Cubix

War of The Angelic Trio

All good points! Thanks! I'll be editing the CS for your review.

---

I've edited the CS for your review.

War of The Angelic Trio

Here's my CS if I'm still welcome to join :D

Hider

"He smiles, yes, but I know that he hates those monarchs for making his life miserable. He is duty bound to keep them alive, but I assure you, the moment the tables are turned, he will turn his own blade against their throats."

Name
: Rancor Opperen :

Age
: 21 :

Race
: Blessed Human :

Role & Kingdom
: Personal Servant of the Monarchs of Michael :

Ability & Weapon
: Mitotic Override : - When he was blessed by the angel, Rancor's cells mutated into rapidly dividing proportions. These cells, as Rancor dubbed, the Covenant, are located everywhere in his body, both internally and externally. By itself, the mutated cells merely provide increased regeneration and self-healing for Rancor. This means that the servant heals at a faster rate than a normal human. Severed limbs and major injuries can take days and even weeks to heal; the former can only be regenerated after a week depending on the extremity amputated. However, the main feature of the Mitotic Override is the ability of his flesh and blood to heal a person. If an individual bites Rancor's skin, the cells transfer to his/her body, providing additional self-healing capabilities-- the cells soon die afterward since they can only survive in Rancor's system. The most effective healing method is for the person to fully consume a piece of Rancor's skin, or to fully drink a portion of his blood. Just because Rancor can regenerate lost body parts, does not mean that he can survive if his head is cut off, or if he is blown into pieces. Since the cells are produced in the pericardium and in the hypothalamus, ripping out the heart or the brain can cause him to die.

: Dagger Mastery : - Mostly learned through his kitchen cutting and dicing skills as well as a training from a friend in the military, Rancor is adept in the art of knives and daggers. He prefers a more defensive stance with the dagger in an icepick grip whilst the edge is pointed to the right. His right arm is also extended as his body folds tightly with his left hand covering his right shoulder. In his standard uniform, he conceals two of his daggers in his belt. However, Rancor rarely told anyone about his talent for knife-play, and he assumed that not even his lieges know of his ability which was bestowed to him by an angel. He prefers it that way, though. After all, with less expectations comes less responsibilities.

: First-aid Knowledge : - As a servant, Rancor needed to be acquainted with basic first-aid, apothecary, herbal medicines, and the like. He is no doctor, though, and his limit is often reached on major wounds. As such, he resorts to his Mitotic ability to save lives when the need arises.

: Refined Cooking and Waiting Skills : - Taught by the finest cooks in the kingdom, Rancor is able to whip out the delicacies that his lieges prefer. He is also adept in the kitchen, being able to manage the heat with precision and timing without breaking a sweat. He is also a fan of tea and confections which he often makes under the guise of giving it to the monarchs, only for Rancor to consume it himself. His training under the castle's finest servants also made Rancor into the diligent and responsible servant he is now. From waiting on his masters to reminding them of their tasks, he is one of the kingdom's finest servants to date.

Biography
: Being born in the slums of the kingdom had its perks as well. One, a person born in the slums matures faster and learns more about the real world at a pace not even the smartest of the scholars in the castle can live up to. Two, you learn to live and die by the blade. The barbaric environment of the slums in Erekon proved to be an arena for those who wished to survive, because there were only two ways to get out of the slums: garnering the attention of a military officer, so that you can be sent to the castle for training, or you smuggle yourself out. In this desolated place, people displayed their full prowess in front of the guards in hopes of being sent for training, but not one was chosen for more than a decade.

Rancor, the eldest of a family of five, observed these fights because he already had a plan to bring his paralyzed father, sickly mother, and twin baby sisters out of the hellhole that was Erekon. As he reached maturity, all his training led up to this moment when he stood in front of a burly man twice his size. He had prayed to the high heavens to grant him this mercy, to deign in answering his silent litanies and odes. And, by the angels, he wouldn't lose. He couldn't accept just standing still in life, because those who just stood in life are the ones who run from death. As a matter of fact, never did Rancor stay still.

As he faced off against the brute, a minute into the bout, Rancor was sent reeling through the air as he sustained a broken rib and arm. The crowd jeered and cheered for the brute as he towered over Rancor like how the moon eclipsed the earth. Instantly, memories of his family rotting in Erekon surged in his mind, prompting Rancor to send, for the last time, a plead to the skies above to grant him deliverance. And, as if time stood still, a figure, clad in the whitest garment he had ever seen, hovered over the boy.

It was an angel, and a beautiful one at that. Not even the most precious of gems and coins held a candle to this angel, and with but a few words, a deal was sealed. Instantly, a runic mark, a thorny serpent coiling around a bloody rose, was inscribed on his abdomen. All his injuries regenerated, and as Rancor bolted forward and pierced the man with his own dagger, his fate was also sealed. The officer, awed at the sight of a man regenerating broken bones in a matter of seconds, immediately sent for Rancor (who requested his family to be moved as well) to the wealthier part of the kingdom. He intended Rancor to be a soldier, but when his regeneration abilities lessened over time, the boy had a difficult time keeping up with the army's rigorous training. Instead, Rancor was assigned to household and sanitary duties like cleaning the barracks and the like. His industriousness and hard work earned the praise of common men, but for soldiers like him, they only sneered at his weakness. One of the officers intended to relieve Rancor of his duty, and send him back to Erekon. After all, if they wanted a cleaning person, they could just hire from the castle cleaners. However, the same officer who took in Rancor saw another potential in the child. The good officer confronted Rancor with this discovery, and warned him of the impending send-off if he doesn't shape up. Thus, Rancor revealed to the officer the real extent of his abilities of helping others. The officer realized that while Rancor might not be an effective soldier, he still possessed abilities that could benefit the monarchs' safety with his power.

Instead of sending him back to Erekon, the officer recommended for Rancor to be a servant in the castle, and he should work his way up. And, he would earn his own keep. Rancor started at the bottom, cleaning up messes wherever they were, and doing the filthiest of cleaning duties until his superiors felt easier around him.

Thus, as Rancor ascended to the role of a servant for the monarch, he still bears a deep gratitude to the divine powers for the aid they had provided. At the moment, Rancor operates as one of the monarch's personal servants, catering to their commands, wishes, and needs with utmost precision and quality.

But, still, his bitterness and 'wit-of-tongue' against the very monarchs he served are still evident to this day. Up to now, Rancor couldn't fathom why these royals couldn't spare a look of mercy for those who were suffering outside the castle's cold parapets of stone.

Song
: Solemn Hour : youtube.com/watch?v=p4h1wciz45o

Mains | League of Legends

"H-hey... w-wait!" the boy called out as the ghouls darted after the escaping criminal. "So, you are guilty of this." he gritted his teeth before sprinting towards the street. Suddenly, what seemed like a time for talking turned into a high-speed pursuit as they raced down the lonely slums of Darkwell. As the pitter-patters of water resounded between the walls, Leon increased his pace whilst the ghouls scampered and crawled on the walls, their eyes fixated upon the running convict-- their mouths opened in choked sneers and jeers. "If you weren't guilty of that murder, you wouldn't be running away, scum!" Leon shouted after the man, hopping over a pair of crates that were lying about. His shoes splashed on a puddle, causing liquid beads to fly into the air before being sliced apart by the pursuing specters. "I'll make sure the Shadow Isles won't corrupt you by burying you in the ground!" his voice echoed once more as he felt the familiar grip of fatigue on his limbs, and the ominous tightening of his chest.

"Leon Kohlberg?"

"Yeah?"

"You have a condition..."

"And, I assume that it's gonna spell the end of me?"

"Yes. That is, if you don't follow a prescribed lifestyle."

A deep sigh escaped his nostrils before he focused his lavender eyes on the medicine man. "A'right, doc. Lay it on me."

The doctor twirled his goatee before sitting down on the stool opposite of Leon, his dark eyes burdened with a revelation he would have wished he could not announce. "You see..."

"No, I cannot think about that right now!" Leon bellowed before jumping into the air and landing on one of the ghouls, causing the specter to propel him forward, and give him a few meters of distance from this runner. "If you won't stop, I'll make you stop!" the boy lunged, leaping over a metal bin before recalling his ghouls to his side. The specters vanished in jets of light, merging with Leon in a flashy spark. Empowered, Leon jumped off the bin towards the man. His hand scratched the air as the shovel faded into his grip with a blue flash of light. Like an angel of justice, Leon delivered his final verdict with his shovel smashing against the earth, causing a fissure to erupt and curve a few inches in front of the runner in an attempt to trip him. As the miniature gorge came into existence, an orange ghoul burst forth from the rubble and tried to claw out at the criminal.

"Is this the part where I ask how long I have to live?" Leon chuckled airily, his eyes more interested in observing his trembling hands. At this moment, everything seemed more interesting than the x-ray charts the good doctor had plastered all over the white screen. A few cracks here and there were seen near his chest cavity.

"You only live as long as you want to." the doctor replied, taking off his stethoscope and sauntering over to his desk.

Leon stood up with a sigh as he took his jacket and tied it around his waist. "Bullshit." he growled. "Try telling that to Sarah."

His breath escaped him as his chest tightened to extreme measures. In an instant, Leon fell forward to the ground as his mouth opened in a desperate attempt to keep his lungs occupied with air. It seems as though, his lungs were too small, and there was too little air.

@TheWinchester4

Mains | League of Legends

Very random post. I hope you forgive me for it. I've just finished with a tasking RRL, and it burned my mind to cinders.

Mains | League of Legends

How long has he sat in front of the great oak tree? It could've been minutes, hours-- long enough for Leon to compose himself, and fully reflect on the path in front of him. His eyes roamed over the crimson-stained bark, fully knowing the deed he had done and the corpse he hid in the soil of the Orchard Road. A lot of things refused to add up, and like pieces to a puzzle, Leon tried his earnest to get the bigger picture. The visions as well as the omens were doubtful at best, and with the only person who saw it with him laying within the earth's loving embrace, Leon couldn't assure himself that what he had witnessed was the gospel truth. The Shadow Isles aimed to manipulate its avatars on Leon's plane of existence, and if nothing would be done, they-- he-- would be dancing like a puppet with strings. As he focused on his inner voice, angry whispers and shrills stabbed at his mind, the voice of the Isles ever so persistent in vanquishing the mission Leon stored in his memory. The Isles wanted an army for themselves; Leon intended to raise a fighting force against the Isles. Unfortunately, as in every fiction, the protagonist and the antagonist are both driven by goals which cancel each other out-- only one goal can win. And, by the gods, Leon vowed to win-- for Sarah, for Travis, and for every person in Darkwell. There's nothing left but to move forward now. But, before anything else, Leon sought to improve his own skills for him to be worthy to train and protect his future comrades. After all, the might of the Isles is one to be awed at.

Strangely, all of these resembled that of the Three-Act Structure which Leon learned in his Stage Arts course. Everything that has happened, everything that led to this moment were all mere expositions-- just the start of the entire theatre and drama. Now, in the next few forks of his path, the Conflict will begin. The Isles will do everything in their power to dissuade the gravedigger, and with the other vigilante group on the loose, Leon knew that his chances of gaining an easy victory never amounted much. In a play like this, Leon knew that only those who acted lived to see the apex and ending. Apathy and cowardice were what led Leon to the mistakes in his life, and he would be damned before retreating and cowering once more. This time, he would push onward. He would play a requiem for her, for him, and for the lives he would soon save. The crescendo is not too far in this concerto, and Leon intended to live long enough to hear the finale.

His will imbued ignited with new-found ambition and strength. Finally, Leon gripped his shovel and plunged it into the ground, aiding him in standing up. As the petals and leaves waltzed around him, the gravedigger's lips parted in a gentle smile. The snares of the Isles loosened on his psyche as the voices vanished completely. "To us, my comrades." Leon raised his shovel before it vanished into thin air. Then, three pairs of claws burst from the ground as a trio of ghouls rose from the Isles and stood by his side. "I sense him too." Leon took a deep breathe before his eyes glowed yellow. The ghouls snickered and twitched in rabid anticipation. "We must make our presence known to him. Go."

The ghouls bolted out of the orchard, scampering and crawling through the lonely streets, invisible to the eyes of the normal folk. "It seems a lot transpired in the few hours I was in the Isles." Leon shrugged as he paced behind the spectres. "Well, it felt longer. I wonder whether my predictions were right all along."

Soon, Leon passed by the Wi-Hi cafe, taking a moment to pause and reminisce as he remembered the place where all things turned into a clusterfuck. The Muffin Witch, the Shield Guy, the Meeps, and even the blue-eyed maiden. Leon wondered where she was now. Would he still see her around Darkwell? Was she also like him? The image of her eyes never left him even for a moment, and even if Leon closed his eyes, he still noticed how he saw his reflection in those tundra-shaded orbs of hers. The eyes were the windows of the soul, after all. And, weirdly enough, he glimpsed into his when lavender met azure. A relaxed sigh escaped his smiling lips, forgotten memories of Sarah and him playing in the recesses of his heart. "I wish I can explore that more, but," his eyes swept over to the bounding ghouls. "I guess there are more important things to be done." Then, he gazed up at the heavens, praying to whatever god that would deign to cast him a look of mercy. "Just a wait a little more, Sarah. I'll get there soon enough. Just... a little more." As if an answer, Leon noticed a faint trail of a shooting star speeding through the lazy skies. "Thanks."

He clutched his chest, feeling it tighten for an instant.

---

Soon, he reached an apartment somewhere in the city. Honestly, he just followed the ghouls, and began to doubt their sense of direction. Still, this proximity to the location was sending weird chills down his spine. One of the ghouls went over to a random dumpster and began to bang its head against the metal surface. In response, Leon stepped to the dumpster, and with a firm hand, lifted the lid open. If Leon wasn't accustomed to the sight of death, he would have flipped away and cried. Instead, as his eyes took in the pale corpse inside the bin with ghastly energy faintly seeping from it, the gravedigger's doubts were made certain.

Leon smirked as he pointed at the apartment, the ghouls' mouths snapping open in glee. "Find this manifestation of the Shadow Isles. Lead him or her to me. Drag them if you have to." At once, the spectres bolted towards the apartment, still invisible to the regular people. They had one goal in mind: find the source of this disturbance and bring him, her, or it back to Leon.

If this person was as bloodthirsty and murderous as he seemed due to the corpse, then, at least, Leon could give him a proper burial under the oak tree as well-- safe from the corruptions of the Shadow Isles.

Mains | League of Legends

I'm gonna have to drop...

a post after your update :D Just trying to find a smooth way to get Leon back into the mix.

Slayers

As the great metal doors of Roseview swung open in all their majesty, Ilya walked in among the crowd that came in to witness the Choosing. She trained herself for this day, and to be here in the capital was nothing but an honour for her. Her feet tapped lightly on the stone tiles as she swerved away from the main stream of people, and opted to crouch near one of the stone pillars around the arena. In her line of work, stealth and anonymity were key concepts if one wanted to stay under the radar of death; and Ilya mastered that art quite nicely. The girl nimbly rested herself on the ledge near the pillar, whilst one foot dangled while the other bent near her chest. The traditional ebony hood of the Erekon Forager Squads still covered her facial features, and hid much of her identity, leaving her free to watch as the onslaught of challengers filed in to the centre. Her eyes observed the battle-hardened proctors, wooden weapons in hand. All of them looked intimidating as their posture gave nothing away. Their stoic faces remained passive even if their would-be opponents towered over them. All of them deserved the title of Slayers from their posture and demeanour alone. The challengers and their matching proctors circled each other like prey and predator, death glares being sent left and right. The people's voices quieted as the deep, long roar of the bell signalled the start of the test.

A ferocious sequence of terrific battles began! One of the burliest contenders, Tanrou, smashed against the slayer with a resounding roar as both men fought for dominance. Then, the proctor whipped around and locked Tanrou's arm over his shoulder before using his hands to slam the challenger outside of the ring with a resounding crack. The crowd was sent into a frenzy as another challenger flew out when a sword broke against his skull-- the offending slayer raised his hand as another shout emanated from the wall of people. "Come on, ye bebies! Dun hide under yer mum's skerts, bawlin' and cryin' yer wee eyes wid lady tears! Dun just be prancin' 'round 'ere if ye ain't up to de test! AR' YE A SLAYER O' NOT!?" Yelark taunted to his writhing opponents, heaving his wooden axe over his head. The crowd answered with frantic cheers as bones broke and muscles swelled.

Ilya rolled her eyes to these challengers. Sure, it seemed honourable to fight an opponent at full strength, but, in the woods, honour is worth nothing when you're dead. Timing is of the essence in the field, and so in the art of marksmanship. A single wind, a single leaf bore the potential to change the trajectory of a shot-- costing the entire mission to fail. So, in this arena of battle, timing also became significant. And, so did stealth. Ilya had prepared her weapons and tools for this; she asked around and inquired as to the rules. And, there were only two rules: use wooden weapons, and try to not get trampled upon by the proctor. So, as the Choosing went on, and more and more people were humiliated and thrown around, Ilya decided to make her move. It was now or never. All her life led to this moment. She would not run away, because those who run from death stood still in life. And, by the gods, never did she stand still.

Ilya rose from her position, and fitted a blunt, wooden arrow into the nock of her bow. She aimed down the recurve at one of the arrogant proctors, and steadied her heart and mind. After all, steady heart, steady aim. The winds blew to the east, whilst leaves kept falling in an erratic sequence. If so, the perfect shot should be from the west. She pulled back the string, and breathed. "Through this shot, you will transcend." Ilya mumbled under her breath as her fingers let loose the arrow. The missile darted above the crowd, fanned by the eastward wind as it slammed into Yelark's left temple. The proctor crumpled to the floor for a few seconds, giving Ilya enough time to dash towards the arena as the awe-struck crowd made way for the challenger. As soon as the slayer regained his balance, he roared at the hooded challenger. His dizzy state made it difficult for him to even make a fist, but his training as a slayer still intimidated the ambusher.

"Why, you... dirty...!" Yelark mumbled, brandishing his axe in front of him.

"You talk too much for a slayer. I believe that if this were the real field, you'd have had an arrow through your head." Ilya removed her hood, shocking the crowd to a female's presence in the ring. "Shouldn't a slayer be more on guard?"

"I don't normally hit females, but for a tramp like you," Yelark licked the edge of the wooden axe. "I'll make an exception." The crowd roared in support of the slayer as Ilya fitted another arrow into her bow.

"I'd like to see you try, kid." the girl replied with a smug grin.

Yelark roared, charging forward before spinning his axe horizontally. In a flash, Ilya tumbled to right before shooting the wooden arrow towards the slayer who deflected it with the backside of his axe. The slayer bolted once more as Ilya leaping towards the farthest side of the ring, and continuously shooting arrows at the maddened slayer. Each time, Yelashov weaved and spun around the arrows, dodging them as a skilled slayer would. Then, Ilya aimed to the skies, letting loose an arrow before fitting another whilst aiming for Yelark, who, once again, smashed it with his weapon. By this time, the slayer got close enough and heaved his axe like a guillotine. Ilya, surprised by his speed, stumbled sideward, barely avoiding a wooden chop, and tumbled forward. Relentless, the slayer rotated his axe, and swung it behind him, forcing Ilya to use her bow as a shield, just enough to give her time to bend her head to the side, and avoid the axe's edge whilst her bow was riven in two. The woman flipped backward and pulled out her wooden dagger, duelling the slayer in a frenzy of slashes, parries, lunges, and swings.

Then, Ilya sprinted for the other side of the ring, causing Yelark to pursue. However, she quickly spun and slid towards Yelark, passing beneath his legs and slashing her dagger against his heels. Quickly, she got up and threw her dagger at him before sprinting towards her opponent. She knew Yelark, when caught by surprise, would opt to block with his axe, and in this case, he would be open to her final ace. As the dagger sped towards the slayer, indeed, he swung his axe to deflect the dagger aside before focusing his eyes in front-- only to witness the visage of Ilya floating towards him whilst right hand was extended to the air, a wooden arrow dropping between her fingers. The slayer was in utter disbelief as this woman's skill and as she swung the arrow straight at him, an intense desire to win fuelled his next actions. Yelark gritted his teeth, and swung his axe in an inhuman speed. However, the axe barely nicked Ilya's body-- only a few millimetres remained between her skin and the axe. But, after a fraction of a second, Ilya's eyes opened in pain. She was blown backwards, rolling around the arena until half of her body dangled over the edge.

She could have sworn she didn't get hit by the axe, but why was she blown away? And, why couldn't she move?

Her eyes weakly trailed to the slayer who approached her-- who beat her fair and square. At once, Ilya knew that she failed in her mission. Gone were her days of dreams and happiness... she would go back to the Erekon Squads, forever shamed and disrespected for her arrogance. However, before she could consider leaving, Yelark grabbed her hand, and helped her up. She came face to face with the slayer, a gentle smile plastered on his lips. "Ye passed, child. Here," he tucked in her hand a parchment with instructions on where to go for the next part. "Well done, sister. What is your name?" the slayer inquired as the crowd now began to clap and cheer. Ilya now began to regain her balance, and focused on answering the question.

"... I... Ilya." she answered before staggering back.

"Sister Ilya... go forth. Your essence of timing is... impressive. I believe you will achieve a lot in your path." Yelark spoke in a different tone and voice as he bid her on.

A smug grin invaded Ilya's lips as she lifted her head high, and clicked her tongue. "Of course. You're looking at the best archer in Erekon, kid. Ain't no way I'm not going to be a slayer. My arrows always hit their mark." she winked before spinning around and hopping off the stage. Although she displayed an air of confidence and arrogance, her core trembled and quivered in joy within. An idiotic smile tried to force its way to her face, but Ilya kept it down and played it cool. Still, she did release a relaxed sigh and a gentle smile, looking at the outline of the city's buildings. "You're worth something Ilya... you're worth something." she chuckled, and opened the parchment. Soon, she would step into the next chapter of her life. The timing of it all was impeccable.

Slayers

I'll be setting up my post soon.

Slayers

Ilya Terres

Name

Ilya Terres

Age

22

Gender

Female

Appearance

Ilya stands at a laughable height of 5'5, and has been that way for the entirety of her life ever since she came of age. After her first lover took her innocence (and left her the next day), Ilya refused to groom herself beyond the expected level of hygiene. As such, her auburn hair is always unkempt; sometimes tied in a ponytail, but nothing beyond it. The girl's emerald eyes is often noticed in a half-lidded state, showing her disinterest in the larger picture of things. Her build is slim yet athletic and toned due to her training as a marksman since she had to do something to distract her mind from the betrayal of her past. As an accomplished ranger and forager, Ilya wears a jet-black hooded cloak which covers her beige but fair complexion when doing her tasks-- after all, stealth is one's ally in the night. A large scar runs down on the right side of Ilya's lips-- a mark she obtained when a slight misstep caused her to fall from a twenty-foot tree, and into a Thornberry bush; although, numerous scars are found all over her lithe body.

Skills

1. Longbow Mastery - Ilya specializes with her wooden longbow when in combat. She takes time and patience in finding the right spot to pick off beasts and other opponents from a distance. Her keen eye allows her, in the proper conditions, to strike a target from over 140 yards away. However, Ilya's craving for a 'perfect' and 'artful' aim causes her to dally between her shots, often leading to targets escaping her sights, and her losing a valued shot.
2. Dagger Decency - While close-combat was never her forte, Ilya has some modicum skill with the dagger and knife. As such, she keeps a silver dagger which hangs from her waist. When pitted against rookies and everyday criminals, Ilya can stand on her own, but against skilled professionals, the lass' dagger cannot hope to beat them, if not only delay the inevitable.
3. First-aid Knowledge - Wounds are inevitable in the woods. As such, Ilya taught herself the art of herbs and other medicinal ointments. She can also patch up wounds with splints and gauzes, but major wounds are out of her league.
4. Seduction - Living in the poorer rim of Aauron disables most from acquiring the vital things in life. Ilya circumvents around that problem by beguiling the wits of men with her allure and killer physique. She often seduces shopkeepers and other corrupt businessmen into providing her needs, only to find her gone the next day.

History

"Ilya? I know of her. Some say she came from the slums of Erekon, a small place in the outermost rims of Aauron. For the lass to survive in this barbaric rim, she seduced the will of men and sharpened the tip of her arrows. Kindness means nothing in the outer rim, and I know Ilya learned that lesson at a young age. Her innocence shone like a lotus in the dirt, and in a place of darkness like Erekon, it was naught but an eyesore. Barkus, a lad from a nearby district, trampled on Ilya's faith and innocence. He wrecked her being on that one fateful night, and the young lass never stayed the same since. She trained herself until her bones cracked, until every fibre in her being screamed for relief. Until she got in to the Forage Squads of Erekon-- a sub-division under the military. Ilya possessed a keen eye unknown to those who live in the outer rim, and her skills far surpassed that of her peers. No one came to hate her, because they all feared her prowess in and out of the woods. Still, a deep shadow looms around her eyes; a look of unknown suffering longing to be sated.

Her ambitions know no bounds, comrade. She grows stronger everyday. The Choosing is near, yes? I heard Ilya speaking of it, and her desire to partake in this event. I, as her commander, gave her the opportunity, and sent her to the main kingdom. Ilya's world is so contained in Erekon, and I want her to see the entirety of Aauron itself. She is naive at best, and while she knows a thing or two about the harshness of the world, she still has a lot to learn before her bow and arrow can slay those monsters.

She is not a bad person, comrade. Ilya just experienced a lot of tragedies in her life. She defiled herself in order to protect those who cannot; she sold herself so she could buy the freedom of those who she cared about. She just needs a lot of persuading that there is still a meaning to life. Her tongue might cut quick, and her attitude might be snide, but mistake not that under all of that hate-- a warm and caring core lies within.

Ilya is on her way to the capital by now, and I can only pray that she help herself first or nobody will."
-Yhagal, Erekon Forager Squad Commander

Slayers

Dang, did not see the notification XD Just a little tip, editing in a mention does not alert the person being mentioned apparently XD But, no problem. I'll edit and finish up my CS shortly.