance of one ‘Sebastian Schmidt’, a genius biochemist of seemingly Swiss origins who was brought on-staff and would ultimately greatly contribute to the project with his expertise. Sebastian would seem to buddy up with Sergei as well as Atticus, acting as a more passive ‘guiding influence’ for the project’s work. With his contribution, many of the less effective methods of attempting to create a ‘proper pilot’ for the project would be pruned in one way or another. At the same time, it would be Atticus who was inspired by a targeted but seemingly innocuous suggestion that Sebastian made one late evening as the two worked alone in the lab: “Perhaps the problem is that you are trying to perform these changes on fully grown adults, people whose bodies are far less malleable to shape and develop for such a purpose.”
It was here the man who had seen much darkness, who had sought to ethically improve the project’s results with his critical work in developing the Inhibitor Device, and had such dreams for his vision would finally be convinced to cross another line. A final line that would see him fall from grace for the sake of success. Between him and Sebastian, they were able to develop a process and methodology that would be presented to Sergei (and Justin Hammer approving it above Sergei from the shadows) for approval. Once this approval was given….the new method of trying to create viable pilots would commence.
The idea was simple. Take young enough children and begin a long-term therapy of exposure to and immersion in modified batches of Extremis, going from ‘weaker batches’ and graduating up to stronger ones over time. Temper their bodies with it in the long-term, use them to test equipment and prototypes along the way, and give them combat training as well as piloting training and education to likewise hone their skills and minds, and then from there the candidates could be weeded out until only the best remained. The best. The brightest. The ones who could pilot the final product with meticulous preparation to turn them into the optimal soldiers. The future of humanity’s protection and defense.
Using a number of black market and disposable contacts alongside more disposable means, as well as only gathering up ‘candidates’ over the course of six months, one hundred and twenty three children candidates would be acquired and imported to the facility black site discreetly for the project from the USA and around the world by illicit means. Each candidate would be given an initial treatment period of two months in the weakest batch of ‘introductory Extremis’, and from this only sixty one would survive this initial testing to move to the next trials ahead. Over the next eleven years beyond these two months, the remaining child candidates would be trained, drilled, educated, sent on limited ‘missions’ eventually, and conditioned to shape them and mold them into what the project sorely needed. The optimal pilot. Likewise, the technology itself would be improved for the project to match the growing potential of the pilots.
Many would die, go mad, or the like along the way, narrowing down the candidate pool and culling its size over and over until only three candidates were left. These three would then be unceremoniously brought to a underground arena of sorts created underneath the black site, one where they and others had tested equipment and sparred in for years, and told they had one last task before they could ‘graduate’ to the next stage of the program: They had to kill each other. Only one of them could receive the reward of the one ‘final product’ suit that had been made, one which would be used in a year’s time to show the project’s successes off to the board first before working to put it and a series of clones of the final test pilot into a greater production line. Thus the final three would be pitted against each other, fighting to survive in a bloody and brutal battle until only one of them came out as the victor.
This victor would then be taken back in, and for another year be pushed even further with even more potently modified Extremis and training. They would be polished and drilled and even sent on several further missions to ensure their performance shined like the purest glittering gold during the project’s final showcase. Even the very final product this ‘victor’ would wear was further tweaked and refined out of meticulous nervousness to prepare for the coming showcase at that.
As the momentous day finally arrived for what seemed to be Project Talos’ success, and the Paradigm Board of Directors arrived at a private above ground testing site leased out for the occasion, the showcase would finally begin as Atticus, Sebastian, and Sergei watched on with anticipation from the same observation deck as the board was in. They would explain the project’s parameters and success as the pilot performed out there for the onlookers. Flying. Ducking. Rolling. Precision fire. Etc. Yet as the pilot was doing his routine for the showcase, the test site was suddenly accosted by a rather large SHIELD force. Guns raised, superpowered help brought in, the whole metaphorical nine-yards as SHIELD cracked down on the project at the same time as a raid on the Paradigm Corporation’s facilities and concealed black site was taking place. Many were arrested, many tried to fight back, and in the end the test pilot would be subdued and captured as well.
Sebastian, for his part, would be killed by a cyanide pill stored in a fake tooth as he muttered the phrase ‘hail HYDRA’ before passing. Because, as genetic testing and a SHIELD investigation would finally turn up, Sebastian had been a clone and body double for the infamous Arnim Zola sent to help the project along and send back useful data to HYDRA. Meanwhile Atticus took a hard impact to the head and went unconscious before being captured, finally mentally snapping after he woke up in SHIELD custody after the incident. Sergei would himself die trying to shoot SHIELD operatives with a pistol taken from one of the slain company guards at the site, going down in a hail of bullets. Most of the board of the Paradigm Corporation would be arrested as well, having surrendered, with only one death occurring in the crossfire as the board’s guards attempted to fight back SHIELD. Further, a strange chain reaction of explosions that seemed to be caused by accident during the raid on the facility black site would destroy remaining samples, most machinery, and most of the final data Sebastian had not gotten to transmit yett along with it in the process.
As for the pilot? The pilot would be taken into SHIELD custody, being initially contained, then forced into therapy, and along the way being studied for around a year before an offer was brought for the pilot to join the Avengers Academy.
….It was a discussion that, in the end, the pilot would accept.
He was only five years old at the time he was taken. A kid who had lost everything in a fire, no parents, no family, not a single thing left. He’d rejected it, he’d cried, he’d screamed, and then ran away from the home he’d been temporarily placed in while they looked for his other relatives. A stupid kid with the stupid idea in his head that he would be able to find them, maybe, somewhere out there at his old home and address. They had to be. He needed them to be.
In the end, the young Daniel Taylor would be labeled a ‘missing child’ case after police were unable to find him after many days and several weeks of searching. Many assumed he was dead somewhere, or had been kidnapped, and yet the trail had gone very much cold along the way. In reality, the kid had been kidnapped by illicit types in search of a ‘payday’ by kidnapping him and bringing him and a number of other kids to men in black suits with unmarked vans and guns held in their hands. Money had exchanged hands, he and the others were forced into the vehicle owned by the men in suits, and then after the sound of shouting and gunfire rang out before he and the others were driven far away.
Such was Daniel’s experience as he, and one hundred and twenty other children in total, would be kidnapped and brought to the black site underneath The Paradigm Corporation’s facilities. Here he would see in horror as around half of the ‘candidates’ the company had acquired were injected with and immersed into modified Extremis over the course of two months, with him being one of the survivors of that initial batch. Yet despite his desire to escape somehow, the boy was terrified and forced into the harsh and disciplined training regimen that would come afterwards. At times he and some of the other surviving kids talked, got to know each other, and dreamt of escape or getting back home. Yet over the years this pool of peers shrank and shrank, and likewise the remainder of them were hardened and conditioned more and more alongside being pushed beyond their limits over and over and over again.
Less and less of them were around to talk to. The memories of what came before they were taken into this “Project Talos” became fainter and fainter or otherwise forgotten. More and more focus on their own personal survival and success began to come into their minds, simply to be able to get by. The will to live would even come to supplement much of their former secretive (albeit actually observed) camaraderie outside of the times they’d be sent on missions covertly or secretly to gather materials or kill and destroy people and places to ‘test their capabilities’ in the field. Yet even so, some shards of humanity would seemingly persist among those who remained….even if they seemed to be being worn away bit by bit by the sands of time.
By the time only three of them were left, they had forged some sort of bond in a sense. One forged in survival and training and the like, and yet filled with various deep-running cracks from the pressures placed on them and the desire to come out of the other end of all of this. Likewise as "Jason" (as Daniel was renamed at the facility) would say in his own words later on, he would call it ‘complicated as hell, but something we felt was better than nothing’ after some thought. Even so, he and the other two survivors of the last over a decade would be brought to what seemed like another training session in the underground arena before being told their ‘graduation’ was at hand. All they had to do was....genmuinely kill each other until only one was left alive standing.
For a moment they almost seemed to pause after the instructor left and the all-too-familiar ‘starting alarm’ was rung to signal the beginning of their ‘graduation’. Then almost at the same time they fired on each other in a flurry, one that erupted into tactical and chaotic combat like that even to its observers was itself a bloody and brutal affair by the end. Yet in the end, Jason ended up being the last one standing. The only candidate left. The last survivor, and one whose bloodied hands had killed the last of those he had at times been able to in some capacity or another call ‘comrades’ on or off of the field. It was an experience even then that he would describe as ‘numbing’, but still as if something had been lost beyond the blood and sweat and damaged flesh he’d sustained during that fight. Indeed, the event would cement itself in his memories with a terrifying clarity despite the following year of continued training and missions and drills and Extremis treatments that came with it as he and the project workers prepared for the final showcase.
Then when the day of that showcase arrived, but lo and behold SHIELD came barging in with serious force. Those who had made him died or were captured. The board members were arrested. Even he would be subdued and captured after putting up some kind of fight, before being taken away and locked up for a time. Then what? He had no idea what came next, but he expected death or containment of some kind more than anything. Perhaps interrogation or torture, as he had been agonizingly trained to face.
Yet…no, none of that would happen in the end. What could come was questioning and such, yes, but then nothing like the torture or ‘advanced interrogation methods’ he’d faced in his training and led to expect by his creators. Instead there was….hot food. A soft bed in his containment cell. Talking to some doctor or another who was called a ‘therapist’ in sessions held with him while he was in his cell. His food situation would improve. Eventually, when he proved willing enough to not start a mess, even time to walk around and stretch was allotted to him. Bit by bit, even if much couldn’t be undone, hard work was done to try to ‘help’ him. Help? He and others had needed help long before, and yet even this internalized frustration would dissipate some in the face of the genuine humanity being shown to him. Things that tugged on the shards of memories of the past, before he and the others had become so hardened and conditioned, and it was….almost alien to him at first, really. Then came TV shows and movies, internet and games, and many other things that over the time period he would come to actually embrace in one way or another. Sure he eventually had to test his suit and its capabilities for those who contained him, but after a while he didn’t mind it so much even.
At the end of this most strange and peculiar year and a half, Jason would then be approached in his containment room by a strange person offering him something. A chance. An enrollment, if he was willing, into something being created called “Avengers Academy”. It was a chance to help people, to do good for the world, to become something more than he had been made to be if he so wanted to choose it.
Hmm…choice. To choose it? Not simply be ordered to do it? It was still strange enough to him, but in the end he would choose to accept the offer. It was a chance. It was a gift. It was an opportunity to ‘begin anew’ for himself, and allowed for someone among all of those dead candidates to actually live more of the life they had dreamt of in hushed whispers in the dead of night. Thus, after an amount of preparation, the new prospective ‘hero’ to be known as “Alcides” would begin his journey to Avengers Academy.
Powerset: (And skills/training too?)
Extremis Serum Physiology - The effects of the modified Extremis on his body and physiology. Super Strength, Superhuman Speed/Reflexes, Superhuman Stamina, and Superhuman Durability are among the most prominent capabilities this has granted him, as well as in the case of this modified Extremis granting him a potent Regenerative Healing Factor that can keep him alive through and allow him to recover from even injuries more standard Extremis healing factors cannot (lost organs/limbs, blindness or the loss of other sensory organs, etc). His body likewise produces a notably greater amount of bio-energy than before in turn, and both his memory and even ingrained ‘instincts’.’muscle memory’ have become very superhumanly potent in their own right (note this is not ‘super smarts’).
However, the most notable ‘peculiarity’ that he seems to possess is with regards to his genetics. Due to ____’s long term exposure to modified Extremis, the effects of the serum have become integrated fully into his natural biology. Likewise, his genetics have become….strangely and superhuman resilient as well. Drastically so in this case, as he has become immune to genetic damage and has achieved ‘biological immortality’ (as in doesn’t age, not ‘doesn’t die’). This simply means he will grow to hit his physiological prime before his biological ‘aging’ will cease entirely beyond that point. This does not originate from his regenerative healing factor repairing the damage of aging, but rather exists as its own thing at the genetic level.....and is suspected to have been a secretive addition to the experimental Extremis that created Jason that wasn’t intended to be there at first.
Enhanced Combat Training/Field Experience/Education - From missions served in the field as an advanced child soldier, to a constant and harsh training regiment back at the black site, to constant sparring matches and the like held in the facility’s underground ‘arena’, to years of drilling and education in the subject alongside more mundane or advanced topics, Jason’s potential for a childhood was sacrificed to turn him into the ‘optimal pilot’ as well as a super soldier. This training, experience, and education encompasses his skills both while in his suit and even while engaging in combat or such outside of his suit, including how to handle general ‘field repairs’ manually, unarmed combat or knife-wielding combat as well as ‘dirty fighting’, disassembling/reassembling weapons, assassination or sabotage, and things like general survival skills.
Mental Conditioning/Pain Tolerance - Jason has been conditioned over the years to withstand quite a bit without giving into the pain, both in his training and in more particular ‘conditioning’ such as being forced to suffer from various extremes and even very harsh torture methods (among other things). This conditioning did include being conditioned to following orders and to follow along with the training compliantly, though did not include subversive mind control or things like ‘trigger words’ or such things that were seen as too much of a ‘liability’ for the project’s end goals. However, his pain tolerance ended up and has remained extreme after it was all said and done and SHIELD ultimately took him into its custody.
Equipment/Paraphernalia:
Aegis Mk XVII Combat Exo-Suit - Also colloquially known to those in Project Talos as “Talos” or “The Aegis”, this is the final fruits of Project Talos’ developments and is the only existing ‘final product’ combat suit created by it after over a decade and more of development, upgrades, and fine-tuning prototype designs. While admittedly a rather expensive suit to design that stands head and shoulders above the prior prototypes created by the program, it was made to showcase the full potential of the program just as the pilot of it (Jason) was created to do the same. They were not designed at all to be the ‘mass produced version of the product’ for reasons and issues of sheer costs, time, and efficiency, among other things, and the idea held even by the leaders of Project Talos was to further study the test pilot and suit to develop ‘cheaper, distinctly lesser/weaker, but still effective clones and suits’ for sale that remained true enough to the program’s aims and goals. In this vein Jason and the Aegis alike stand out as the ‘be all and end all’ of Project Talos. but also as the lone examples of the ‘true full potential of the program’ which was to be worked down from after showcase when it would come to discussing potential mass-production efforts for the suit and new pilots.
Organic Metal Construction - The one ‘secret’ of the black site hosting Project Talos that survived the explosion, only one known mutant in the world is known to utilize or possess this substance: Colossus. At the same time, the man known as the mutant “Colossus” was never even involved with Project Talos, and from recovered records of the project it seems that some unknown mutant brought in on the project was the source of it before those involved in Project Talos fully developed the means to artificially grow/create Organic Metal on their own. The substance is exceptionally tough while remaining light and very flexible for something of its durability.
Likewise, due to its organic nature it can seamlessly interface with organic materials as well. It is also in this manner the suit interfaces easily and at a deeper level with its pilot than other forms of technology seem to be able to do. Still, the Organic Metal of the Aegis alone can also protect against most man-made ordnance and even superhuman assault, which would hardly leave a scratch on the hull for the most part.
Weapons - The primary weapons of the Aegis, as designed for the Aegis in time for the showcase at least, are as follows:
-The ‘Thundercloud’ Railgun: A handheld plasma-kinetic railgun rifle. In its ‘plasma’ mode it takes in and superheats and transforms the air on a planet (or even gases and plasma in the vacuum of space) around it into a super-concentrated projectile fired with the power of a high-powered but still handheld-size electromagnetic railgun. It also is loaded with a clip of kinetic penetrator rounds, and by switching this weapon to ‘kinetic’ mode one can fire up to seven rounds from the 20mm round clip. Switching between ‘modes’ is a very easy process the pilot can do by flipping a simple non-electronic switch on the weapon.
-The ‘Harpe’ Nanite Cluster: A cluster of self-replicating and semi-organic nanites that are EMP-resistant, at least, and can form a number of pre-programmed weapon designs such as axes, machete/short swords, blades, shields, and most uniquely an arm-mounted pile-bunker. While not as durable themselves as the Organic Metal composing the Aegis, they can passively regenerate rapidly in the field. In cases of high levels of damage to the suit and/or pilot inside, these nanites will switch into ‘emergency support mode’ and work to keep the pilot alive/healthy as well as support the rest of the suit itself and its systems to restore functionalities or help maintain them and the like.
-The ‘Enyalios’ Pulse Gun: A handheld crowd-control weapon developed using the principle of a PEP or “Pulsed Energy Projectile” weapon. Taken from designs made by the US Government for a non-lethal weapon, this design was miniaturized, given rapid-fire capabilities, and turned into a lethal-or-non-lethal-capable weapon for Project Talos. It is also the most potentially mass-producible aspect of the Aegis aside from the ‘Harpe’ Combat Suite. This Pulse Gun weapon works by using a powerful invisible laser that, when fired, ablates the surface of the target and generates a small amount of exploding plasma.
The electromagnetic radiation created by this small plasma explosion in ‘non-lethal’ mode affects the nerve cells and causes pain to the target without actually hurting them, while the pressure wave generated at the same time stuns the target’s body in a localized manner at the point of impact. Combined with the weapon’s rapid-fire capabilities, the weapon can cause rapid widespread pain and stun the body parts and bodies of a number of targets, but no matter where it hits the effects remain non-lethal in full and do not cause brain or dangerous heart damage.
The electromagnetic radiation generated by the ‘lethal’ mode of this weapon is enough to scorch through flesh and bone as well as briefly semi-melt the surface of tungsten metal during the brief plasma explosion. While not enough to do something crazy like ‘shoot holes through tanks’, that’s the railgun’s job after all, it does make it a lethal and dangerous crowd-control weapon in turn.
-Built-In “Supplementary Suite”: Two smaller nanite-replenished-and-repaired means of fighting built into the suit, either to be used in supplement to its primary weapons or in the case of not having access to the suit’s primary weapons.
The first part of this ‘suite’ is a simple pair of micro-missile launchers that can pop up out of each shoulder of the unit, mostly being protected by armor and limited in size and potency to keep them compact. Each ‘launcher’ can fire a total of two micro-missiles, which are each themselves capable of blowing up a general-use car/minivan/sedan one might find on the street.
The second part of this ‘suite’ is an attempt to mimic Iron Man’s ‘repulsors’, which are installed in both palms of the suit’s hands. It is not as advanced as said repulsors, but it mimics them through the use of converting heat/energy from the pilot and surrounding air/water into superheated plasma that can be fired in a sustained ‘beam’ (not ‘bursts’ or ‘blasts’). While mostly not dangerous, using this underwater can lead to potentially….’explosive’ results if the target of the attack isn’t far enough away from the suit in such conditions.
Movement - Thrusters for movement are built into the suit, allowing for rapid and even successive bursts of high-speed movement on the battlefield, flight in the air, and even enhancing physical attacks like knee-strikes or kicks or punches. In terms of travel speed, meanwhile, the suit at its maximum speed can reach just over Mach 1 at its top speed when flying in the air specifically (or if flying just above the ground if given enough room to reach that top speed).
“Nano-Repair Suite”/‘Inactive Modes’ - The Aegis possesses a built-in “Nano-Repair Suite” dedicated to maintaining and repairing the suit actively on and off of the battlefield, though this and the organic-interfacing nature of the Synthetic Organic Metal it is made of also lends itself to another capability. The suit can break itself and its weapons down very rapidly, storing them inside the pilot’s body in hollows and spaces and ‘gaps’ in the body as tightly-condensed matter until the pilot activates it again (in which case the suit reassembles itself and the weapons overtop the pilot’s body rapidly in this case).
The Aegis can both store itself inside the pilot, going into its ‘inactive mode’ in this way, but also let out the pilot and sit there in what is called its ‘freestanding inactive mode’ as well. In its ‘freestanding inactive mode’, it does retain a small bit of energy from when the pilot was using it for purposes of powering self-maintenance/repair functions. While stored inside of the pilot’s body, or going into its general ‘inactive mode’, it helps curb the excess bio-energy in the pilot’s body at a much lower rate by tapping into it still to further power its self-repair/maintenance functions in this state (as well as helping repair/heal the pilot from within to boot). Albeit this power drain occurs in this case at a much slower and lower rate than when it is being actively used in its ‘deployed’ form.
Sensors/Computing - A sophisticated sensory array was installed into the Aegis, allowing it long-range radar, telescopic visual, infrared/thermal, and other such sensory capabilities when being used by its pilot. It can also access databases linked to it as well as interact with general wireless devices when out in the field, and is capable of very fast interfacing with its pilot and its own internal systems as well as being able to interface with the suit's own list of weapons (carried or built-in) through touch or even wirelessly. With how the suit was designed, it can be operated without needing a supporting A.I. to help manage it and its capabilities, though this comes at the cost of any such advantages a built-in A.I. might have for such a device as the Aegis as well...
Combat Knife - A gift received from one of the last two of his comrades after it was just the three of them left, and well before the ‘graduation’ ceremony, it has his name and the names of the other two former pilots etched permanently and painstakingly into its hilt. It was already like this when he was captured by SHIELD, and it was one item that he requested to keep by the time he left for Avengers Academy. To him it is a personal keepsake, something that is both a well-cared for weapon and survival tool as well as being a memento he has refused to let go of from his days back in the black site. Jason keeps this knife sheathed on his side at all times while he’s out of bed, keeps it within reach while he showers or bathes himself, and even keeps the thing close by when he sleeps for that matter.
Mauser M1932 Pistol - A refurbished WW2-era German pistol produced by Mauser, it was a family heirloom of Atticus’ German grandfather. Said grandfather worked in a factory that produced those particular arms after 1937, before acquiring one for ‘personal protection’ and eventually using it when fleeing with his family and two Jewish families on a dangerous route to get to the United Kingdom in 1941. He then passed it down to his son when the family moved back to West Germany after World War 2, who in turn eventually passed it down to Atticus as a family legacy. Then Atticus (who had no children of his own) passed it down to Jason after his ‘graduation ceremony’ as a gift after pulling him aside to talk with him. The weapon has been cleaned and refurbished, still uses a 10-round detachable box magazine, and chambers 9x19mm ammunition that can still be found on the modern market.
In some ways it can be considered the last ‘sane’ bit of Atticus that the man gave away to try to help another, as in the man’s eyes Jason was basically like a child of his since the beginning. Especially after the ‘graduation ceremony’ of all things. Someone that, despite it all and the scientist’s own internal struggles along the way, that Atticus was genuinely proud of for surviving and getting that far. Despite falling from grace and already having gone a bit ‘mad’ by then to a certain extent, this perceived relationship of seeing them like his children was what drove Atticus to over time show some kindnesses to the ‘subjects’ and then final ‘test pilots’ over time. Indeed when the man woke up after being captured and finally ‘snapped’, Jasoon was brought to see him four times during his own captivity to see if his presence could help SHIELD get more information out of Atticus. Atticus would go into a state of rare semi-rational questionable lucidity upon seeing him where they could even almost converse properly to some extent.....at least until the older man began to sink back into the mire of his own mind one more.
Weaknesses: Weaknesses is exactly that; the flaws in your character, whether emotional, physical, or technological. Point out weak spots in their powers, character flaws that can be exploited, or vulnerabilities in their gear that could be detrimental. Like before, an example will be provided.
Excess Bio-Energy/BOOM - Due to being essentially an organic battery for his suit, Jason’s excessive production of bio-energy is being kept in check when he pilots or dons it for periods of time. This certainly makes him less prone to potentially exploding, though if he does not drain the excess bio-energy for overly long periods of time the risk to potentially explode will notably increase instead.
No Heat/Electricity Attacks - Donning the suit to keep his bio-energy in check results in him being unable to project this bio-energy as heat-based or electrical attacks like most users of Extremis could. This is due to the constant drain the suit puts on him, which leaves energy levels too low to be able to do this sort of thing. On the other hand, if he goes too long with the suit then he could unleash such attacks….but this comes alongside other risks (as noted in the prior entry above this).
Organic Metal Weaknesses - Only when extraordinarily powerful individuals or other super-metals (or of course, abilities that can influence machinery in some fashion) get involved when the material can truly be found lacking.
Railgun Weaknesses - While this weapon doesn’t work underwater in any firing mode, or when submerged in water for that matter. Generally air humidity otherwise is regulated by built-in filters for the weapon and doesn't affect it for the most part in any firing mode, but something like a sauna or the middle of the steamy rainforest after a fresh rain though? It can still work, but it works a lot slower than normal under such circumstances when in its ‘plasma’ mode while respectively being unaffected in kinetic mode under such environmental circumstances in turn.
Aegis Internal Pilot Storage - If the suit stores itself inside the body of the pilot, it does inherently have the obvious drawback of making the pilot’s body super-dense and easier to sink. Not a fun time to be sure if in a body of water or on a fragile surface….hence why the ‘external storage’ method was developed for it so the pilot isn’t always forced to store the suit inside of their body.
Prior Conditioning - For over a decade Jason was molded into the optimal specimen for Project Talos, and as such he is a trained (and was a child) soldier who exhibits all the issues of someone trained in that manner and who lived such a life in the psychological sense. While he has become ‘better’ than he was over the course of his year in SHIELD custody, some things like ‘don’t go for certain areas of the body when doing unarmed combat training’ are still, er, either new to him or so ingrained that they remain a reflex.
This also comes with the notion that he is still learning ‘what to expect’ from training and such, and could react more or less brutally in application on his end of things, after having been trained so brutally and harshly and intensively over the years prior to SHIELD taking custody of him. This doesn’t mean he hasn’t been told to and reminded to expect something not on par with what he’s gone through before in training and education, but ah…..old reflexes are still at times going to be hard to notice and work on restraining when you were used to the instructor going for your knees before.
(Anything Else Listed In The Prior Sections Of The App Potentially)
Issue #0/Testing Post:
Clank. Clunk. Clank. Clunk. His boots weren’t made of metal, but on the hollow walksways reaching over to another part of the complex’s ‘containment unit’ they sure made a thud of sorts. Nothing he wasn’t used to, and yet the occasion for walking to elsewhere in the SHIELD facility was certainly something he wasn’t used to. Even so the door slid open with a gentle but swift ‘woosh’, and while the nearly pin-drop-silent exterior had been one things…..the sounds inside of it were something else entirely as he, and Sub-Commander Francois walked inside. More like a blood-curdling howl into some imaginary night air than anything else.
“My babies! All of them! Dead! Oh please, please my children, forgive me for doing this!”
Thump. Thump. THUMP. Thud. CRASH.
Before them was a clear-walled cell, or at least it was from the front, though it had been lined with copious amounts of tear and bashing-proof padding of some description. It assuredly wasn’t a cell of as high of a security level as his own was, and yet at the same time held something inside mostly to….keep it safe, it could perhaps be said, in this instance. Though what was being kept safe from who depended upon the perspective.
“I did it! I did it all! It’s real, its…..I….I….what have I done….no, by the heavens what have we done?! They’re all dead! No, please, I didn’t mean for this. But I did it anyway! Every last damned bit of it, and now you won’t stop talking to me!”
Within the cell sat an older man, one who had been thrashing around initially, though seemed to have stopped for a bit as his restraints were mechanically tightened through remote-control as he had been forcefully ‘swaddled’ a bit tighter by his straightjacket and seemed to make him slow down a little more. His body seemed almost as frail as wet paper, and yet his strength seemed like that of a man possessed. Perhaps he was….perhaps not. His thinning white hair, once a Mediterranean-esque dark brown that nearly looked black, was regardless frayed and tossed and messy as anything, with signs that it might be close to needing another trim. Even so, his contrastingly bright green eyes seemed to flit about as if covered in a haze as if he was looking at something no one else could see….or ‘somethings’ really.
“Ah! The blood!!! There…..oh there’s so much blood! Please, get it off of me! It’s staining my skin! My clothes! My hair! Get it out, get it out! Please, please I don’t want to hear your voices anymore! I’m damned to hell as it is, but please stop! I can’t….please….somebody save me…..pleeeeeeease….”
The last agonized, squeaking plea for help from the genius’ mouth cut through the air like a knife, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. And indeed, as they walked closer he could see more to the cell than perhaps met the eye. Scrawlings, drawings, scribbled almost like a child on the floor. Some looked like planes. Some thunderbolts. Others looked like exploding bombs. Yet even among this were mathematical and chemical formulae, internals for some peculiar machine yet to be invented or made, and most notably….the word ‘sorry’ seemingly carved deeper than the rest into whatever it could be. The bed that had gone irregularly used, from the looks of it, and its metal frame had been the canvas for that it seemed….before the restraints came into play at that, if he had to take a guess.
The weight in its holster on his right hip felt even greater with each step he took toward the cell, until as the two of them got close enough the old man in the cell seemed to suddenly stop in place. It was as if he’d been frozen in time, his head craned back and to the side until his eyes had discovered their presence. Yet the SHIELD Sub-Commander wasn’t what the intense focus of those eyes was fixated upon. Rather, he was.
“My boy….oh my boy! You’re alive! Oh bless this day, you’re alive my child!”
The old man swiveled back around and seemed to sit his butt hard down on the floor with a plastic-y ‘SLAM’ in short order. His legs crossed as if he was sitting for story-time in turn. Yet as two chairs were brought up for them to sit in, his own closer to the cell than the one for Francois, the old man let out a jubilant laugh.
“I had thought your voice was calling to me like all the rest, but no. Oh frabjous day! Callou! Callay!”
“....Yes sir. It’s me.”
“Oh my boy it's been awful since then, but Sergei’s been sneaking in to tell me things. Maybe we can get you out yet! Then we must go see my sister and her children back in Berlin. Chose to move back there despite the mess….oh the dirty, nasty mess back there. Almost wiped out the city, you know? It's why our parents left that forsaken place….but….really nowhere is safe.
Yes. It's why you-....why all of them had-.....but I had to sell them on it, and I had to….I had to complete the-….oh….no! Please no not again! Please, not the blood!”
The older man seemed to start craning his neck again all over, as his voice near the end of his speaking turned again almost into a bestial howl, though pulling out the growing weight on his right hip he flashed the glimmer of metal in front of the man. Something shiny. Something he could perhaps recognize as he quickly piped up to speak to him again.
“Director Attic-.....Sir. I’m here. You….don’t have to look at the blood right now. Just look at this. Follow my voice.”
The old man froze again before he could wind himself all the way back up, the glimmer of metal bringing him back down into his ‘criss cross applesauce’ sitting position with another loud ‘THUD’. Indeed, the older man’s face would press closer to the clear side wall of the cell between them as he turned his head a little to get a good look at it. In turn, however, ____ silently rotated the gun a bit for the older man to see a bit better.
“Ah….that was my father’s, you know! Brought him and his father safely to the United Kingdom in World War Two. He lived there for a time before grandfather took them back to Berlin after it was partitioned off….wanted to see if his brother’s family was still alive there. Last he’d heard of them.
In fact my mother met my father there, in Berlin, after grandfather had settled down there after the war. Didn’t have the inkling to return to where he’d once lived and worked otherwise really…can’t say I blame him in hindsight. But my parents loved the streets, even though my grandfather barely left home anymore after a particular episode he had out in the city one day. Just froze up as if someone was going to shoot him……he had been holding my hand that day even. I always wondered why it happened, but father never told me until I was much older after that day about the reasons.
That weapon….it saved lives you know. Ours. The two Jewish families grandfather brought along with his own along the way that had been his neighbors or friends at some point in time even. Filthy Nazis, damn Nazis, bastards sullied the damned world and ruined us! German? Oh sure, let’s use the damn Germans as STEROTYPE EVIL VILLAINS AND FILTHY BEASTS BECAUSE HITLER AND SCHMIDST DECIDED TO-....to-….to…
Ah! My boy you’ve still got it! Oh I hope it serves you well. I….I’ve not done a thing to deserve keeping that. I wanted to pass it onto my kids, but after the accident back home I….we….my wife couldn’t take it after all we’d invested into the idea of our happy family. I couldn’t either.
But you, dear boy! ___! Oh I remember yours and the others’ names….I still….I still do….I can’t let myself forget….I can’t ever forget….but they just keep ringing in my ears! Talking to me. Screaming Crying. So much pain….
But maybe that heirloom will serve you better than it did myself. Save more lives. Yes, once we get the project funded I can finally help them all! A world where no man has to feel like grandfather ever did again, where the damned walls and soviets or turks aren’t mucking things up for so many people, and where even that damned alien who destroyed it all can’t make the children of the world afraid ever again!!! And then I can bring them back, they’ll all see! Then we can be a big, happy-….and maybe my wife will….ah….its hurts….please…..please make the voices stop….”
He looked back silently as the older man rambled on, his face wrought in ironclad stoicism as a couple of his fingers gently rubbed the surface of the gun unconsciously. He would silently nod every so often as well, hoping the older man could see, though ultimately a very soft sigh would escape his lips as the old man seemed to descend back more into his more depressed ramblings.
“It will. I’m going to help people, just like you wanted to do.”
“You….are?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“That’s…..maybe I managed to….oh…..oh the voices….and the blood! THE BLOOD!!! Mother! Please I need you, just to hear your voice again! Please! Father, why are you glaring at me so? Are you taking their side?! Why those little….no, nonono they weren’t-.....they didn’t deser-.....oh….oh…..OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
For a moment it was as if he was looking back into the eyes of a man who had more hope for the world. Or perhaps he’d been hiding all of that stuff behind hopeful eyes, all of this time, and when those eyes faded he’d finally been left alone in the dark finally. He still didn’t fully know what to think. He didn’t want to call him what he’d asked him to, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to truly hate the man either. It was…..messy, far from what he’d been trained to do. Training that had torn him to pieces and rebuilt him as something, someone, else. And yet he could rely on that same training to get him through in the end, somehow, in what was perhaps a cruel twist of irony.
As Francois tapped him on the left shoulder, ____ looked back and nodded at the man before holstering the Mauser he had been holding out in his right hand gently back into its leather holster. He then gently stood up from the chair, just as the other man did, turning his gaze back toward the doorway they’d come in from….and not looking back at the old man returning to the height of his hysterics behind him. He could hear it, but he could also tune it out so easily it was terrifying….or perhaps comforting? Still couldn’t fully tell about that either, really, but maybe one day he would be able to. One day.
Clank. Clunk. Clank. Clunk.
The boots he wore now sounded just like the ones he’d worn before as he walked back toward the door. Sounded the same as they had for a very long time at that, even as they left and the door ‘wooshed’ closed behind them again.
Did that mean these boots were the same as those ones? Maybe. Maybe not. Only time would tell, really, but he had a new mission to pursue and focus upon. One he had chosen for himself, or at least he thought so, that he’d have to see the results of later in hindsight. But maybe the open sky before him now wasn’t wholly his though. Perhaps some of it was just the torn-up fragments of the utterly distant dreams of a genius-turned-madman, fragments that shone like stars before him. Yet he couldn’t deny that, if such was the case, the same starry fragments likewise lingered in the very twilit background that bloody and haunted creature behind him was howling into.
Did that make those two vistas they saw the one and the same? Again, perhaps so. Only time, and the days ahead, would be able to tell…
The SHIELD Sub-Commander ran a hand down his face as he sat at his desk, before looking back up at the Agent standing at attention in front of him. He could already feel the wrinkle lines in his own face growing older and older at the mere thought of what he’d been told. It was something he expected to see from some barbaric warlord in Africa, but to have it happen on US soil of all things? They’d already lost most of the black site, as well as the destruction done to Paradigm facilities sitting above it, and the raid on the showcase had lost them one suspect in the crossfire despite being a general success.
This was just icing on the cake.
“Humor me here, please, but the one piloting the damn thing was just….some kid? You’re sure, Agent Ortez?”
The hispanic man standing before him would solemnly nod after a moment of pause, before gesturing again to the documents he’d placed on the commander’s desk. A stack of printed reports and the details of the initial examination of the subject sat in front of the older man, clear as day and yet still something that managed to seemingly get him to feel disbelief at something as….well, as comparatively mundane as this. Mundane. What was mundane in the world anymore? Aliens, galactic deaths of trillions at the snap of a finger, magic, mutants, demons from hell, what else was new anymore? What else wasn’t the world seeing go on? So something like this, somehow, was more surprising than the rest of it.
“The subject, after powering down the suit they were operating, was found to be in their late teens after further observation and quarantine. Likewise what surviving lab records we possess take note of the subject’s age as well, though where the subject was taken from is still entirely unclear. However, it seems that the-”
“Yes yes, I read that part. This thing was going on for longer than we thought it was, a lot longer in fact. Hell the kid was killing a fair few of our agents out there as it was, and I still don’t want to believe it to some extent.
Is the pilot properly contained? Bells and whistles and everything based on what was observed in the field?”
“Yes sir, just as you requested after speaking with Commander Fury on the matter before relaying it to us. The containment cell itself was made of highly-rated materials in case of an attempted escape by the pilot, being highly resistant to kinetic damage, high-grade explosives, and thermal capabilities. We’ve got three heavily-armed and prepared guard units keeping a constant vigil on the subject’s cell as well in shifts, armed with heavy anti-electronic weapons and and gas vents installed in the roof of the cell that automatically go off in case of cell damage caused from the inside. There is also-”
Sub-Commander Francois Alderson would silently nod as the agent listed out the containment measures in a general sense. Even so, his tired brown eyes, expression, and aging gray-ish blonde hair seemed to reflect something of an exasperated mood still. He wanted to know if the checklist of safety provisions was sufficient, and so didn’t mind hearing it all over again for what felt like the millionth time in the last few days, yet all the same the matter still troubled him to a certain extent. Sure he’d been ‘snapped’ away for a while with the whole Infinity War mess, but even so he wondered…..if a lot of them had still been around, could they have stopped it any earlier? Found the trail of breadcrumbs just a little sooner, and maybe given the poor kid a chance?
“Ortez….how’s he doing?”
The agent stopped his listing, closing his lips in another brief silence before looking back in his CO’s eyes and nodding once more.
“He seems to sleep as little as he needs to remain alert, and keeps a close if not trained eye on anything he can hear and see from his containment cell. We had to keep the walls of it clear so we could keep an eye on him, but he seems to be doing the same with us. Also seems as if he’s….expecting something.
Energy levels in his body are also rising at a notable rate, sir, and Captain Asha requests installing something to siphon his energy reserves given its….er…given the Extremis he seems to have been imbibed with based on initial analysis.”
“Well there’s no telling what Meyer and all of the others did to him, or made him expect out of a situation like this, but see if he’ll take food this evening. Tell Asha she can install the measures underneath the floor, but I am not letting anyone in there directly for now. I also want three extra teams down there with her and the workers.”
“Yes sir!”
“And Agent.”
“Yes?”
“I want to go see the prisoner right now.”
“....Yes sir!”
It was a bit of a walk to get to the containment block in the facility from the offices, but there was a good reason for that as well. Security offices were close, just as the response stations were, but in case of a ‘worst case scenario’ they wanted to be able to evacuate staff and other non-combat personnel in a hurry. Beyond that, it had taken some space to build the containment sector of the SHIELD facility they were in to be able to be ‘customized’ for keeping particular sorts of ‘residents’ in them. Because this facility was made to handle and process and contain a number of high-security or ‘potentially variant’ threats of a notable sort. The sorts of things and people that couldn’t be kept behind normal bards or in simpler SHIELD facilities…..even the sorts that they had no idea what to do with for that matter, like that pilot they’d captured in the planned raid on the Paradigm Corporation.
Even as the two men’s shoes clanked over suspended metal walkways heading into the containment sector, passing rows of armed guards and security stations and the like, Francois couldn’t help but feel a grim expression come to his face all the same. The kid here was as old as one of his grandsons was getting, for pity’s sake, and while he’d seen a lot worse things come through here (or attack the facility for that matter) this one felt more personally disturbing than most others had felt to him over the years. A kid. A child soldier who could kill like that, who’d been doing it for heaven knows how long, and for all he knew had parents out there worried sick over him thinking their kid was dead or long gone.
“Sub-Commander Francois on deck!”
The guards currently on shift would each salute with one hand as the Sub-Commander and Agent came into the room, before in turn each soldier’s finger returned back onto the trigger guard of their primary weapon. No more than one set of eyes at a time looked away from the subject at any given time, or left them out of their peripheral vision, and EM-turrets and other tentative measures were looking on the subject with their own even more eternal vigil.
“At ease, and maintain your duties. I just wanted to observe the prisoner for myself after everything I’ve read on the incident so far.”
The kid’s dark eyes seemed to snap over to him in an instant as he spoke, and in turn the french-american man would stare right back.
They had no idea what else this kid could be hiding, or what he might do, and thus until Fury gave orders one way or another they’d have to remain on high-alert for this one and keep a careful eye on someone that was only some days ago painting the brains of some of their best trained general combat agents all over the concrete and terrain. It was a terrifying prospect that one of Hammer’s own subsidiaries had become wrapped up in this, but the weasel wasn’t going to go down with that ship either….hell, Hammer Industries had already approached SHIELD for ‘full cooperation’ in prosecuting Paradigm to try to sugar-coat it all a little bit to boot.
Yet that aside, just looking into the kid’s eyes Francois felt something all-too familiar begin to prick at the back of his mind. Something he didn’t much care for as an old soldier himself in the personal sense, but which would gradually bring itself further and further forward to the front of his mind that he didn’t bother to stop it. That look. The look not of a cornered animal, but something that expected pain. Expected torture, perhaps, for what he was and had done. Perhaps he even expected to die at any point in time that he or the guards so willed it. And yet despite expecting it, he did not seem to visibly fear it at the same time.
“...What’s your name, soldier?”
The words slipped out of the older man’s mouth like he was talking to a subordinate back when he had been in the service for the USA’s own. The kid only seemed to stare back silently in response, though neither’s eyes seemed to waver from meeting the other’s gaze. Eventually, however, the boy seemed to stand up with a straight back to look at him at least. Was pretty tall too, but nothing the old soldier was intimidated by either as he unwaveringly maintained his own standing posture. Then again, he wasn’t sure if the kid was going to try something or if he was even trying to be intimidating at all….hmm.
“Silent? Understandable enough, I suppose. In your eyes it must seem like we’re going to do something to you any second. Just one twitch of the muscle in the wrong direction….then BAM! Something happens. Or perhaps we are waiting for you to let your guard down, and then in comes the torture the moment you aren’ watching, hmm?”
The kid seemed to stare back without moving a muscle even still.
“I’ve a grandson your age. Kid plays football, runs around with friends, gets into trouble, the whole nine yards. Told me once he wants to join the military….follow in my footsteps where his dad was physically unable to. Told me he was proud of me, hell, got me to take him to a shooting range more than once when I was visiting his folks. Heh. You two are about the same height, all things considered, at that.”
“....”
“But truth be told, I wish he wouldn’t. You see, I want him to do what he wants in this world. I want him to be away from the messes that keep cropping up all over the place. Away from the horrors of things like….seeing the guy in front of you, knowing one of you’s got to pull the trigger, and at the same time he’s just pissing himself in as much fear as you’re feeling in that moment. Away from seeing the brains of some mother’s son or daughter’s father plastered all over the wall like Jackson Pollock turned into Marilyn Manson on a dime, even though the two of you were just talking over drinks a few short hours ago. Away from feeling like you’re trapped in the hell of the battlefield, and part of you just wants to cut and run no matter what it means….but you can’t run at the same time. Because if you run, you won’t survive it. Because you don’t want to die.”
“...”
“I see that look in your eyes like they're my own a little bit there. Even saw it in the eyes of people serving under me, and saw it in the eyes of people who didn’t deserve to be forced to feel like that in the first place. I’ve seen that stare that goes for a thousand yards and more as well….I’ve seen the look of fear in the eyes of the dead, or the resignation in what’s left of a face after a firefight.
Men. Women. Children. The more I went along in the service the more I began to understand. Nothing can get those things out of my head forever, as if they never left their mark on me in the first place. But I sure as hell can keep living. Living for me. Living for my family and loved ones. Living, perhaps, even for the sake of the poor sods who didn’t make it this far with me or who didn’t want to die. Or at least that’s my look on things.
…But if you wish to remain silent, that’s fine. Perhaps one day we’ll get to talk, but talk as men. Not as a prisoner and warden, but as men who have seen things and been through things that no one else should have to.”
Letting out his own sigh, Francois began to turn back around as he nodded to Ortez. It was time to go back to his office, but part of him wondered why he’d decided to say such things to this prisoner. This kid. This child soldier. This enemy who had not long ago killed even a few field agents he knew by name and face, and had even sent Christmas cards to during the holidays at that. Yet as Ortez looked to him to nod, the agent seemed to freeze suddenly for a moment…before putting a hand on the Sub-Commander’s shoulder.
Turning back around partly, Francois looked back with his eyes for a moment only to freeze in place himself. And, then, he finished turning back around as he felt a small smile come to his face. His back straightened up. His posture was formal. His hand, then, straightened out and came up to his forehead.
A salute….in return for the one the prisoner was giving him back.
A sign of respect for authority, and this kid was giving him one. A silent one, but it was clearly a proper salute.
For a second, Francois felt he could almost see a glimmer of something else in the kid’s eyes to boot as well. Hope? Slightly less tension? A silent way of giving him mutual recognition? It almost didn't matter to Francois in this case, but he wasn’t going to not return that respect or gesture in kind either. It could just be nothing as well, just something to lure him into a more comfortable position. Eh. But part of him didn’t feel like that was the case here. Not in this situation.
Perhaps there was hope for the kid yet, if nothing else. Hope for something better. But for now, they’d have to take it just like anything else: One day at a time.
...And he hoped they could meet each other there one day.
"Spirit wha-" Simon was interrupted as the blast shot his way and hit the shield. The shield shattered completely and Simon flew backwards into the wall and then dropped to the floor. "Oh, shit," he cursed in pain. "What the hell was that?"
The mage's hand reflexively twitched as Lillianna jerked it back in a hurry. A mild shock was in her eyes to see that she'd managed to bust the other man's Lesser Ward and outright just send him flying into the wall. Hadn't he done this before, or was this particular anomaly of a 'spell' just that strong? She had no idea for sure, but it was worrying in the heat of the moment just as much as it was intriguing in the back of her mind. Either way, she stood there with a perhaps fair but visible bit of hesitation as she watched Simon. Did...was he going to be ok? He was a Cleric, right? So maybe he could patch himself up a bit, or perhaps had a deity on call for some kind of rejuvenating blessing? Er...
Simon struggled to his feet. "By the winged sandles of Iskara, that was amazing. Spirit Gun? I've never even heard of that, before." He walked over to her, his face a mix of admiration, confusion and perhaps a little fear. But he managed to smile through it all. "You think you could do that again? I mean, is still there, in your mind?"
...Eh?!
"Y-Yes, it is still there just as it was before I used it, but more importantly are you-"
"Never mind for that now! I'm fine and well enough, yes, thank you for your concern. But more importantly we must look into this! Please, grab one of the books and help me look for a reference for this phenomenon."
Simon seemed to rush back over to the books he'd picked out for Lillianna, with the mage almost hesitating again before letting out a sigh and following him back over to the desk. The ardent Cleric almost seemed possessed by excitement itself, or perhaps it was still the adrenaline running through him from his prior impact with the wall, but either way he seemed to be thumbing through the pages, eyes flying over the pages of the tomes as if trying to find something. In that same vein Lillianna herself would pick up one of the books as well, beginning to thumb through the pages and looking for anything mentioning a 'Spirit Gun' of some sort....or at least something similar enough to match it perhaps.
"Are you sure we'll find anything similar to this?"
The man didn't even look up from the tome he was face-first in by now as he responded to her concerns.
"I hope so, but for now let us keep looking. We will not know until we have plied the appropriate tomes. Perhaps even one of the Histories will shed light on this, if nothing else."
...They were going to be here a long time, weren't they?
....
....
....
This gut feeling from the mage would prove true enough, as it would be some time passing by as the duo thumbed through the tomes Simon had procured, going page by page, chapter through chapter, volume by Quinity-blasted volume he could bring them to look through. Anything that might produce some sort of history, precedent, or frankly 'data' that could describe what she'd done. Histories, records or autobiographies of famous Spirit Magic users, tomes about practicing Clerics and individuls in history tied to the local god Hades, instructional manuals, tomes of advanced techniques, and the like seemed to fly by in an almost hectic flurry even as the Cleric seemed to come down from the mage's supposed 'adrenaline high' without pausing for his part.
She in turn would help look through things for familiar words, though in part felt mostly that it was some miracle she could read anything here in this new world. Literally read the stuff without having to fumble around and learn all over again. Whatever had brought her and the others to this world, it hadn't done so totally unprepared....though the trajetory of how the stone coffin she'd landed in had arrived left something very much to be desired. She'd nearly fallen over! But that was besides the point at the moment, especially as they were searching through the literature for an explanation. She was getting more curious by the page about more things Spirit Magic could do, but even more so peronally was feeling the itch to find something to explain what she'd done there.
Every so often the Cleric would likewise pause to pull her away from whatever tome was in her hands, asking Lillianna to once again use the spell as he tested Minor and even more moderately-stronger wards against it. It would still make her wince a little as the man at times got thrown back against the wall, but at other times he'd project the ward onto something like a chair before having her use the spell while he observed. Observing damage done to an object after breaking a cast ward, looking into the impact and radius and such anecdotes, asking her questions about her magic usage, and jotting down notes on blank parchment he would leave the room to grab alongisde an enchanced 'never ending ink' writing utensil of some description would be among the things he would put them through together. Then inevitably would come going back at looking at the tomes again, before another roound of testing and questions and writing down notes from the tomes and otherwise along those aforementioned lines would commence.
Time would begin to blur as they chugged along well through the day, the mage forgettting if she had any other business to do in the meantime as she eventually kicked into full gear while trying to find an answer. Even then, though, there was only so much they could get done in the course of a day. There was only so long they could go without food or water or rest in the end, despite Simon sending someone out for 'intellectual snacks' to bring to them and paying the poor student he'd wrangled earlier to do so for them when the poor adventurer made the mistake of looking curiously into the room at them. On top of that, it wasn't as if they could search this entire library's contents in the course of one day! That would be absurd enough as it was!
"I....think we've run in circles by this point. Tome after tome, test after test, and we haven't gotten any closer to finding a reference in these works thus far.
...Also you just left some meat drippings on those notes about Archimeden the Great you were just writing down."
The slightly frazzled Cleric would quickly pull back the last of the sandwich he'd been biting into from the table, a few drops of juicy meat juice dropping down onto the-....ah crap it was carpet. Lillianna herself had finished the gyro-like wrap she'd been bought for a pseudo-lunch/dinner by Simon already, in her haste to get back to things and needing sustenance, while the man had interspersed it all between at times drawn-out periods between taking bites of his food. Still, the man would finish the last bite of his now-cold food before he sat back down in a nearby (and slightly damaged from the testing) chair.
"Thank you. But....by Iskerea's haste, I wish we'd more time to look into this. But to say the least what you can do is...astounding!"
"I wouldn't say it's astounding as much as damaging to the library's property and yourself by this point. All the same....I agree I wish we had more time to look into this. I can't seem to find anything that shows precedent for this peculiar spell of all things...its-"
"Vexing? Irritating?"
"Close enough, but yes."
So he did know what she was talking about, at least in terms of how it made her feel as a scholar. But she couldn't pin a precise word on it all that made any lick of sense for the moment being, perhaps being due to the mental exhaustion beginning to settle in. Not to mention that she'd finished her food hours ago at that, and her stomach was beginnign to rumble once more. It was enough to make Lillianna sigh in a more expressive sound of 'defeat' than anything else had made her feel thus far in the day.
"For now I must take my notes and see what I can gather. Will you be able to return here tomorrow?"
"Ah, no actually. I'm an adventurer, and my party is to leave for a gold-ranked quest tomorrow I believe."
"Gold, you say? To be so new and yet such a high rank, its very peculiar. Yet at least being oddly gifted in something itself isn't unprecedented among a certain few gifted Spirit Magic users in the records from what we've gathered and been able to peruse thus far. Yet that alone speaks volumes of what this spell might mean, given there's seemingly no evidence thus far for its existence in our search thus far.
Or in other words....you are, as of what I can gather thus far, the lone person with access to this particular spell among Spirit Mages for the time being. This being seemingly in lieu of possessing a standard Spirit Bolt of course."
He was maybe right. It was a bit concerning, but at least it-...oh! Yes, that was right. She had mentioned they were headed out on a mission tomorrow, but there was still something she needed to do! Well, other than eat and sleep at least. Definitely eat, and of course get some sleep, but she needed to see the new group member (maybe) and tell the party about her request for a pit-stop along the way! The mage had failed to tell them for at least a day already, though everyone had seemed busy enough from the looks of things, yet it was something that needed communicating as soon as possible before they left.
Lillianna pursed her lips a bit as she somewhat tiredly got up from her desk chair and grabbed the poor staff of hers she'd left leaning against the table for most of the time they'd been working on things. Among the tests Simon had wanted to do, she'd held the staff when casting it a few times. That had mostly amounted to literal 'nothing', though she could still feel a thrum of power from within the object. What he had hoped for her holding the staff and casting the spell would do was a mystery for now though.
"....With how little I know, and after all of this, I'm inclined to agree. But I must get my things and leave for now. I truly do need to talk to my party as well before we leave about something, actually, that just came back to mind."
"Ah, of course. But please do come back when you get the chance. In the meantime I'll do some more digging and investigation into the matter of this 'Spirit Gun' spell."
With a silent nod in return, the mage would begin to make for the exist as quickly as her grumbling stomach and aching head could muster. Perhaps Frederick knew of someone who could provide some cheap painkilling medicine after a long day of studying? Not doubt some of the students here maybe sought certain 'substances' for use while on the premises, but she both wasn't that sort of person nor did she have the time to see of the Academy had the local equivalent of what Zell had looked like to her as a first impression. Etc. For now, she needed to return to the Mended Drum, get a bite to eat, and see if she could ask James and the other party members (telling them all together or not at this rate) about her request.
Dwarven Father: "Aye dear, she does ave' it! And yer color air' ta' boot. Look at is' lil' beard alreadeh' comin' in, ancestors bless er'! Can't be aneh' less proud ah' tha' wee' boy than ah' can beh' right now....brings tears to me eyes to see ah' bit ah've my Pa' again too, it does. Been many ah' year since e' was walkin' round n' still breathin'. My Ma'll be crying to once she sees er' fer' erself'!"
Dwarven Wife: "Let em' tears flow out fee ta'day, dear, cause' man's gotta' beh' proud bout' is' first child bein' born an' all! But weh' can save tha' celebratin' fer' tha' bar later, ah'm thinkin'. The rest ah' tha' clan waitin' outside's gotta be antsy waitin' fer' tha' news now. Let em' get smashed fer' now, and we'll join em' later fer' some more rounds.
Ow's that sound?"
Dwarven Father: "Yer remindin' me every day why ah' love ya' an' married ya', dear, and yer advice in on-point! Me' brothers n' yer da'll need ta get some drink in after waitin' fer' tha' news of tha' birth, they will! Though not even Pa' woulda' crossed this midwife of ah' mother ya' got ere' as well, mah' love."
Midwife/Dwarven Wife's Mother, from the corner where she's stnading with crossed arms and chewing something: "Oi! You two gonna' tell em', or I gotta' do it meself fer' the day gets' passin' along too far ta' get ta' tha' tavern fer' drinkin' hour?"
Dwarven Wife: "Right. Eh, yeah go tell em' dear. Before me mum gets fed up."
Dwarven Father: "Aye, aye, I'll go, I'll go. Me' ma'll be barging in ta' boot ah' figure."
Knossos is a man who was born to a small village family in the humble farming village of Aktí within the Kingdom of Ordos, a coastal nation with a large eastern coastline and access to the sea since seemingly time immemorial. A kingdom that had little access to the outside by land, save for a pair of crucial northern and western mountain passes respectively dubbed the "Chióni" (Greek for "ice", aka the 'northern pass' out from the nation's northern border) and the "Fiume" (Italian for "river", named such due to the great river flowing alongside the pass down a steep cliff as one passes through it), it had been in the middle of various issues or conflicts over the years as well as notably involved at sea. Yet even with having the sea so accessible, the growing of crops and rearing of livestock was still very much important. Indeed, this would be the task the family of young Knossos had taken up for many generations within the inner land region of the kingdom proper.
At birth Knossos's surname, as was his family's already, continued on in the same old local tradition of one's surname being taken from the work and job they had. A simple enough matter, as it were, for the region and culture in which he lived. Meanwhile, Knossos' first name was actually somewhat abnormal for common folk.
Whilst the first names of children would originate from anything ranging from figures in legend, to places they were born, to those who the family or parents wished to honor in their lives or pay respects to, and so forth, trends in this naming structure trended toward certain lines of things depending on one's place and status of birth. Farmers and Woodcutters and such would usually use more land and terrain-focused names, whilst those such as scholars and magic users might get names based on famous authors or constellations or other phenomena that sounded fancy and sophisticated to use as a name, etc. So in this vein Knossos' own name was something of an oddity, only chosen when a passing magic scholar was hosted by the family on a journey to the north and assisted in his birth when one of the local midwives or the village doctor would not be able to make it in time.
So grateful were Knossos' parents for the help that the traveling magic scholar was given the chance to name him out of respect. No small honor to be sure, no matter one's class! Thus the newborn was named for the constellation locals called 'Knossos', which looked like a king sitting on a throne, named for the great and wise legendary king who once ruled the region in legend. Though the last of said king’s bloodline had long been assimilated by successors who conquered the area later on, forming the “Kingdom of Ordos” itself that still ruled the land even by the time Knossos was born.
With all of this in mind, Knossos still simply seemed poised merely to inherit the family farm and land in life. He had nothing going for him otherwise, and while pushed to learn to till the land and learn how it worked he still seemed to feel a restlessness within him from a young age. Indeed his young mind would wander to things greater than himself and the old stories of kings and legends long gone, and his parents were often sore with him or given myriad headaches simply trying to deal with him at times. In the end they would not need to worry in perhaps the worst of ways, however, as the new ‘village doctor’ assigned to the village by the crown when Knossos was just five would begin to influence the boy in a different direction.
Secretly a member of a cult dedicated to an alien being from a far-flung dimension/plane dubbed "iL'Thris the Deep Lord". Said cult would influence and draw in the young Knossos (among others) until he was ten, after which he in particular had his death faked in the nearby woods before being spirited off to the cult’s epicenter in the now-former capital of the Kingdom of Ordos proper (Cretia). Here the cult prepared him more rigorously for adulthood and joining their higher ranks, until eventually by the age of twenty one Knossos had grown to become somewhat of a rather adept learner. He had learned all the magic of the cult that he could absorb (acquired from iL'Thris), and reached the upper ranks of the cult as its youngest member. As was fitting for one of his new higher-up station within the cult’s ranks, if not unique to it, he would then be infused with part of the very flesh of iL'Thris as other upper-ranks had received as a ‘gift’ as well before him. All likewise seemed to be going according to plan, though, at least until the time when the long-foretold "Day of Summoning" came along.
The ritual kicked off, and disaster came, but a brave band of heroes formed in those days before the ritual (due to being affected by the cult in one way or another) and began to rise up to combat the cult most heartily as soon as things hit the fan. Not seen as a big threat before, these heroes received the blessings of the local gods and gathered resistance forces together under one banner to inspire and act as their spearhead before destroying the cult in a climactic final battle within the ruins of Cretia. Neighbors of the Kingdom of Ordos had even been about to send in reinforcements to take local lands under the justification of containing the threat, though with the passing of the threat it would lead to other issues in the following decades.
In the end, the leading hero of the group of heroes married the kingdom's princess, who was about his age, after having saved her from being trapped in a magic crystal deep within the ruins of the former royal castle. Such was the reward the old king, whose sons had been lost to the cult’s ritual and ensuing chaos, gave to the younger man in order to establish a successor of sorts. A heroic and popular one at that. Among the scant few people of the cult who managed to escape the bloody final battle somehow, all of such being able to be counted on one hand at the very most, Knossos sought to flee the land rather than stay around for the following years likewise bloody purges of cult sympathizers and members from within the kingdom’s lands the general population was rallied around. Somehow, despite the odds, the man would escape the kingdom’s borders.…and did so questioning everything he had ever known. He had lived and survived another day, but everyone else he’d known and grown up around since being taken to Cretia hadn’t.
But what of the enlightenment the cult had promised? What of the power, the truth, everything? Something like the cult, yes, it had to be true. But if this route to truth did not manifest for them, perhaps the next would? Yes! Another had to work! It had to. There was no other way, it was all he'd ever known. So he would have to find another route! Yes! Truth itself lied beyond the veil of any of this, it had to, and he would find it for the benefit of all this time! He couldn’t give up yet!
Thus Knossos would desperately claw his way to a land far away from his own, that being of the desert Kingdom of Khamsin in the vast and expensive Khamsin Desert. Here a new cult was found by Knossos several years later, being a group dedicating themselves to an Ancient Great Demon Lord named Ashtara who sought to take the region and transform it into a microcosm of where she had come from: A ravaged, dark, horrid demonic plane of sorts that she promised to her followers would be a paradise. A paradise free of struggle, war, and turmoil. Nothing but the best pleasures of life and beyond, and for all eternity. Despite his former affiliation, he did join the cult and manage to rise the ranks to an extent once more as he pursued things with a new zeal for years to come.
From Ashtara, he as well as other mid-rank members would be granted to drink some of her blood to receive part of her power and gain new magics. Meanwhile the higher-ups were turned into mostly demons themselves by also being merged with her flesh. Conjuring/summoning demons, making use of curses, casting red energy attacks of tainted demonic magical energy, and conducting blood rituals would become the things Knossos found he could do using this new 'gift'. Things again seemed to be going on the right track, and if lucky the man felt he could finally manage to see the sort of ‘paradise’ he had been promised for so long. Finally, maybe, the dreams of the sleeping dead could finally be achieved somewhere in the world.
Yet it would be when this cult tried to rise up and cast their big 'summoning ritual' to bring forth their patron that things would eventually turn. Having been stirring up more and more active and open trouble in the desert kingdom leading up to the ritual itself, the local lords and ruler had brought in their own forces to deal with a conflict on the southern border to avoid an attempted annexation of part of its territory…..in that vein, not many were left to help keep order. Thus some adventurers, and even mercenaries, would be hired on to try to help quell the trouble and help with local monster issues as the area dealt with its other major problem simultaneously. Indeed, among these hired swords a plucky band of mixed-bag-mercenaries-turned-good-guy-heroes would eventually stand out among them in rising up to help lead the charge against the cult as it tried to summon its ‘goddess’ into the mortal plane. Barely manifesting an arm of their patron at most to try to crush the heroes, and unable to complete it despite sowing chaos around the ancient ruins the cult had set up in out in the desert, it became clear this cult too was going to lose. Ashtara could see the writing on the wall, and merely withdrew after it was clear the cult could not keep it up, dragging the higher-ups who had been bonded to her flesh and most of the surviving mid-level hierarchy away into her home plane as ‘reparations’ for her failed summoning and leaving the rest of them (Knossos among them) to die or the like without a care in the world for them afterward.
Those living members left behind by Ashtara’s cult, Knossos included, were pursued and killed and slain and put to the sword as they scattered to the four winds. Knossos was only thirty five years old at the time, and barely scraped through the desert with his life before collapsing at an oasis. From here, he would subsist for several months before fleeing the desert altogether by hitching a ride with an outbound but small merchant caravan after hiding or storing away his old cultish clothing and gear. Yet it was also here he began to waver once more, leaning more into desperation to find ‘something that mattered’ and see it through. Two cults were all he had known, and there had to be something….anything to prove that everything he had learned and come to know wasn’t a lie. That such a method to bring peace and paradise to the world was worth it, that it was true, that it meant something! He just had to look again. Such a thing seemed so incredibly rare to run into, so hard to find, and yet he had to just look for the signs. The threads. The traces of something that he could use to find another home, one that perhaps this time he could help ensure would succeed this time.
His journeys would bring him to a land far in the northern hemisphere, farther north than he'd ever been in his life before, to a place filled with verdant pine forests and icy pale wastes that could easily kill one who didn’t come prepared. It was here Knossos came across a group seeking the power of an ancient civilization called the Vilkyn, a grand civilization that had once owned the whole of this particular continent’s far northern reaches and taken tribute from places even far away due to their might. A series of disasters, internal and external and manmade and natural alike, had brought the Vilkyn down into ruin eventually. Yet within those taboo ruins of their, as those peoples who had moved into the area in the passing centuries to live there had deemed them to be, a new operation had been set up by a noble from a nearby kingdom to the east.
Having gotten ahold of some old Vilkyn old records, said noble (whose territory was on the border with this area) discovered there was something of great value that lied where the civilization’s old capitol had once been. He had funded an expedition, began skimming money to help fund it in part, and brought in materials and ‘experts’ to help him seek it out. Knossos, as it were, had a sort of expertise that the noble desired before hiring him on. Even so the operation itself became more and more cult-like over the years despite how it had been set up at first, this being mostly due to the promises of power and eternal life that the ancient Vilkyn ruins and texts promised to grant and showed great promise for. This in and of itself was learned more about as the operation dug up Vilkyn ruins and texts on the occult arts they’d clung to and made use of in their heyday. The use of necromancy had a fine art for them, putting the risen undead to use, alongside their creation and implementation of peculiar magic constructs making use of ‘crystallized mana gems’. Said ‘gems’ were a unique creation of the Vilkyn, solidifying mana itself and shaping it into abnormally ‘mana-dense’ gems that could be used to power a wide array of devices depending on their form. In fact, these occult power sources seemed to almost be ‘alive’ as they doubled likewise as ‘programmable cores’ to imbue with controls and commands etched into them in some form long-lost magical scrawl and arcane occult scripting. Such magic was far from a standard magical practice, or had yet to be developed anywhere else or adopted by them….and why? None could tell, but those delving into the Vilkyn’s secrets did not pay such heed to the signs in any case.
Having joined on at first as a simple 'expert in obscure magical arts', Knossos would rise in the ranks of the expedition-turning-cult as he eventually became the operation’s resident expert in Vilkyn texts and magic over time. Then as the group became more obsessed and cultic, driven by a desire for power and made promises by the noble of becoming immortal ‘living gods’ now, Knossos would hold back and retain his powerful but key position as he watched on this time from within. He would gain the magical knowledge the group sought in full, at least, before things this time went awry as the operation tried to boot up a ‘eternal life machine’ powered by a vast amount of the race’s trademark ‘gems’ in the ruins of the former Vilkyn capital.
No interruptions. No discovery. And yet it all still went horribly, horribly wrong in the end. What was a machine meant to make the living Vilkyn nobility immortal and maintain that, the machine had been shut down by rebels through damaging it enough during the last civil war that saw the Vilkyn Empire of ancient times finally be destroyed. The noble-led operation-cult would work to restore the device, hoping to bind themselves to it, but upon doing this and activating the machine something different happened than they had expected. Originally the souls of those to be made ‘immortal’ had been imbued into the original ‘gems’ used to power the machine, and the ‘gems’ had been modified to encase their souls as ‘phylacteries’ to root them into the mortal plane. What the group had done was miss that step, and instead repaired it and put in standard-type ‘gems’ they had produced into the machine before activating it once more.
As Knossos discovered this facet of things in his latest research, he ran toward the site of the device below the ground in a hurry-....but was too late to stop the repaired machine’s activation. Having been left to monitor research and operations above-ground while the machine was activated, but having been intimately involved in the repair and restoration of the machine itself, Knossos still hadn’t volunteered to be among the first ‘immortals’ to be created by using it. He wanted to see how things went at first in this case, maybe provide help in case things went awry, etc. Meanwhile those who had assembled to ‘test the machine first’ had decided, right before activating it, to be greedy and not let anyone else become immortal by using it. Rather, they thought to kill all above the ground and live as immortal kings and queens over a vast realm of undead. At the same time, the machine had no proper vessel for the souls of those who had newly bound themselves to it….and it was still bound to many of those former Vilkyn nobility who were long dead by now as well.
Knossos arrived to witness those using the machine, the noble included, have their souls sucked out and sent to the afterlife after having nowhere to go. Meanwhile the bodies of these people were left as walking, lifelike-looking immortal undead without minds of their own. Likewise, all across the northern wastes and former Vilkyn ruins, former Vilkyn nobility would ‘rise’ in a way not intended by the machine when it had been originally created. Their bodies were recreated as rotted, angry, and wandering undead whose souls were trapped hopelessly still in the remaining original ‘gems’ of the machine and who bodies were magically-infused and even stronger ancient undead who clung to the ruins or even wandered the open frozen wastes (where ruins did not remain anymore, but where they’d died anyway) to kill any unsuspecting fools who sought to travel off of the beaten path. It was as much as Knossos could do to try to evacuate the remaining cultists above, and then grab and bag all the information on the Vilkyn the cult/operation had before things went wrong.
Soon after, royal forces from the nearby kingdom arrived hoping to arrest the cult members and take them en-masse and by surprise. Because the kingdom the noble had come from did manage to figure out something was going on…..and the noble’s own son and heir had helped them to boot behind the scenes. Instead they captured or killed fleeing cultists, though, the force (including the noble’s son and the kingdom’s crown prince at their helm) would be forced to retreat from the area as the undead appeared before them and around them seemingly out of the blue. From these people Knossos would manage to flee in the opposite direction, albeit not intentionally as much as having done so by sheer chance, managing to escape into the icy freezing cold with what little he had and the clothes on his back once more. Again. For the seemingly impossible third time in his life.
Even so, the thrice-over cultist would only get so far. Through weather and struggle, constantly-returning undead and lack of resources, he would push through until he collapsed on the ground a bit after he entered the first bit of greenery his by-then frostbitten and starving and very weakened body managed to come across. Being near a forest path to the far southwest, away from where the group had finally set up at the old Vilkyn capital's ruins at least, as infused occult flesh and magical power sought to keep him alive somehow. Yet where he was wasn’t really the most used route either. It was well-trod, but as of recent years had seen little traffic at all. Someone collapsed off in a bush just a bit off the side of the road had little to no chances at being found, much less find help. It was thus here that his vision blurred, his wounds continued to worsen, and he would pass out expecting to finally die.
His resolve to find 'truth' in the only way he'd known how, so indoctrinated into it he had become blind, would too finally break as his body seemingly did. Truth? He sought truth, but this path was not it. This way was not the one. None of them had been, in the end, anything but misery and death and woe. And what had he done? Run about seeking all of this like a fool for decades of life? He, a fifty-four year old idiot and murderer and thrice-former cultist, was going to die and be damned for it. He would not see the power of the Deep Lord transform a kingdom into an oceanic utopia of peace. He would not see a glorious paradise of another plane form around him as Ashtara had promised. He would not see the common man gain immortality and power and riches and glory either, as promised by the third and final cult (actually operation-turned-cult) he'd joined. Nothing. And so as he felt himself drift, the aging man would scoff at himself and allow himself to drift away.
….But this was not to be his fate, it seemed.
Waking up, the man found himself in peasant’s clothes and lying in a warm bed. A warm bed located in a northern town farther to the south than where he’d been, and in particular within a shrine to the local god Drothur (God of Travelers, Merchants, Wanderers, Transients, Homeless, and Foreigners). It was here Knossos’ first reaction was to panic, then manage to relax, and then simply and finally laugh aloud like a madman without a care in the world. Alive. He was alive, still, by some impossibility even he couldn’t help but laugh aloud about in this case.
As it were, a passing cleric of Drothur had found him, the clothes on his back, and his magical satchel containing all his things, and brought him to the shrine for care before giving the unconscious and nearly-dead man a change of clothes and getting him in a warm bed. Walking in with a raised eyebrow and small smile on his face, the cleric who had saved Knossos would come into the room and lean against the doorframe until the other man had calmed back down again. As Knossos soon after seemed to drop into a depressed state, though, the cleric began to speak up in turn to explain things.
This cleric had been guided by a dream to take that road, in particular even seeing the location they had found Knossos in, and had felt the hand of their patron deity upon him. But why? Knossos would wonder this and ask as he was forced to heal up for some time at the shrine, talking about everything to the cleric as he tended to him personally after that point. The same cleric who had helped him would leave, returning to travel as was their calling to do again, but would leave him with a parting message when he asked one last time the question that burned so brightly in his mind: "Why?" "Why save me? Why would even a deity care for me despite all the things I've done?". The cleric merely responded, with a smile, that-
"My lord Drothur saw fit to save you, and frankly so did I even after looking into your things. Drothur is a god of travel, and you sir are not yet done with your travels it seems. Most do not survive the sort of life you seem to have led, and yet you are still here and thus it is a sign of my lord’s will I take it. I could never leave a traveler by the wayside, left to wither and die, for such is my calling to travel and provide such aid to those in need and clear the roads of evil.
You have come to see your own folly, and the veil of ignorance has come up from your eyes. This is a most precious gift indeed….a second chance. A rebirth. A time to take on another path, to pave a new road, and perhaps use those gifts of yours for a better reason and purpose.
So go forth, oh Knossos! Oh thrice-walker of dreams broken! Go now with my lord's blessing upon you, and see your new path to its very end without regrets! I shall see you there at the very end, my friend, or perhaps we shall meet again before then. Either way, farewell!"
And so the cleric left….and Knossos would as well some days later as well.
The occult-learned man would in the end find himself joining the Pilgrim's Caravan as it was passing through the same region. Claiming to be a hands-on magical scholar of sorts, he would take his occult expertise and magic and skills and set about to make the world a better place in any way he could. He would also seek to gather knowledge along the way to this end, to keep it safe, and to keep it hidden from unsafe hands. Not that he could do all of this for free, but the funds went into keeping his trade and business alive from stop to stop if nothing else. Allowed him to help others one way or another, even if it meant taking payment in coin or in gems or frankly in crops if it came down to it for his clients. Etc.
Ultimately on the road, and for the next seventeen years, Knossos would peddle his knowledge to assist others as an 'occult expert'. He would care for those dealing with haunted places or cursed items. He would be hired by nobles to investigate ruins, examine eclectic and rather niche 'magic items' for them, or try to assist with afflictions and issues caused by non-standard magical sources or origins. Such was his purpose. He would even buy up cursed items or such to 'contain' them safely, and for that he gained some reputation of a good but also wary sort. He even assisted areas with more 'zealous' beliefs to investigate certain matters relating to his expertise and skills, if only to work with the law and try to form an amicable relationship with such groups to avoid trouble on his part. At the same time, however, it isn't as if he is without potential to get into trouble due to what he is skilled in dealing with. His skills have been of use to the Pilgrim's Caravan itself at times as well, making him a staple of the last decade and a half in regards to certain matters if nothing else, and yet to date he knows the danger never goes away. The next plot, the next oddity, the next obscure magical issue, the next place that could potentially be where he runs into his past again, whatever it may be...
...but he will see his new chosen path to the end, no matter what!
Personality:
An older man usually of a calm, jovial, or relaxed type of mentality and way he holds himself. Even so, he inherently possesses a sober patience and calm in or outside of his work as well. He is generally well-spoken, and is well-read to a sometimes troubling extent when it comes to his area of expertise, but one won't find him being usually unfriendly to others unless they seriously manage to tap into his anger r get him to really not like them to a notable enough extent. Knossos is very meticulous about his work and frankly passionate and serious about it to boot when it comes down to it. Attempting to snatch anything of his is something he will more than sternly lecture someone else on, at the very least, though he truly loathes those who fumble about with the occult or such things with no regards for their lives or others’. Outside of his work, one can find him willing to share a hot meal or drink with others and even have a laugh and talk and such...or a shoulder to rest on if they need to unload something painful or so forth onto someone else. At his heart children do have a soft spot with him as well, due to what happened to him in his own childhood (or lack thereof to an extent due to what happened in his own childhood), and at his heart he truly is a kind man who seeks to do the best he can in regards to himself and others with nothing but sincerity. Yet it is also that same sincerity that sees his anger and other negative emotions being that much more hot, poignant, and fierce whenever they manage to peek out from behind the veil of his usual demeanor.
Whilst he is not of the mind that he knows everything, he’ll amidst that as bluntly as possible with a laugh if asked, he is still a very much knowledgeable man whose talents go as deep as the years of his life have gone on long.
"What is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"
-Paarthunax, Skyim (2011) ((And this is a quote that IC would be something Knossos would actually think to say to be honest)
Motivation:
To assist others regarding matters of the occult.....in a sense, be a ‘guiding light’ to help them understand or deal with or even avoid danger from such things. De-cursing items, storing away dangerous occult objects/relics, advising or counseling people on how to deal with occult matters, keeping tomes of occult knowledge and scrolls of otherworldly wisdom away from others by taking them himself, etc. Admittedly he does charge for his services, mostly so he can afford to get supplies and materials for his work along the way, though based on the client he has been known to adjust his running prices at certain times based on what the client can actually afford to pay him in the first place.
Likewise in this main goal he gets to travel and see the world, something he’s come to enjoy raiding along with the Caravan over the last decade and a half. Perhaps his goal is also evidence of seeking redemption of some kind for the years of woes and miseries he created or participated in prior, to atone for his once-evil life by seeking to do good with what he knows and can do, though he’d deny such a thing if asked about it or it was implied toward him or such.
Skills/Strengths:
-Occult Expertise (Occult Magic/Occult Knowledge): To be more specific about this area, his whole thing here and in general runs on the premise that even in a world of fantasy and magic and monsters and so forth existing there are ‘outliers’ even within the realm of magic itself. Obscure or unique magical arts/practices, forbidden or frankly taboo spells that were spells developed or discovered, magics tied to beings from abnormal otherworlds mages don't usually or haven't made contact with as a standard practice, socially/culturally unacceptable magical practices/arts, etc, along those lines. This realm of things is where Knossos’ expertise falls into the lines of, though even he admits he doesn’t know everything. How could he? He is just one man. What he does know has come from decades of experience and personal study, both during his cult-joining days and since then afterward, and his travels with the Pilgrim’s Caravan has assisted him in this by exposing him to new places and things to study and acquire and so forth along the way.
In terms of applications, his capabilities are more varied than they are specific. He can summon and command tentacled or oceanic-like beings from the space iL'Thris comes from, as well as summon and command demons from wherever Lady Ashtara came from. He can conjure unique magical/twisted alien waters from an alternate dimension to use to attack others, doing so in things like water jets and barriers and so forth, and unleash/conjure unusual black demonic fire that it would take magical means (or a lot more buckets of water than should be required normally for a fire) to put out. He is further steeped in curses and the mechanics of them and things such as cursed objects/items, and has knowledge of some tribal or obtuse/obscure/fringe magics from across the area’s he’s traveled through or learned from in the last one and a half decades. This does include the magic of the Vilkyn (their brand of necromancy and their 'mana gems' at least).
In terms of outright skill and experience and self-discipline he's akin to a veteran old wizard working up in a tower or at some prestigious magical school somewhere in the world, but this is also his one greatest strengths to boot.
-Magic-Infused Body: His body has aged outwardly to the point he looks to be an old man in his 60s before stopping, but internally the quality of his body is still easily at the level of a prime 20-to-30-something year old due to what it has been infused with. He, in other words, isn't as old inside as he is outside. His mind is still rather sharp, his body can handle the exertion, and so forth that a human in their 20-to-30-something prime could without a doubt. That and some minor regeneration capabilities that allow him to heal from a wider range of things than normally is possible and slightly increases his passive natural healing rate to boot.
His durability isn't beyond that of a normal human being, he isn't Wolverine in terms of healing speed or anything ridiculous like that (heck no), and so forth. But whilst his lifespan will be inevitably extended by an unknown amount of time, an extent even he has no idea of the length of, he will eventually in the longer term die of old age with everything just giving out due to the raw amount of time that has passed. Even then it isn't 'eternal youth' that he has either...really just slowed aging in regards to the quality of his body (but not his aesthetic appearance).
-General Survival Skills: Cooking, cleaning, foraging, handling weather, making a fire, creating basic or functioning shelter, fishing, and similar things are array of generalist survival skills he’s refined from necessity over the decades and years before and even during his caravan years. He’s a very well-seasoned hand in this regard without a doubt.
Weaknesses:
-He has no armor to speak of, and his physical capabilities are still very much human. He is just as mortal as anyone else to boot when it comes to being able to be killed.
-No weapons skills to speak of. Best he could use is maybe his knife, but eve then that is just for survival and travel and such general-use purposes.
-Whilst some of his magical capabilities and occult knowledge do overlap with actual standard magical practices or categorizations, don't expect him to know standard magic stuff and standard-type spells and so forth. His knowledge is nuanced and eclectic and frankly niche in nature, so whilst some overlap in how things are categorized and work can occur he is no scholastic wizard who got a proper magical education from some magic university or so forth. He can probably identify some things from being on the road for so long, and doing his own research, but he's no wizard. He's just your friendly caravan-traveling occult expert and magic user.
-Removing his Magic Ring. Knossos' body was fused with part of an alien being and outright demonic power it now produces and can tap into. To any sort of zealous paladin, trained mage trying to detect magical sources, and the like, he stands out like a gigantic bonfire being lit up in the middle of total darkness. It is impossible not to notice him, as in being among the sorest of sore thumbs in terms of standing out in this way.
To this end, he commissioned and purchased said Magical Ring (see "Tools") that hides his magical presence/energy from detection by others. Second to the magical bag he carries his things in, it is the second most expensive item he openly wears or carries on himself. Despite obsessively wearing it all the time on his right hand, no matter what he is doing or in the middle of, it also isn't a perfect thing. High-tier, high-level, and top-tier types of magical detections spells or magics can see past his protection and pick up on him. Likewise, again, if one manages to get the ring off of him that is not good news either for him.
Of course in some areas, this ring might not be needed if no one can detect magic there. But especially in major cities or capitals or areas with magical schooling he has to keep this ring on.
-Due to the above weakness, he also has an inherent weakness to specifically holy magic(s). Healing magic of a holy sort still works on him, he isn't some full demonic being or so forth, but it leaves him feeling odd and lightheaded as an end result. Meanwhile offensive holy magic does hurt him extra to a distinctly noticeable extent. Barriers of holy magic that protect from monsters or demons or such, etc, do not keep him out since he's not fully anything of the sort. On the other hand such things, depending on potency, do make him anywhere from uncomfortable to feeling a sense of passively-throbbing pain or potentially worse depending.
Tools:
-Traveling/Professional Work Clothes (see the appearance picture at the top of his app)
-Water Skin (not seen in picture but he wears it around normally)
-Knife (for cutting rations and food and such, or whittling, or whatever general use thing it could be used for)
-Magical Ring (Hides the magical energies and such within him from being noticed by magical detection methods. This works all the way up to even a moderately strong sort of magical detection capability at most.)
-A Bag of Holding expy type object, one he has had enchanted and reinforced and put more money into than anything else he wears or the like. It stands out like a sore thumb with him, made to last beyond a lifetime and then some, but does look about as well-traveled with all the work done to it. He can withdraw whatever he wishes out of the bag, but if damaged badly enough he has to get it repaired to access his things again. At the same time, between enchantments and runes and materials used to reinforce and augment it, this magical bag can be returned to his person or even into his hands with a thought and is harder to break than most things in the world. This is because he has put a lot of money into it over the years from his mercantile pursuits, as well as some back when he was in cults due to having had this bag as far back as then when he bought it for himself after fleeing the destruction of the first cult he was in.
It took all he had to get the back itself back then, in its original condition no less, but since then it has been a literal staple he even keeps on his person at all times even when bathing and sleeping and otherwise...maybe he's a tad too careful about the thing actually. He is touchy about this thing, and the investment he's made into it alone is, ah, not exactly normal for a person to do.
With this it contains: Food rations, regular clothing, a backup water skin, myriad occult-related magical tomes/scolls, various mundane books related to both the occult and other subjects, clothing from when he was in those three cults in the past, magically-contained cursed items or other such dangerous objects, and all of his money.
Other:
-His surname, "Dreamwalker", was self-appointed and has stuck since. Inspired by the clerics parting words to him and his own reflection back on his own life. A poetic touch, as it were, which also makes him sound rther fancy and well-versed in what he knows (which he is well-versed in regardless of name anywho).
-NOTE: As far as the caravan knows at most, he's a roaming magical scholar who got experience on the road over many decades and is specialized in the occult. Was interested in such magic, and left his hometown to pursue his interest on the road. Wants to help people. Never said where he comes from, told his life story, etc.
-Yes, Knossos' homeland is based in some 'rough' part on Italy/Greece/the Mediterranean in terms of naming and such. No, I have not worked this all out. No, as of submitting Knossos' app I cannot say more than that at the moment.
-His height is 5'10". Height for the height chart, stats for the stat throne. Or something. Idk I am ripping a 40k meme quote here. XD
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Lore section 1 - "Naming Practices Within the Kingdom of Ordos/Knossos' Family History/Ancestor Stones and a Legend"
Knossos' original surname was "Faermer", but was not without an origin of its own to boot. Farmers would add differentiating spellings or emphasis in their surname to separate themselves, or even use different words related to their occupation that by tradition made their heritage and familial ties clear, meaning the 'simplest' surnames usually are the oldest ones due to being claimed first. Likewise, this has made record keeping in the kingdom easier and more accessible as it has developed over the centuries, though it also brought about legal cases of 'who claimed what surname idea first' at times as well (inevitably) that usually more wealthy families are able to win when brought before one's local nobles (or the local council of ruling elders in ancient times) or such. In the case of Knossos' family of birth, Faermer (a corruption of "farmer") was their particular surname. It is also among one of the oldest family surnames in the Kingdom, and the oldest among farming families who live in their area near the center of the rocky and verdant-valley-filled part of the inland territory of the Kingdom of Ordos. They are a family that, indeed, has stuck about stubbornly as mules and long tilled the land and lived in the same spot in the central region of the kingdom since long before the kingdom itself had even been born into existence.
So long have they been around they are among those in the kingdom's population who still possess what is called an "Ancestor Stone".
An Ancestor stone is a practice and relic from distantly pre-kingdom times, even before the 'legendary king' Knossos was named after, that saw family members were buried around or underneath a great stone or boulder rolled down from the mountains to one's home. Such a stone marked one's place of settlement and the center of their property as well, and the effort of getting one was seen as a labor that showed respect to one's ancestors and the land itself. It also acted as a place where the souls of dead family could watch over their descndants during a certain holiday held around the time of harvesting crops, which is still celebrated today even, called "The ____". The larger an Ancestor Stone was, though, the more awe-inspiring and respectable it was seen to be in the eyes of locals. In that vein the Faermer Family was known more notably in their local area by having the largest one in their region of the kingdom, rumored to have been brought down by an ancestor granted strength by some wild spirit or animistic deity living within the boulder to help him on his way after observing his plight to get such a stone. From this, it is said the Faermer were ever bound to this spirit that in turn still helped their dead watch over the bodies of their dead and the lives/land of their descendants.
Upon Ancestor stones the names of the dead ancestors would be etched and carved, and burials would continue to radiate out from the stone at the 'center' of this impromptu graveyard but would always remain pointed back at it...to point the dead back to those who came before so their spirits may join them in the afterlife and be able to help or watch over their descendants in turn. However, it is also of note that to bring an Ancestor Stone down was once a way of someone 'cutting off' from their parents and starting their own family. Starting anew. Starting fresh. Children of criminals in those rather ancient times would usually be expected to do this before the local community would see them as someone else who wasn't tied to a criminal as well, though one local tale tells of a child who refused to do this and cared for his family's ancestor stone after burying his criminal mother and father underneath it. The locals plagued this person with bad looks, ill-treatment, hiked-up prices for goods, refusing to trade with them, and the like, though when the village where this legend took place in was invaded it would be the ancestors of this child of a criminal who helped them fight back the party of raiding bandits who attacked and tried to destroy the village for loot and plunder. Said child then died after the battle was won, and the locals of this still small and mostly isolated village have continued to revere this 'child of a criminal' and said person's Ancestor Stone (cared foor by the child's descendants and relatives) as some form of locally-revered protectors ever since.
Lore section 2 - "How The Legendary King Knossos Earned His Kingship"
A great warlord of the Minotaur species, an army in tow, arrived from across the sea and balked at the strength of the inhabitants of the region that would eventually become the Kingdom of Ordos. The future king of the region, then but a young common man, approached him boldly despite others holding back in fear as the enemy had already been raiding the coast. The young man said that, "what we have not in strength of arms, we have yet in wisdom". Amused at this claim, the monster challenged this young man to a game. Three divine riddles, handed down by the gods of the warlord's homeland, would be given to the young man. None had ever solved them, but any who did would be granted great fortune and blessing on their bloodline forever for their wit and wisdom.
...Safe to say, the future king would win this contest and a divine revelation would come down upon the assembled group present at the contest. It was such that the warlord would withdraw from the region to attack another place out of respect for the gods of his own people. This future king would then become a greater leader, possessing almost supernatural wisdom and gifts in whatever he put his mind to. He would thus be named the "many-gifted", or "Knossos" in the local tongue, and eventually gain enough influence and power to found a capital in the same place on the coast he'd won the contest with the warlord.
Lore section 3 - "Cretia/Knossos' Throne"
It would be in this same place he solved the riddles, right there on the coast, the legendary king Knossos would found a new city of his own. It would also be on that same location the man placed the throne of his future palace, and this throne would come to be the throne of all future kings that would rise after him over the land after this Knossos united this coastal part of the area under his rule in a sort of city-state. Even when other invaders eventually came and took over and captured the rest of the region proper, and the Kingdom of Ordos formed from this, the same throne would remain in place and be used by the new royal line as a means to integrate with and gain more of the loyalty of the locals of the area even as bloodlines changed. Yet despite the fact the current Kingdom of Ordos' line was once invaders who have eventtually blended in with locals, they would outright forcibly marry into them the last of the old king's bloodline and keep the tradition in order to help that transition of power go over more smoothly. Not to mention, Cretia itself was a prominent coastal trade area where much wealth came in and out to boot alongside its advantageous position military-speaking.
After the disaster that saw Cretia destroyed, the former and ancient capital of the Kingdom of Ordos remains an accursed set of ruins and death that no one dares enter. Some of the cult magic still lingers there, with some aberrant creatures having made the ruins and nearby coast their home over the last fifty years. It is, however, a place to which access is blocked and monitored by constant watch patrols and a literal wall that blocks the rocky and only viable path down into the ruined city from inland. The Kingdom of Ordos' new capital is the city of Budino, a land-locked city but a surviving one close enough to the coast that it has thrived as a new trade hub. In fact, the Kingdom is now ruled by the hero who led his friends and party to defeat the Cult of iL'Thris' ritual and saved the kingdom from certain destruction, who along with his friends and wife and children watches over the land and seeks to keep it safe to this day.
Knossos' Throne, within the Palace of Cretia, sits directly under where the constellation of Knossos, said to be the legandary king's immortalized spirit in the stars, watches over and grants wisdom to rulers of the land from that place and position. This throne, however, was left within the ruins of what is now called the Old Palace of Cretia, sitting deep within the ruins and half-submerged in water and filled with emptiness, scars of the past, crawling creatures, growing algae, erosion due to time, and the like. It is a seemingly legendary relic and artifact by now that is said to still be sitting there....waiting for one to sit upon it and gain supernatural wisdom from that legendary king once more. Such has led a number of overly-reckless adventurers and criminals to their death, to the point it led to the ruins of Cretia being blocked off and kept on constant watch. Not to mention a royal decree from the current king that likewise mandates a punishment of death for any who enter that accursed place for any reason even these days...
A warped and corrupted ocean that spanned seemingly across infinity and whose true form was imperceptible to mortals and caused them to descend into madness.
The cult's founder was the one mortal the Deep Lord had shown its true and aberrant form to, being curious about mortals after a one in a billion chance it would ever take notice of another dimension/plane at all, but the chain reaction resulting from this had led the maddened cult leader to form and cult and begin spreading it in secret. Indeed the leader of the cult came about with maddened plans to one day overthrow the kingdom and summon a great monster to ravage the land. This cult's founder was the one mortal the Deep Lord had shown its true and aberrant form to, being curious about mortals after a one in a billion chance it would ever take notice of another dimension/plane at all, but the chain reaction resulting from this had led the maddened cult leader to form and cult and begin spreading it in secret...with maddened plans to one day overthrow the kingdom and summon a great monster to ravage the land.
To iL'Thris, it simply saw that the mortals seemed happy and so it was generally pleased as a result. It was an utterly alien being mortal minds could not wholly or safely percieve, but the actions it took and what it gave to the cult was out of a sort of confusion and compassion. Because while it couldn't grasp mortals' minds and most things, it could understand their emotions and responded based off of that alone. A very peculiar situations, as it were.
Lore section 5 - "iL'Thris' reason for imbuing higher-ranking cult members with part of its flesh"
iL'Thris was taking pity on their 'fragile mortal lives', thinking this was their request for help in that sense and it seeking to be merciful to help the seemingly 'good friends' of the one it had made contact with
Lore section 6 - "The History of Realm Between the Rivers, Surrouinded by The Scorching Deserts/Kingdom of Khamsin General Info"
An ancient land on the Theseoran Continent that had begun as a cradle of civilization on the far southwestern region of its home continent, placed right on the equator, it had been inhabited at first only by the ancient Iwiw (a jackal-like canine beastman race) who had built up the original Kingdom of Uat there between the fertile Nilei and Ma'at rivers coming in from the northwestern coast to build up a civilization of their own. The Uat civilization lasted over three and a half thousand years before it would be broken and put under the yoke, though some such foreign-conquering rulers would maintain some of the land's practices and such to help maintain power, and the land saw civilization there going from fledgling kingdom in super ancient times to ancient empire to being subjugated by others and breaking free each a few times over each. Yet ultimately the Khamsin region itself would go about being shattered quite catastrophically into fragments and five centuries of disasterous chaos by a short-term but vast expanding empire from the far north (as punishment for involvement in a certain foreign war). It saw the region vastly depopulated (but not entirely, mind) of its usual natives, scattered in multiple diasporas due to disaster or slavery or the like, many sub-races go literally extinct, and then eventually a group who had controlled areas of land around the capital rising back up to found the new "Kingdom of Khasmin" after 250 years ago shaking off the yoke of the "Taurian Empire". Since then the Kingdom of Khamsin has persisted until now as a modest but notable kingdom by current times, a growing power with a great strength in its wealth and trade without a doubt. A kingdom known for its mix of ancient ways and modern innovations and so forth, and a melting pot of trade and harsh landscape and so forth, the Kingdom of Khasmin was a pale call of the original Kingdom of Uat in ways to be sure. Even so, it was more stable, advanced, and enduring than it had ever been before as a former 'breadbasket territory' of past nations.
The Kingdom of Khamsin itself is a place that currently hosts a number of influences, but unlike its ancient glories it is but a modest kingdom and unlike its days as a mere territory of other nations it is an independent power these days. Its capital city of '____ ____' lies in the fertile land between the Nilei and Ma'at Rivers, being a 'scorched paradise' that sits at the epicenter of land trade in the region as it passes north or south to bypass the rest of the immense deserts surrounding the fertile areas between or otherwise hugging the shores of the rivers.
The kingdom's fertile river lands have mostly been agricultural by nature for all of its history, though foreign conquest and attempts to boost this food production one way or another have reduced the useable land of this former 'breadbasket' of ancient times in a general sense. What remains of farmable land has been more than enough to feed its people, build up large food stores for times of occasional famine or war or other such disasters, and even export a fair bit of food to the outside world in order to build up a more than sizeable amount of wealth. Ancient cermanic pipes once also carried water from the rivers to locations farther into the desert, creating ancient 'lost towns' and even a few 'lost cities' buried in the sands after the Kingdom of Uat came crashing down. None have bothered to replicate these feats for mostly practical reasons ever since, as there's always been other matters at hand to deal with. Even after the "Ashtara Disaster", or what is locally called "The Great Isfet" by the remaining descandants of the Iwiw, these areas have mostly gone abandoned or only taken up in by temporary graverobbers or desperate criminals or bandits fleeing into the deserts. There is a reason these areas out in the middle of the hot desert were left abandoned in the first place!
Even the particular spot "The Great Isfet" took palce in has frankly been abandoned by now once more, left riddled with ancient tombs (both robbed and untouched), collapsed or buried or sun-baked ruins, and ancient burial protective magics and now occasional wandering demons who still exist there by current times.
The Kingdom of Khamsin has very few who even attempt to speak some changed or culture-and-time-warped form of the old Iwiw tongue these days amindst the race's descendants, as it has become a language mostly used in studies by scholars of history who learn to at least read or decipher it to some extent or another or want to sound fancy speaking it. Taurian is the common language of the land, and that is only because it has become so by being the common tongue of the Kingdom's surrounding neighbors after its enforced introduction as a 'common tongue for trade and politics' in particular. Minotaur, who brought in the language with them, are also consequently the large-standing species who form another just over a third of the population of the Kingdom of Khamsin and form either a sizeable part of or a majority of the populations of the kingdom's neighbors as well. The languyage and Minotaur themselves were introducted latest into the region, brought in by the "Taurian Empire", and forced on locals to try to wipe out the local languages that had settled there over the millenia. Tehse efforts were generally sucessful, even if not fully so, though even now the descendants of the Iwiw who remain living in the region form a sizeable third of the population with species-related relatives scattered on the four winds. The only ones who speak a descendant of that original language of the Iwiw are usually very rural places, some of them almost isolated from the outside world, but which have still been well-affected by the changing times over and over again in some capacity. It is also in these most rural of these areas at that where one can potentially find some traditions or ideas that hail back to the time of the Iwiw still, more or less distantly, at that.
Mostly Minotaur have places among the nobility and within the local 'governance', which has left a somewhat shrinking bad taste in the mouth of a number of other local species who have begun to forget the old status quo more and more, but it is also something to note that a minority of Iwiw-descendant noble-bloods have remained stubbornly in place as well as part of the politics that led the Kingdom of Khamsin to break free and become indpendent in the first place. The remaining 'third' of the local population of the Kingdom of Khamsin is generally mixed from different species and places, who either migrated there, took over at some point and sent a lot of their people in to settle the area, or the like over time and led to some kind of assimilation there.
The Kingdom of Khamsin has a ruler and royal family, who especially culturally are still prominent in the local mindset and generally rules. However, outside of certain matters and edicts most laws are passe by the monarch convening with the "Council of Nobles" where the nobility help manage the kingdom proper and have a say of sorts. The council is a sort of medieval 'legislature' in that sense, not having full powers but certinaly taking part in thins and reducing royal power in return for having supported the orignial rebellion that saw the region freed over two centuries ago from the control of the collapsing Taurian Empire. The politics of the Kingdom of Khamsin certinaly are heated at times, though have generally remained stable enough to keep things running and not go into more than one civil war since its independence by now at least. What the future holds for the area, though, only time can tell.
@Tortoise I get the feeling our characters have some kind of dynamic or enmity, after taking a look at the CHAR tab, but here is the return of a very occult old man to the roster! XD
Knossos Dreamwalker
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Human, 72, 17 years with the Pilgrim's Caravan
History:
Knossos is a man who was born to a small village family in the humble farming village of Aktí within the Kingdom of Ordos, a coastal nation with a large eastern coastline and access to the sea since seemingly time immemorial. A kingdom that had little access to the outside by land, save for a pair of crucial northern and western mountain passes respectively dubbed the "Chióni" (Greek for "ice", aka the 'northern pass' out from the nation's northern border) and the "Fiume" (Italian for "river", named such due to the great river flowing alongside the pass down a steep cliff as one passes through it), it had been in the middle of various issues or conflicts over the years as well as notably involved at sea. Yet even with having the sea so accessible, the growing of crops and rearing of livestock was still very much important. Indeed, this would be the task the family of young Knossos had taken up for many generations within the inner land region of the kingdom proper.
At birth Knossos's surname, as was his family's already, continued on in the same old local tradition of one's surname being taken from the work and job they had. However, this surname was not without nuance either. Farmers would add differentiating spellings or emphasis in their surname to separate themselves, or even use different words related to their occupation that by tradition made their heritage clear. Likewise, this made record keeping in the kingdom easier and more accessible, though it also brought about legal cases of 'who claimed what surname idea first' at times as well (inevitably). Yet with this all in mind it would make the 'easier' or more straightforward surnames that much harder to get ahold of...usually only held by nobility or very old family lines indeed. In the case of Knossos' family of birth, Faermer (a corruption of "farmer") was their particular surname and made them one of the oldest families to live in their area. A family that, indeed, had stuck about stubbornly as mules and long tilled the land and lived in the same spot in the central region of the kingdom since before the kingdom itself had even been born into existence.
So long had they been around they were among those in the kingdom's population who still possessed what is called an "Ancestor Stone", a practice from even pre-kingdom times that saw family members were buried around or underneath a great stone or boulder rolled down from the mountains to one's home. Such a stone marked one's place of settlement and the center of their property, and the effort of getting one was seen as a labor that showed respect to one's ancestors and the land itself. The larger it was, the more awe-inspiring and respectable it was seen to be. In that vein the Faermer Family was known more notably...having the largest one in their region of the kingdom, rumored to have been brought down by an ancestor granted strength by a spirit living within the boulder to help him on his way. From this, it is said the family was ever bound to this spirit that watched over the bodies of their dead and the land of their descendants. Further, upon Ancestor stones the names of the dead ancestors would be etched, and burials would continue to radiate out from the stone at the 'center' of this impromptu graveyard but would always remain pointed back at it...to point the dead back to those who came before so their spirits may join them in the afterlife.
Meanwhile, Knossos' first name was selected for the constellation he was born under. Whilst the first names of children would originate from anything ranging from figures in legend, to places they were born, to those who the family or parents wished to honor in their lives or pay respects to, and so forth, trends in this naming structure trended toward certain lines of things depending on one's place and status of birth. Farmers and Woodcutters and such would usually use more land and terrain-focused names, whilst those such as scholars and magic users might get names based on famous authors or constellations or other phenomena that sounded fancy and sophisticated to use as a name, etc. So in this vein Knossos' own name was something of an oddity, only chosen when a passing magic scholar was hosted by the family on a journey to the north and assisted in his birth when one of the local midwives or the village doctor would not be able to make it in time. So grateful were Knossos' parents that the traveling magic scholar was given the chance to name him out of respect. No small honor to be sure, no matter one's class! Thus the newborn was named for the constellation locals called 'Knossos', which looked like a king sitting on a throne, named for a great and wise king who once ruled the region in legend and solved a series of 'unsolvable riddles'. Indeed a great warlord of the Minotaur species, an army in tow, had arrived from across the sea and balked at the strength of the inhabitants of the region. The future king of the region then approached him boldly, despite others holding back in fear as the enemy raided the coast, said that, "what we have not in arms, we have yet in wisdom". Amused at this, the monster challenged this young man to a game. Three divine riddles, handed down by the gods of the warlord's homeland, would be given to the young man. None had ever solved them, but any who did would be granted great fortune and blessing on their bloodline forever for their wit and wisdom.
...Safe to say, the future king would win this contest and a divine revelation would come down upon the assembled group present at the contest. It was such that the warlord would withdraw from the region to attack another place out of respect for the gods of his own people. This future king would then become a greater leader, possessing almost supernatural wisdom and gifts in whatever he put his mind to. He would thus be named the "many-gifted", or "Knossos", and eventually gain enough influence and power to found a capital in the same place on the coast he'd won the contest with the warlord. It would be in this same place the very throne of his future palace, and the throne of all future kings that would rise even when the Kingdom of Ordos formed, would be reverently placed...and where the constellation of Knossos, said to be the king's immortalized spirit in the stars, watches over and grants wisdom to rulers of the land on the same day each year that the contest was won by the original Knossos. Even with the fact the Kingdom of Ordos' line was once invaders who blended in with locals, they would outright forcibly marry into them the last of the old king's bloodline and keep the tradition in order to assert authority as well as gain the seemingly palpable supernatural benefits gained from it (which is actually real tbh).
With all of this in mind, Knossos seemed poised merely to inherit the family farm and land in life. He had nothing going for him otherwise, and he felt a restlessness within him from a young age. Indeed his young mind would wander to things greater than himself and the old stories, and his parents were often sore with him or given myriad headaches simply trying to deal with him. In the end they would not need to worry, however, as the new village doctor to arrive at the village when Knossos was just five would begin to influence the boy in a different direction. Secretly a member of a cult dedicated to an alien being from a far-flung dimension/plane dubbed "iL'Thris the Deep Lord", whose home was a warped and corrupted ocean that spanned seemingly across infinity and whose true form was imperceptible to mortals and caused them to descend into madness. This cult's founder was the one mortal the Deep Lord had shown its true and aberrant form to, being curious about mortals after a one in a billion chance it would ever take notice of another dimension/plane at all, but the chain reaction resulting from this had led the maddened cult leader to form and cult and begin spreading it in secret...with maddened plans to one day overthrow the kingdom and summon a great monster to ravage the land. Said cult would influence Knossos until he was ten, after which he was taken away and assumed dead in the woods by his home as the cult prepared him more rigorously for adulthood in their ranks after faking his death. By the time he turned twenty one, he had learned all the magic of the cult that he could absorb (acquired from iL'Thris) and reached the upper ranks of the cult and then been infused with part of iL'Thris as other upper-ranks had (iL'Thris taking pity on their 'fragile mortal lives', thinking this was their request for help in that sense and it seeking to be merciful to help the seemingly 'good friends' of the one it had made contact with). All went according to plan, though, at least until the time when the long-foretold "Day of Summoning" came along.
The ritual kicked off, and disaster came, but a brave band of heroes that had formed and begun to rise amidst the pre-ritual period would take the fight to the cult before destroying them in a climactic final battle. Neighbors of the Kingdom of Ordos had even sent in reinforcements to help in order to avoid the spread of chaos deeper into their lands. Such was how terrifying and drastic the effect and impact of this all was. What would follow is the lead hero of the group of heroes marrying the kingdom's princess, who was about his age, and the Kingdom of Ordos rebuilding as it bloodily purged out the remnants of the cult. Among the scant few people, able to be counted on one hand at the very most, Knossos managed to survive and flee by land to a land far away. Somehow. Even he questioned harshly how many died and how his escape happened to work out despite the odds...yet in the end the reasons did not matter. He had lived and survived another day, but the cult had not.
But what of the enlightenment the cult had promised? What of the power, the truth, everything? Something like the cult, yes, it had to be true. But if this route to truth did not manifest for them, perhaps the next would? Yes! Another had to work! It had to. There was no other way, it was all he'd ever known. So he would have to find another route! Yes! Truth lied beyond the veil of any of this, it had to, and he would find it for the benefit of all this time!
Thus Knossos would desperately claw his way to a land far away from his own, that being of the desert Kingdom of Khamsin in the vast and expensive Khamsin Desert. An ancient land that had begun as a cradle of civilization on the far northwestern coast of its continent, placed right on the equator, it had been inhabited at first only by the ancient Iwiw (a jackal-like canine beastman race) who had built up the origina Kingdom of Uat there between the fertile Nilei and Ma'at rivers coming in from the northwestern coast to build up a civilization of their own. The Uat civilization lasted over three and a half thousand years before it would be broken and put under the yoke, though some such foreign-conquering rulers would maintain some of the land's practices and such to help maintain power, and the land saw civilization there going from fledgling kingdom in super ancient times to ancient empire to being subjugated by others and breaking free each a few times over each. Yet ultimately the Khamsin region itself would go about being shattered quite catastrophically into fragments and five centuries of disasterous chaos by a short-term but vast expanding empire from the far north (as punishment for involvement in a certain foreign war). It saw the region vastly depopulated *but not entirely mind) of its usual natives, scattered in diaspora due to disaster or slavery or the like, many sub-races go literally extinct, and then eventually a group who had controlled areas of land around the capital rising back up to found the new "Kingdom of Khasmin". This kingdom has persisted until now as a modest but notable kingdom by current times, a growing power with a great strength in its wealth and trade without a doubt. A kingdom known for its mix of ancient ways and modern innovations and so forth, and a melting pot of trade and harsh landscape and so forth, the Kingdom of Khasmin was a pale call of the original Kingdom of Uat in ways to be sure. Even so, it was more stable, advanced, and enduring than it had ever been before as a 'breadbasket' of past nations.
Yet it was within this new Kingdom of Khamsin proved to be where a new cult was found by Knossos, a group dedicating themselves to an Ancient Great Demon Lord named Ashtara who sought to take the region and transform it into a microcosm of where she had come from: A ravaged, demonic plane that to her and her followers would be transformed into a paradise. Or at least such a 'paradise' is what she promised. A paradise free of struggle, war, and turmoil. Nothing but the best pleasures of life and beyond, and for all eternity. Despite his former affiliation, he did join the cult and manage to rise the ranks to an extent once more as he pursued things with a new zeal. From Ashtara, he as well as other mid-rank and higher-up members would be granted to drink of some of her blood (and the higher-ups took in some of her essence to boot). Yet for how Knossos was concerned, only partaking of her blood infused him and others with a demonic dark magical power that allowed them to partake of certain magics. Conjuring/summoning demons, making use of curses, casting red energy attacks of tainted demonic magical energy, and conducting blood rituals would become the things he could do using this 'gift'. Yet it would be when this cult tried to rise up and cast their big 'summoning ritual' to bring forth their patron that things would eventually turn as they locals and a plucky band of mercenaries-turned-heroes would rise up and smite them back. Barely manifesting an arm of their patron to try to crush the heroes, Ashtara could see the writing on the wall and merely withdrew after it was clear the cult could not keep it up. The higher-ups who had absorbed her essence binding them to her in a way drinking her blood did not, would be sucked up by her alongside the dead bodies of deceased cult members as 'reparations' for her plan not succeeding. Those living members left behind, Knossos included, were pursued and killed and slain and put to the sword. Knossos was only thirty three years old at the time, and barely scraped through the desert with his life before collapsing at an oasis.
His strength in convictions was beginning to waver, but despite it all his desperation to find what he sought pushed him to travel far away once more as he sought another group. One more shot. Another route to truth, before he got old enough and died where he stood. He had to. By all the powers that were, he...he...if he didn't, then what would all of this be worth? The deaths, all in vain? Sacrifices, all falling on empty ears? No. No, he could not let it be. And thus he traveled to find the final group he'd end up joining.
In a land far in the northern hemisphere, farther north than he'd ever been in his life before, he came across a group seeking the power of an ancient civilization called the Vilkyn. Once a people who in rather ancient times owned the territory the group has set up in, in fact having originated from there in days long gone, the Vilkyn race and civilization had collapsed over a series of centuries and disasters and such that had brought them down into extinction. Yet according to some of their old records, something of great value lied where their capital had once been. Formulae to create unique crystalized mana gems, a unique creation differing from 'crytalized mana' or the like, and devices as well as magically-wrought constructs which were made to be powered and even partly shaped by these magical power sources...among which was one meant to revive the race from the dead that hadn't been able to be activated in time during the capital's fall over two thousand years ago. The group having been funded by a wealthy noble of a nearby kingdom, one who sought this power to use it for himself, they plucked away at things as Knossos joined on at first as a simple 'expert in obscure magical arts'. Then as the group became more obsessed and cultic, driven by a desire for power and made promises by the noble of becoming immortal, Knossos would see himself more and more involved as he sought to study the Vilkyn magical arts and records. He would gain the magical knowledge the group sought, at least, before eventually the group was caught by the kingdom the noble came from as the noble himself was outed by some means. The group lost all funding, an attempted half-activation of the great Vilkyn device saw a botched raising of undead that now inhabit the Vilkyn ruins and surrounding wastes there, those who were in the same kingdom as the noble were killed, and Knossos barely escaped with his life by braving the undead and making his way out in a different direction than most took.
...Even so, he could collapse on the ground of a vast northern forest to the southwest of where the group had been set up at the old Vilkyn capital's ruins. An old path merchants on rare occasion took was right before him, and yet his strength gave out seeking to make it onto the road itself. Collapsed in a bush next to it, his vision blurred, his wounds continued to worsen, and he would pass out expecting to finally die. His resolve to find 'truth' in the only way he'd known how, so indoctrinated into it he had become blind, would too finally break as his body did. Truth? He sought truth, but this path was not it. This way was not the one. And what had he done? Run about seeking all of this like a fool for decades of life? He, a fifty-four year old, was going to die here. He would not see the power of the Deep Lord transform the world into a utopia as the first cult had promised. He would not see a glorious paradise form as the second cult had promised. He would not see power and riches and glory in mortality as promised by the third and final cult he'd joined. Nothing. And so as he felt himself drift, the aging man would scoff at himself and allow himself to drift away.
But this was not to be his fate, it seemed.
Waking up in a shrine to the god Drothur (God of Travelers, Merchants, Wanderers, Transients, Homeless, and Foreigners), Knossos found himself cheating death once more. At least, this time it was so without his own choice in the matter. A passing cleric of Drothur had found him, the clothes on his back, and his magical satchel containing all his things, and brought them to the shrine. Telling the confused and utterly depressed man they had been guided by a dream to take that road, in particular even seeing the location they had found Knossos in, the cleric said that the had felt the hand of their patron deity upon him. But why? Knossos would wonder this and ask as he was forced to heal up for some time, talking about everything to the cleric as they tended to him personally, but wasn't handed over to anyone else in the meantime as Drothur's will was seemingly to help him recover. The same cleric who had helped him would leave, returning to travel as was their calling, but would leave him with a parting message when he asked one last time the question that burned so brightly in his mind: "Why?" "Why save me? Why care for me despite all the things I've done?". The cleric merely responded, with a smile, that:
"My lord Drothur saw fit to save you, even one who seems to have long lost his way in life and done much in pursuit of many self-blinding and destructive paths. Most do not survive this sort of life, among those who have been in such a place as yourself that is. And yet you have come to see your own folly. The veil of ignorance has come up from your eyes, and this is a most precious gift indeed.
I believe...you are being given a chance. A great rebirth of purpose. An opportunity to take a new path, to pave a new road, now that you have been able to realize what so few like yourself have ever been able to.
Eh? As for my own personal reasons? Heh. I would not dare leave a lost wayfarer such as yourself to die in the wilderness...never again. I have made my own mistakes in the past, but I seek them not ever again.
So for forth, oh man named Knossos! Oh walker of dreams long broken! Go with my lord's blessing upon you, and see your new path to its very end without regrets! I shall see you there at the very end, my friend."
And so the cleric left.
Once a year had passed since Knossos having been brought to recover at the shrine, he would remove himself from the shrine and local area. Indeed, he would find himself joining the Pilgrim's Caravan as it was preparing to leave the location around where he'd been cared for throughout the prior year. Claiming to be a magical scholar of sorts, he would take his occult expertise and magic and skills and set about to make the world a better place in any way he could. He would also seek to gather knowledge along the way to this end. Ultimately on the road, and for the next fifteen years, Knossos would peddle his knowledge to assist others as an 'occult expert'. He would care for those dealing with haunted places or cursed items. He would be hired by nobles to investigate ruins, examine eclectic and rather niche 'magic items' for them, or try to assist with afflictions and issues caused by non-standard magical sources or origins. Such was his purpose. He would even buy up cursed items or such to 'contain' them safely, and for that he gained some reputation of a good but also wary sort. He even assisted areas with more 'zealous' beliefs investigate certain matters relating to his expertise and skills, if only to work with the law and try to form an amicable relationship with such groups to avoid trouble on his part. At the same time, however, it isn't as if he is without potential to get into trouble due to what he is skilled in dealing with. His skills have been of use to the Pilgrim's Caravan itself at times as well, making him a staple of the last decade and a half in regards to certain matters if nothing else, and yet to date he knows the danger never goes away. The next plot, the next oddity, the next obscure magical issue, the next place that could potentially be where he runs into his past again, whatever it may be...
...but he will see his new chosen path to the end, no matter what!
Personality:
An older man usually of a calm, jovial, or relaxed type of mentality and way he holds himself. Even so, he inherently possesses a sober patience and calm in or outside of his work as well. He is generally well-spoken, and is well-read to a sometimes troubling extent when it comes to his area of expertise, but one won't find him being usually unfriendly to others unless they seriously manage to tap into his anger r get him to really not like them to a notable enough extent. Knossos is very meticulous about his work and frankly passionate and serious about it to boot when it comes down to it. Attempting to snatch anything of his is something he will more than sternly lecture someone else on, at the very least, though he truly loathes those who fumble about with the occult or such things with no regards for their lives or others’. Outside of his work, one can find him willing to share a hot meal or drink with others and even have a laugh and talk and such...or a shoulder to rest on if they need to unload something painful or so forth onto someone else. At his heart children do have a soft spot with him as well, due to what happened to him in his own childhood (or lack thereof to an extent due to what happened in his own childhood), and at his heart he truly is a kind man who seeks to do the best he can in regards to himself and others with nothing but sincerity. Yet it is also that same sincerity that sees his anger and other negative emotions being that much more hot, poignant, and fierce whenever they manage to peek out from behind the veil of his usual demeanor.
Whilst he is not of the mind that he knows everything, he’ll amidst that as bluntly as possible with a laugh if asked, he is still a very much knowledgeable man whose talents go as deep as the years of his life have gone on long.
"What is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"
-Paarthunax, Skyim (2011) ((And this is a quote that IC would be something Knossos would actually think to say to be honest)
Motivation:
To assist others regarding matters of the occult.....in a sense, be a ‘guiding light’ to help them understand or deal with or even avoid danger from such things. De-cursing items, storing away dangerous occult objects/relics, advising or counseling people on how to deal with occult matters, keeping tomes of occult knowledge and scrolls of otherworldly wisdom away from others by taking them himself, etc. Admittedly he does charge for his services, mostly so he can afford to get supplies and materials for his work along the way, though based on the client he has been known to adjust his running prices at certain times based on what the client can actually afford to pay him in the first place.
Likewise in this main goal he gets to travel and see the world, something he’s come to enjoy raiding along with the Caravan over the last decade and a half. Perhaps his goal is also evidence of seeking redemption of some kind for the years of woes and miseries he created or participated in prior, to atone for his once-evil life by seeking to do good with what he knows and can do, though he’d deny such a thing if asked about it or it was implied toward him or such.
Skills/Strengths:
-Occult Expertise (Occult Magic/Occult Knowledge): To be more specific about this area, his whole thing here and in general runs on the premise that even in a world of fantasy and magic and monsters and so forth existing there are ‘outliers’ even within the realm of magic itself. Obscure or unique magical arts/practices, forbidden or frankly taboo spells that were spells developed or discovered, magics tied to beings from abnormal otherworlds mages don't usually or haven't made contact with as a standard practice, socially/culturally unacceptable magical practices/arts, etc, along those lines. This realm of things is where Knossos’ expertise falls into the lines of, though even he admits he doesn’t know everything. How could he? He is just one man. What he does know has come from decades of experience and personal study, both during his cult-joining days and since then afterward, and his travels with the Pilgrim’s Caravan has assisted him in this by exposing him to new places and things to study and acquire and so forth along the way.
In terms of applications, his capabilities are more varied than they are specific. He can summon and command tentacled or oceanic-like beings from the space iL'Thris comes from, as well as summon and command demons from wherever Lady Ashtara came from. He can conjure unique magical/twisted alien waters from an alternate dimension to use to attack others, doing so in things like water jets and barriers and so forth, and unleash/conjure unusual black demonic fire that it would take magical means (or a lot more buckets of water than should be required normally for a fire) to put out. He is further steeped in curses and the mechanics of them and things such as cursed objects/items, and has knowledge of some tribal or obtuse/obscure/fringe magics from across the area’s he’s traveled through or learned from in the last one and a half decades.
In terms of outright skill and experience and self-discipline he's akin to a veteran old wizard working up in a tower or at some prestigious magical school somewhere in the world, but this is also his one greatest strengths to boot.
-Magic-Infused Body: His body has aged outwardly to the point he looks to be an old man in his 60s before stopping, but internally the quality of his body is still easily at the level of a prime 20-to-30-something year old due to what it has been infused with. He, in other words, isn't as old inside as he is outside. His mind is still rather sharp, his body can handle the exertion, and so forth that a human in their 20-to-30-something prime could without a doubt. That and some minor regeneration capabilities that allow him to heal from a wider range of things than normally is possible and slightly increases his passive natural healing rate to boot.
His durability isn't beyond that of a normal human being, he isn't Wolverine in terms of healing speed or anything ridiculous like that (heck no), and so forth. But whilst his lifespan will be inevitably extended by an unknown amount of time, an extent even he has no idea of the length of, he will eventually in the longer term die of old age with everything just giving out due to the raw amount of time that has passed. Even then it isn't 'eternal youth' that he has either...really just slowed aging in regards to the quality of his body (but not his aesthetic appearance).
-General Survival Skills: Cooking, cleaning, foraging, handling weather, making a fire, creating basic or functioning shelter, fishing, and similar things are array of generalist survival skills he’s refined from necessity over the decades and years before and even during his caravan years. He’s a very well-seasoned hand in this regard without a doubt.
Weaknesses:
-He has no armor to speak of, and his physical capabilities are still very much human. He is just as mortal as anyone else to boot when it comes to being able to be killed.
-No weapons skills to speak of. Best he could use is maybe his knife, but eve then that is just for survival and travel and such general-use purposes.
-Whilst some of his magical capabilities and occult knowledge do overlap with actual standard magical practices or categorizations, don't expect him to know standard magic stuff and standard-type spells and so forth. His knowledge is nuanced and eclectic and frankly niche in nature, so whilst some overlap in how things are categorized and work can occur he is no scholastic wizard who got a proper magical education from some magic university or so forth. He can probably identify some things from being on the road for so long, and doing his own research, but he's no wizard. He's just your friendly caravan-traveling occult expert and magic user.
-Removing his Magic Ring. Knossos' body was fused with part of an alien being and outright demonic power it now produces and can tap into. To any sort of zealous paladin, trained mage trying to detect magical sources, and the like, he stands out like a gigantic bonfire being lit up in the middle of total darkness. It is impossible not to notice him, as in being among the sorest of sore thumbs in terms of standing out in this way.
To this end, he commissioned and purchased said Magical Ring (see "Tools") that hides his magical presence/energy from detection by others. Second to the magical bag he carries his things in, it is the second most expensive item he openly wears or carries on himself. Despite obsessively wearing it all the time on his right hand, no matter what he is doing or in the middle of, it also isn't a perfect thing. High-tier, high-level, and top-tier types of magical detections spells or magics can see past his protection and pick up on him. Likewise, again, if one manages to get the ring off of him that is not good news either for him.
Of course in some areas, this ring might not be needed if no one can detect magic there. But especially in major cities or capitals or areas with magical schooling he has to keep this ring on.
-Due to the above weakness, he also has an inherent weakness to specifically holy magic(s). Healing magic of a holy sort still works on him, he isn't some full demonic being or so forth, but it leaves him feeling odd and lightheaded as an end result. Meanwhile offensive holy magic does hurt him extra to a distinctly noticeable extent. Barriers of holy magic that protect from monsters or demons or such, etc, do not keep him out since he's not fully anything of the sort. On the other hand such things, depending on potency, do make him anywhere from uncomfortable to feeling a sense of passively-throbbing pain or potentially worse depending.
Tools:
-Traveling/Professional Work Clothes (see the appearance picture at the top of his app)
-Water Skin (not seen in picture but he wears it around normally)
-Knife (for cutting rations and food and such, or whittling, or whatever general use thing it could be used for)
-Magical Ring (Hides the magical energies and such within him from being noticed by magical detection methods. This works all the way up to even a moderately strong sort of magical detection capability at most.)
-A Bag of Holding expy type object, one he has had enchanted and reinforced and put more money into than anything else he wears or the like. It stands out like a sore thumb with him, made to last beyond a lifetime and then some, but does look about as well-traveled with all the work done to it. He can withdraw whatever he wishes out of the bag, but if damaged badly enough he has to get it repaired to access his things again. At the same time, between enchantments and runes and materials used to reinforce and augment it, this magical bag can be returned to his person or even into his hands with a thought and is harder to break than most things in the world. This is because he has put a lot of money into it over the years from his mercantile pursuits, as well as some back when he was in cults due to having had this bag as far back as then when he bought it for himself after fleeing the destruction of the first cult he was in.
It took all he had to get the back itself back then, in its original condition no less, but since then it has been a literal staple he even keeps on his person at all times even when bathing and sleeping and otherwise...maybe he's a tad too careful about the thing actually. He is touchy about this thing, and the investment he's made into it alone is, ah, not exactly normal for a person to do.
With this it contains: Food rations, regular clothing, a backup water skin, myriad occult-related magical tomes/scolls, various mundane books related to both the occult and other subjects, clothing from when he was in those three cults in the past, magically-contained cursed items or other such dangerous objects, and all of his money.
Other:
-His surname, "Dreamwalker", was self-appointed and has stuck since. Inspired by the clerics parting words to him and his own reflection back on his own life. A poetic touch, as it were, which also makes him sound rther fancy and well-versed in what he knows (which he is well-versed in regardless of name anywho).
-NOTE: As far as the caravan knows at most, he's a roaming magical scholar who got experience on the road over many decades and is specialized in the occult. Was interested in such magic, and left his hometown to pursue his interest on the road. Wants to help people. Never said where he comes from, told his life story, etc.
-Yes, Knossos' homeland is based in some 'rough' part on Italy/Greece/the Mediterranean in terms of naming and such. No, I have not worked this all out. No, as of submitting Knossos' app I cannot say more than that at the moment.
-His height is 5'10". Height for the height chart, stats for the stat throne. Or something. Idk I am ripping a 40k meme quote here. XD
I see the Pilgraim Caravan RP is working at a comeback as well, and a certain old occult-experienced man might have his services needed along the way....hmm...
Would anyone even be interested? Hmm, the psychic had no idea. It wasn't her most personal first choice, but it was something she felt would better catalyze travel and the like if she was ina a group. More people and Pokemon to look out for each other, support each other, etc and all of that. It was the sort of thing her grandmother had often talked about from her own past.....one that had lied outside of the Orre region for a while. Had always felt fantastical to Clarissa herself, but then again traveling in groups for safety was also something she had been used to back home as well. Especially when it was a longer journey through the wasteland and such to go visit one place or another. They had brought the bikes they'd used back in Orre with them, even, when they'd moved to Eidda.
....Maybe one day she could ask about hers again, if she happend to pass by home. But for now, she needed to see if anyone else was-
Breaking out of his thought bubble, Ripley took it upon himself to approach the offer casually, walking up to Clarissa until her attention visually shifted to him. His features rose as he offered a smile in greeting.
"Heya- Clarissa, yeah? I wouldn't mind waitin' around for a day if you're lookin' for a partner or two!"
Hmm? It was the boy who had bluntly called them something like 'lab rats' prior, yes? Albeit he'd done so as excitedly as ever, it seemed, from the impression he'd left on her back there. She didn't lambast him for it, as socially awkward as the moment felt by her witnessing it to some extent, but the younger man also seemed genuine in his offer as well. Eager. A bit opposite to herself, admittedly, but perhaps that'd make for a good dynamic when traveling? Hmm. Still, with no one else biting at her offer at least someone seemed to be interested in coming along with her at least....mandatory stop by the Contest later, and having to stay in the city overnight as well, aside.
"Pa's always said I need to cool my heels when it comes to making big decisions, so maybe that day could be what I need for the journey-ta-come. Well - if you'll have us, of course!"
Clarissa nodded at the boy in a generally polite manner. Perhaps a bit formal, but it was what she was accustomed to when restraining herself and more importantly her powers properly.
"I'd be happy to have you along, if you still don't mind waiting with me tonight due to the Contest and such. It was...er...an unexpected thing pushed on me in the heat of the moment at the airport. But at least it gives us a chance to rest tonight here in Byjerfal after doing some Pokemon hunting and seeing the Contest, if nothing else, before tomorrow comes."
She'd no idea what Valerie had in mind for her. It did send a small chill down her back to think about it, though, before the psychic trainer lightly shook her head and looked back up at her new group member. It was time to get moving...and preferrably before Professor Camphor got too grumpy perhaps.
Commercial District, Byjerfal City
(Urban Exploration)[/center]
She....she didn't have a clue how popular Valerie was around here, did she? No, actually, less than a clue. Ignorant compared to perhaps anyone worth their salt who knew of the contest scene. At least that was the vibe the woman's face being plasted all over the place gave to Clarissa as she and Ripley walked down the streets of the city's Commmercial District. Not to mention all of the faces plastered across the ads for the Master-Rank Contest that would be going on, who likely had their own fanbases to some extent or another. Or perhaps some of them sought to overthrow Valerie herself, perchance? Er, she got the feeling that anything involving competition at this level likely would result in quite a bit of viciousness in some fashion or another internally....both personally and with Pokemon battles for all she knew. Or perhaps the dangers of Orre really weren't so bad here in this place, and she was assuming too much on a whim?
Though it was also frustrating she couldn't get a scan on the flocks of seemingly two kinds of bird Pokemon heading by them, even as she'd tried to scramble to pull out her device only to let out a defeated but mild sigh before putting it back up again. At least they seemed to be going in a couple of different directions they could search, right?
Further, her suitcase was being carried on her back, Sir Lopsalot sitting on it keeping an eye on their rear, and she felt she was becoming somewhat used to the weight on her back at least. Meant she was carrying enough supplies for the road, and if it got tiring she could pull it along in urban areas or such she figured. Plus the Contest Hall was not too far away either from this place, so once it got time to go there it would at least be simpler for them if nothing else if they kept close enough to this area at that.
Hmm?
The psychic trainer's eyes were drawn to a familiar green cat and trainer in the distande. Laurel, one of the trainers from Camphor's Lab, seemed to be going into the park along with her Pokemon. As it also lied off in the distane from them, Clarissa's eyes felt drawn after this over after this toward the local Museum, where something seemed to be going on outside of it.
It was certianly a lot going on in general they could do, really, but Clarissa would take note of things before looking over to Ripley.
"Don't have to be at the Contest Hall until things start, Ripley, so we have some time before I have to be there at least.
In the meantime, the Park seems like a good place to look for some Pokemon if you wish. Though I'm also curious where that flock of bird Pokemon went as well admittedly.
What about you?"
Holding out her left hand, the psychic pointed in the direction the flock of Murkrow had gone. Something about them had stood out to her eyes compared to the others, and if there were a lot of them it bode well for trying to catch one...she hoped. At the same time, going to the Park was a reasonable idea for starting things off in her mind as well. A more natural place certianly more like the Poke-Spots of Orre due to how small it was, maybem, and so potentially that would make it a place where she might get better adjusted to Byjerfal in that sense. Still, all she was going was pointing out what she felt like initially doing for the most part. Perhaps they could even get some training in for their Pokemon through battles to capture Pokemon at that!
Even so, she wanted to see what Ripley wanted to do as well so they could get started on things before too much time passed.
@Crusader Lord But... Like I said earlier, there are no mana gems or tails left to harvest from the three nearby corpses, dood. Laynea already did that, and gave the items to Cecilia, who tried to pawn them off to the rest of you. :P
@Qia Welcome back, luvly~ Hope you brought me that souvenir.
.....Ah, I see. I left my brain in the dumpster the other day then. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa!!! XD
Zapdos
Xaltwind
Spiffy
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The Otter
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Izurich
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