Damycles

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@Punished GN Yeah that seems about right. And yeah I do actually. Oh, right, there's a discord server, I should click on that. Anyways, let me move my sheet over.

Welcome to Vradia

---

Fear. It's written clear as day on their faces. They're running, well, more like leaping, trying to keep to the trees as if the leaves are gonna be enough to save them from whatever it is that's gotten them this spooked. They're retreating at full speed. No care for formation. No care for stamina management. No care for even checking if they're being followed. It's a route, as standard of a route as it gets.

"No way, no bloody way, this wasn't what we signed up for damn it!" one of them shouts to his buddy running by his side.

"Look, they caught us by surprise but-" his friend starts before getting immediately cut off.

"BUT WHAT!? You heard that THING back there right?!" the first one shouts even louder than the last. Suppose stealth isn't on their mind right now is it?

"Look, I told you it's not a dragon! They're dead! They've been dead for years!" a third answers, trailing a little bit behind the first two.

"Well if it's not a dragon then it's probably something just as bad to make a sound like that. Either way, we're fucking leaving!" the first one says, the conversation seemingly ending there.

They're all dressed rather similarly. Ragged but effective clothing. Nice equipment from the looks of it. Though they are bandits it certainly seems they've had a bit of success in their time. Still, none of them stand out from one another. Meaning none of them are the leader. Turncoats. Something must've gone pretty bad for them to be having this kind of reaction. Still, they're calming down. Looks like they think they've gained enough distance, or the exhaustion is catching up to them. All three of them land on a sturdy looking branch on one of the larger trees in the area. Taking a moment to catch they're breath. They really do believe they're safe huh?

Well... They still don't know I'm here.

Single shot, an easy target, especially when they're still, sent flying all the way to the chest. As soon as it hits him he's sent flying off the branch tumbling all the way to the ground. If the bolt didn't kill him, the way he landed on his neck surely did, especially with that snapping sound it made.

"LEWIS!" one of them shouts.

He's in shock, clearly. Both of them are from the looks of it. Good, gives me time. Time to reload.

They're looking around, frantic, both incensed from the death of their friend but also fearful for their own lives. It happened too quickly for them to catch where the crossbow bolt came from and they're still too exhausted to run. Their eyes widen, mouths agape. One of them reaches for his sword but it's already too late.

Another shot.

Hah, a bit sloppier this time. I was aiming for the heart but I got him in the lungs instead. Still, the impact sends this one flying all the way to the ground as well. The crunch. Hm, must be his ribs that caved in. But I can still hear him, spasming down there like a newborn. From the way it sounds his throat must already be pooling with blood. Good, I don't have to worry about that one anymore. And that leaves the final mark for this job.

He's looking at me. Ah, he was paying attention. His sword's already out too.

"Y-you!" he shouts at me, loud, trying to hide his fear with the loudness, "You're with them aren't you!"

With them? Oh, I see. I can't help it, I start laughing my bloody ass off.

"Answer me!" he shouts.

I would but, I can't stop laughing! It's too funny!

"STOP IT!" he please to very deaf ears. "Why are you laughing!?" he finally asks.

It takes me a moment but I finally manage to regain my wits as I say "Ah, sorry mate. Just thought it was funny is all. I was wonderin' why this was goin' easier than I thought. Seems like someone else got to the mark before I did."

"Mark? Wha- what are y-" he starts but I'm getting sick of this conversation so I cut him off.

"Ah who gives a shite. You're gonna be dyin' here today anyways." I say, putting away my crossbow and bringing out from the strap on my back my glaive.

Two people, both on top of branches. He's got his blade out but he's a ways away from me and I've got the reach advantage. He should know this isn't a fight he can win but maybe hearing the deaths of his friends might be making his sense take a bit've a leave at this point. He's still tired, his posture's crumbling but the adrenaline seems to be kicking in. That look he has in his eyes. Fury, determination, drive. A snake backed into a corner. Oh... I see. He wants to take me with him.

Well, isn't that cute?

He takes the initiative. Big mistake. He leaps from one branch to the next but with each leap his balance takes a hit. The branches may look solid but they've actually got a bit of give to them. The slight wobble upon impact is what causes whatever semblance of grace he might have to rot with each advance. Still, he's not thinking about that, clearly. He's only looking at me. I'm sure his entire mind has nothing but the idea of making me fall all the way down to join him and his buddies in an early grave. And I let him keep thinking that.

My glaive may be positioned ahead of me but I'm not reacting to his movements. That is... until he finally gets one branch too close.

A single Cleave.

It happens in an instant. My feet already rooted down into my foothold on the branch, my arms raise up, back arches, legs fully engaged, taking a deep breath as I concentrate for this single, explosive moment. And then, the glaive swings. My muscles acting like the ropes of a crossbow send the blade flying straight through the branch this bandit was about to land on. It happens so quickly he doesn't have time to process what happened because he still tries to land on that branch... when it's no longer even there.

He looks at me. The anger is still there, but it's now paired with a fresh emotion. Despair. As soon as gravity begins to take hold of him he's well aware of his fate.

Thud.

And just to make sure... Another thud, as a crossbow bolt lands square in his back. If he wasn't dead before he sure as hell is now.

Well, I could go back, say they're all dead and take the pay for myself but... I do have standards, professional ones. And I'm sure if I didn't go to check up on the other blokes who made my job easier Garth would be starin' down at me with disapproval if he ever bloody hears about it. Even when you're missing you're ideals keep making shite difficult for me old man. I hope you know that. And so I make my way through the treeline in the rough direction that the bandits came from. That's when I see them.

Hm, quaint little group isn't it? Much more nicely dressed, that's for damn sure and... No, no now's not the time, you can schmooze off the job Rock.

I let out a sigh. This is going to be annoying but hopefully they're not the type to kill folks who are on the same score. I can get out of it if they are but probably not without a few scrapes. And as such, I make my way down from the tree and lift up my helm as he put a few fingers to my lips and make the shrill whistle that Ash is familiar with. Soon, the sound of galloping hooves makes its way towards me and then, standing beside me, Ash, my trusty and absolutely beautiful grey steed is here. I get on, settling myself into the saddle before eventually calling out to the group, still maintaining a very healthy distance between us however.

"Oy! So you lot on the same score then? Was hired to take these fuckers out but it seems ya' beat me to it!" I shout to them. Now... let's see how they react.

Welcome to Vradia

@WhiteAngel25 Sounds good. Also, had a bit of time so I added a quick sketch I did of Rock to the character sheet proper. Figured he needed a face even if it's a bit rough.

Welcome to Vradia

Hm... Alright, I think I see what's going on currently in the IC. Now do you want me to wait until after the whole raid is done to show up or maybe I can show right now in the tail end of it. If the bandits being there is publicly known information I can spin up a reason to be there that makes sense. Still, up to you.

@WhiteAngel25

Welcome to Vradia

Rock

Rock

---

Basic Information

---

Age: 26

Race: Half-Dragonian Half-Human, though he seems to possess no traits from the former.

Class: Fighter

Weapons: Glaive, Shield, Shortsword, Heavy Crossbow

Detailed Appearance: Rock stands at reasonable six foot even, Rock just as his name sake is built as solid as they come. Head to toe in honed muscle gained from years of labor and extensive battle. Though, surprisingly he's not as wide as one might expect. The physique he has is a functional one, built for explosive movement and great feats of strength and as such his musculature is not as showy as some of the nobles who have taken to body building as their hobby.

Most of the time he tends to be fully clad in his armor if he can help it. He does have casual clothes though likely through inherent mistrust and discomfort he rarely chooses to wear them outside of his own encampment or whatever Inn room he's using at any given moment. The main exception of course is when he's out schmoozing clients or schmoozing women... or both.

It's at that point when the helmet falls away to reveal the mess of jet black locks that lay beneath. His hair is cut short but not so short that there isn't volume to it. Rather if it were any longer it might start obstructing his vision and paired with it is the characteristic five o' clock shadow of a man who has actively take time out of his day to remember to shave. His brows, bushy, and thick make for a rather expressive but also intimidating face that is only heightened by the number of scars that mar it. Those scars continue everywhere else across as body as well, though most will never get a chance to look at them.

Bio History:

Everyone has their own relationship to war. Some wage it, either in foolhardy attempts at conquest, or in frighteningly efficient campaigns of death and territorial expansion. Others support it, either to line their own pockets or to placate those who they know would be less than charitable towards any dissent. Even more are forced into it, either via their sons and husbands being ripped from their arms or those very same sons and husbands having to make peace with dying in a ditch with nothing but the blow flies to listen to their own self composed eulogies. Yet few have to face those horrors head on, make decisions that they know will lead to the deaths of hundreds, thousands, all of which they've seen, personally, off to what they know is nothing more than a meat grinder. Few have what it takes to survive those horrors, and fewer still have what it takes to survive the nightmares that come after. And yet, when all the fighting is done, with the land now finally having time to settle the blood that's been left stained across it, there comes a final, even rarer class of folk.

Those, that treat war as a profession.

Rock. Born on a stone they said. And apparently Rock just rolled off the tongue better than boulder. Probably during a mission in some godforsaken part of the Western Rife. Still, maybe it was a blessing. There's worse things to be in his line of work than a Rock.

For as long as I could remember, all I'd known was the company. My first memory was of trudging through dirt and mud whilst escorting a merchant convoy making its way through the Ellezag plains. Certainly one hell of a way to learn your first steps but it set the tone for the rest of my life.

It's not easy, being in a Mercenary company. Contrary to the stories, there's no glamour, no fame, hell, you'd be hard pressed to find a woman even in most cases. The people who walk down this road are not the dark smouldering knights or the rough yet gentle brigands of you might find written in the more saucy books of chivalric prose. Every single man, woman, child, whatever you may find, is in some way a deeply broken individual who for one reason or another found that violence was all they were good for and had no other choice but to sell that violence to the highest bidder to get by.

And it's not like you get payed a lot either. Sure, the initial listing might look good but once you count equipment costs, travel fees, rations, and all sorts of other nasty little things that eat away at the budget the amount of returns you can make from an average stint is pretty small once its all divvied up between the group. Apparently it used to be better during the days of the war. I wouldn't doubt it, especially since it was Garth that was saying it.

Garth Martel, a true living legend amongst the Company, and a few others from what I've seen. He's been the leader since way before I was born. A real living fossil in this day and age and yet he's got more meat on his bones than some all of the nobles that've hired us. He's good at what he does, knows his way around the trade and knows how to haggle for what we're worth. And... he's the one who taught me everything I knew.

It was strange. I always felt something was... off... about him. Not in a bad way just, that he was different from the rest've us. He still had this look in eyes. That look you have when there's still something for you to hold onto. There were times when I'd catch him alone, rare times, where I could see him staring all the way off to those wrecks in the Western Rife and he'd whisper underneath his breath when no one else was looking "Surely, there's more out there." And that was one of the tamer bits of strangeness I've experienced from him.

Sometimes he left, told us to stay put or pick some easy jobs for ourselves while we were in the city, and he'd just come back with one of the fattest sacks've gold you could imagine and handed it out. We never asked any questions. Why would you? But still, always struck me as odd.

And then there were those times where we were camping out in the middle of nowhere during one of our brief moments of quiet and he'd just... look at me, and have this... look in his eyes. Like he was looking past me, and seeing someone else. And I'm not even gonna mention all the times he doted on me for no bleedin' reason. Honestly... he's a strange one. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

That is, until he up and left. This time for good.

Something was different. He normally would've said something, given us a heads up, anything, but no, this time he was gone. Left without a trace and even left the entirety of his share of the pot behind for the rest of us. Not even a goodbye note to go with it. Everyone else, they've moved on. I can't hold it against them. No matter how close we were at the end of the day this was just a job and they still have to work but... I can't do that. My eyes may not be the same as his but-

Until I find him, I've got a greater purpose in life than this.

Likes:

• Booze
• Women
• Gambling
• Boxing
• Good Food
• Gold
• Animals that don't try to kill him
• Romance novels (though he'll never admit it)

Dislikes:

• Nobles
• Merchants trying to rip him off
• People who are better at him in gambling
• Rain of any kind
• Plain Rations
• Books that have sad endings

---

---

Skills and Abilities:

Abilities:

You must have three abilities and give a short description of each ability.

• Cleave: The ultimate expression of humanity's kinesthetic potential. Trained from years of repeated swings against hardened battle formations, heavily armored opponents, and all sorts of magical fuckery in between, the Cleave is a simple yet horrifically effective attack. A single swing, full commitment, the entirety of the body's force engaged all once, all to bring down a blow that will tear through even hardened plate if they're foolish enough to try and block it.
• Born to Ride: Through years of cavalry charges Rock has learned to become one with the mount. Not only does mounted combat allow for him to have much greater maneuverability on any battlefield he pleases but it also allows him to throw greater force into his blows through cavalry charges or even bypass defenses from the height advantage a mount can give. Whilst he is riding, him and the mount are of one mind, one body, and one continuous dynamo of battle.
• Interception: When you're out on the battlefield for long enough you learn that it's not only important to save your own hide but your buddies too. The art of interception is a simple one. You see someone about to have a sword gored through their chest, you move, you take the hit, ideally in a way that's a bit less deadly than what you saw was about to happen. Maybe you can even block it entirely if you're fast enough or if the enemy is that bad at adapting to the situation. Still, the more people you have with you that are alive the more likely you'll get out alive as well.

What are the drawbacks of those abilities?

• Cleave: For as impressive and destructive of a swing as it is, it is not without serious consequences. Cleave is an all or nothing move. You need both hands meaning you have to forgo a shield, which as a non-magical individual greatly reduces your defensive potential already, and you have to fully commit to the motion. The kinetic energy of a Cleave is so immense that once it starts there is no course correcting or altering your trajectory. You either hit, or you miss, and if they see it coming and can get out of the way the immediate aftermath makes you a sitting duck for anyone looking to capitalize on your recovery time. When you cleave, you better damn well make sure the person on the other side of it isn't getting back or, up you might be next on the chopping block.
• Born to Ride: You need a mount. That mount has to be fed. That mount also has to be used to battle so it won't randomly panic in the middle of a fight. That mount also has to get along with him and not try to kick him off whilst he's about to get stabbed out of spite. And people might try to kill the mount too which is definitely something he can deal with but it doesn't make this any easier. That and if the area they're fighting in can't fit the mount into it then this entire ability is effectively useless.
• Interception: You are taking someone else out of danger and putting yourself in danger. Rock may be built like a rock and may have the armor to take hits a lot of other people can't but his defenses are far from perfect and taking a hit for anyone is always going to have those risks associated with it.

Skills:

Three basic skills that your character contributes to the group with a short description.

• Athletics: Manual labor is pretty common in the mercenary field. When you're not defending a merchant carriage from bandits you're probably hauling around their stuff instead. Or during long campaigns you'll need to haul equipment, rations, the works, and sometimes even up large stretches of mountain without a single word of complaint. But on the bright side, being a human pack horse also makes you very good at breaking things and even better at holding people down so they can't run away with your purse.
• Intimidation: Kindness is a luxury for the well off. Intimidation is the art of making sure people don't fuck with you, or anyone you're with for that matter. With a large imposing frame and a face that looks like it's seen its fair share of meat grinders knowing how to channel that into a stern look that'll shut up any merchant trying to short change you is a valuable skill.
• Cooking: Rations can be goddamn bland if you let them. Not many mercenaries learn how to cook but the ones who do are always happier than those who don't. That's not to say he's a professional chef or a master of high-class cuisine but he knows how to take whatever meats and spices you have and turn that into something that'll fill your bellies up nice with a satisfying flavor profile to go with it. They say a good meal is important for a good life and Rock can certainly make that.

---

---

Extra Information:

They currently have a war horse named Ash that they've been with for quite some time. It's more than the bond between a man and their pet, to him Ash is practically family and even though he can't communicate with animals in general Ash is the sole exception to this and as such he has saved no expense in equipping Ash with the finest defensive barding he could find to the point where the horse is actually more well armored than he is.

Theme Song:

Welcome to Vradia

Character Sheet

Rock

---

Basic Information

---

Age: 26

Race: Half-Dragonian Half-Human, though he seems to possess no traits from the former.

Class: Fighter

Weapons: Glaive, Shield, Shortsword, Heavy Crossbow

Detailed Appearance: Rock stands at reasonable six foot even, Rock just as his name sake is built as solid as they come. Head to toe in honed muscle gained from years of labor and extensive battle. Though, surprisingly he's not as wide as one might expect. The physique he has is a functional one, built for explosive movement and great feats of strength and as such his musculature is not as showy as some of the nobles who have taken to body building as their hobby.

Most of the time he tends to be fully clad in his armor if he can help it. He does have casual clothes though likely through inherent mistrust and discomfort he rarely chooses to wear them outside of his own encampment or whatever Inn room he's using at any given moment. The main exception of course is when he's out schmoozing clients or schmoozing women... or both.

It's at that point when the helmet falls away to reveal the mess of jet black locks that lay beneath. His hair is cut short but not so short that there isn't volume to it. Rather if it were any longer it might start obstructing his vision and paired with it is the characteristic five o' clock shadow of a man who has actively take time out of his day to remember to shave. His brows, bushy, and thick make for a rather expressive but also intimidating face that is only heightened by the number of scars that mar it. Those scars continue everywhere else across as body as well, though most will never get a chance to look at them.

Bio History:

Everyone has their own relationship to war. Some wage it, either in foolhardy attempts at conquest, or in frighteningly efficient campaigns of death and territorial expansion. Others support it, either to line their own pockets or to placate those who they know would be less than charitable towards any dissent. Even more are forced into it, either via their sons and husbands being ripped from their arms or those very same sons and husbands having to make peace with dying in a ditch with nothing but the blow flies to listen to their own self composed eulogies. Yet few have to face those horrors head on, make decisions that they know will lead to the deaths of hundreds, thousands, all of which they've seen, personally, off to what they know is nothing more than a meat grinder. Few have what it takes to survive those horrors, and fewer still have what it takes to survive the nightmares that come after. And yet, when all the fighting is done, with the land now finally having time to settle the blood that's been left stained across it, there comes a final, even rarer class of folk.

Those, that treat war as a profession.

Rock. Born on a stone they said. And apparently Rock just rolled off the tongue better than boulder. Probably during a mission in some godforsaken part of the Western Rife. Still, maybe it was a blessing. There's worse things to be in his line of work than a Rock.

For as long as I could remember, all I'd known was the company. My first memory was of trudging through dirt and mud whilst escorting a merchant convoy making its way through the Ellezag plains. Certainly one hell of a way to learn your first steps but it set the tone for the rest of my life.

It's not easy, being in a Mercenary company. Contrary to the stories, there's no glamour, no fame, hell, you'd be hard pressed to find a woman even in most cases. The people who walk down this road are not the dark smouldering knights or the rough yet gentle brigands of you might find written in the more saucy books of chivalric prose. Every single man, woman, child, whatever you may find, is in some way a deeply broken individual who for one reason or another found that violence was all they were good for and had no other choice but to sell that violence to the highest bidder to get by.

And it's not like you get payed a lot either. Sure, the initial listing might look good but once you count equipment costs, travel fees, rations, and all sorts of other nasty little things that eat away at the budget the amount of returns you can make from an average stint is pretty small once its all divvied up between the group. Apparently it used to be better during the days of the war. I wouldn't doubt it, especially since it was Garth that was saying it.

Garth Martel, a true living legend amongst the Company, and a few others from what I've seen. He's been the leader since way before I was born. A real living fossil in this day and age and yet he's got more meat on his bones than some all of the nobles that've hired us. He's good at what he does, knows his way around the trade and knows how to haggle for what we're worth. And... he's the one who taught me everything I knew.

It was strange. I always felt something was... off... about him. Not in a bad way just, that he was different from the rest've us. He still had this look in eyes. That look you have when there's still something for you to hold onto. There were times when I'd catch him alone, rare times, where I could see him staring all the way off to those wrecks in the Western Rife and he'd whisper underneath his breath when no one else was looking "Surely, there's more out there." And that was one of the tamer bits of strangeness I've experienced from him.

Sometimes he left, told us to stay put or pick some easy jobs for ourselves while we were in the city, and he'd just come back with one of the fattest sacks've gold you could imagine and handed it out. We never asked any questions. Why would you? But still, always struck me as odd.

And then there were those times where we were camping out in the middle of nowhere during one of our brief moments of quiet and he'd just... look at me, and have this... look in his eyes. Like he was looking past me, and seeing someone else. And I'm not even gonna mention all the times he doted on me for no bleedin' reason. Honestly... he's a strange one. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

That is, until he up and left. This time for good.

Something was different. He normally would've said something, given us a heads up, anything, but no, this time he was gone. Left without a trace and even left the entirety of his share of the pot behind for the rest of us. Not even a goodbye note to go with it. Everyone else, they've moved on. I can't hold it against them. No matter how close we were at the end of the day this was just a job and they still have to work but... I can't do that. My eyes may not be the same as his but-

Until I find him, I've got a greater purpose in life than this.

Likes:

• Booze
• Women
• Gambling
• Boxing
• Good Food
• Gold
• Animals that don't try to kill him
• Romance novels (though he'll never admit it)

Dislikes:

• Nobles
• Merchants trying to rip him off
• People who are better at him in gambling
• Rain of any kind
• Plain Rations
• Books that have sad endings

---

---

Skills and Abilities:

Abilities:

You must have three abilities and give a short description of each ability.

• Cleave: The ultimate expression of humanity's kinesthetic potential. Trained from years of repeated swings against hardened battle formations, heavily armored opponents, and all sorts of magical fuckery in between, the Cleave is a simple yet horrifically effective attack. A single swing, full commitment, the entirety of the body's force engaged all once, all to bring down a blow that will tear through even hardened plate if they're foolish enough to try and block it.
• Born to Ride: Through years of cavalry charges Rock has learned to become one with the mount. Not only does mounted combat allow for him to have much greater maneuverability on any battlefield he pleases but it also allows him to throw greater force into his blows through cavalry charges or even bypass defenses from the height advantage a mount can give. Whilst he is riding, him and the mount are of one mind, one body, and one continuous dynamo of battle.
• Interception: When you're out on the battlefield for long enough you learn that it's not only important to save your own hide but your buddies too. The art of interception is a simple one. You see someone about to have a sword gored through their chest, you move, you take the hit, ideally in a way that's a bit less deadly than what you saw was about to happen. Maybe you can even block it entirely if you're fast enough or if the enemy is that bad at adapting to the situation. Still, the more people you have with you that are alive the more likely you'll get out alive as well.

What are the drawbacks of those abilities?

• Cleave: For as impressive and destructive of a swing as it is, it is not without serious consequences. Cleave is an all or nothing move. You need both hands meaning you have to forgo a shield, which as a non-magical individual greatly reduces your defensive potential already, and you have to fully commit to the motion. The kinetic energy of a Cleave is so immense that once it starts there is no course correcting or altering your trajectory. You either hit, or you miss, and if they see it coming and can get out of the way the immediate aftermath makes you a sitting duck for anyone looking to capitalize on your recovery time. When you cleave, you better damn well make sure the person on the other side of it isn't getting back or, up you might be next on the chopping block.
• Born to Ride: You need a mount. That mount has to be fed. That mount also has to be used to battle so it won't randomly panic in the middle of a fight. That mount also has to get along with him and not try to kick him off whilst he's about to get stabbed out of spite. And people might try to kill the mount too which is definitely something he can deal with but it doesn't make this any easier. That and if the area they're fighting in can't fit the mount into it then this entire ability is effectively useless.
• Interception: You are taking someone else out of danger and putting yourself in danger. Rock may be built like a rock and may have the armor to take hits a lot of other people can't but his defenses are far from perfect and taking a hit for anyone is always going to have those risks associated with it.

Skills:

Three basic skills that your character contributes to the group with a short description.

• Athletics: Manual labor is pretty common in the mercenary field. When you're not defending a merchant carriage from bandits you're probably hauling around their stuff instead. Or during long campaigns you'll need to haul equipment, rations, the works, and sometimes even up large stretches of mountain without a single word of complaint. But on the bright side, being a human pack horse also makes you very good at breaking things and even better at holding people down so they can't run away with your purse.
• Intimidation: Kindness is a luxury for the well off. Intimidation is the art of making sure people don't fuck with you, or anyone you're with for that matter. With a large imposing frame and a face that looks like it's seen its fair share of meat grinders knowing how to channel that into a stern look that'll shut up any merchant trying to short change you is a valuable skill.
• Cooking: Rations can be goddamn bland if you let them. Not many mercenaries learn how to cook but the ones who do are always happier than those who don't. That's not to say he's a professional chef or a master of high-class cuisine but he knows how to take whatever meats and spices you have and turn that into something that'll fill your bellies up nice with a satisfying flavor profile to go with it. They say a good meal is important for a good life and Rock can certainly make that.

---

---

Extra Information:

They currently have a war horse named Ash that they've been with for quite some time. It's more than the bond between a man and their pet, to him Ash is practically family and even though he can't communicate with animals in general Ash is the sole exception to this and as such he has saved no expense in equipping Ash with the finest defensive barding he could find to the point where the horse is actually more well armored than he is.

Theme Song:

This should be everything. Let me know what you think.

Welcome to Vradia

@WhiteAngel25 Fair enough. Time for me to go back to the idea mines while I hash this sheet out.

Welcome to Vradia

So, I was lurking around here and was wondering if you still got room for a plus one.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@Punished GN Ah, I knew I must have misread something along the way. Thankfully the majority of the text is pretty intact. I only had to take out a line or two and add a few things here and there to make it work. Anyways, should be fixed, I think, but I could be wrong considering my brain is a little bit fried.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Character name here

"It just keeps turning and turning and turning and turning and turning and..."

_______________________________________________ Kali Mahendra He/Him | 26 | Indian | 5'11 | 180lnbs(?) (Think of it as a rough estimate honestly) _______________________________________________ Lost _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I hate talking about myself." ___________________________________ [+] CQC Training ⫻ For as poorly trained as the PRA is there is still a bare minimum standard required to be cleared for field deployment. Technically, he should be more adept with firearms but ever since he firs shot a gun they've always made Kali incredibly skittish. Too much power to handle mentally. To make up for it he doubled down on close combat training instead. Fists, stun batons, even knives just feel less inherently... deadly. Running ⫻ People say running away from your problems is easy. For Kali it's an art form. One he's mastered through years of experience. For as long as he could remember he's always been running to or from something. His legs and his heart have been forged into dynamos of motion as a result. He might not be the most graceful or the most powerful but when he starts running as long as he has feet to hit the ground, he won't stop. Cooking ⫻ It's a right of passage to learn to cook in an Indian household. Being taught the various spices, watching his mother cook all sorts of recipes from Bharat, and being guided until he could hold his own in the kitchen is likely the closest Kali has ever gotten to real family bonding. Now that he lives alone it's an invaluable skill, one he treasures greatly even if the memories are still bitter sweet. Cleaning/Other Various House-Husband/Handyman Traits ⫻ He's lived alone for a while now. He never thought he'd end up in a point in his life where he'd genuinely look forward to spring cleaning or know the inns and outs of how to repair his own sink but... life truly has a way of throwing you places you'd least expect. Regardless, someone has to fix his apartment's windows and it sure as hell isn't gonna be the landlord.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "You know, it's funny. Every time I look in the mirror I still think... is that what I look like?" You wouldn't sus him out to be your average officer, that's for sure. Yes, whilst in full uniform he pretty much looks the part of your average gun toting paranoid machine of the law aside from his skin tone being several touches darker than most, but when the long sleeves are off what follows is a very different picture. Tattoos adorn both of his toned well trained arms, full sleeves, snaking all the way to his shoulders full of iconography from various movements, religions, mythologies, the works. His back isn't much better being turned into a sort of eclectic time capsule of ideas and beliefs that he might have held or still holds to this very day. There's a sort of collage effect at work here though with how he's allowed his body to become various artist's canvasses. Hard to say if it was a cohesive vision or just a lot of correcting after the fact to make it all work, but it certainly is something. His hair, black, silken even, and wavy, especially in the wind. It rests just above his eyes though you could imagine that if the job didn't require the bare minimum of tidiness it would fall even farther than that. There's a bit of scarring above the right eyebrow, either from a bad scrape or maybe a bad mission, hard to say especially since it's normally covered well with makeup to the point where you have to squint to get a good look at it. Off duty his fashion sense can flip-flop between something you might see on the Saint Lawrence Paris catalogue, black skinny jeans and all, or something more in line with a Yohji Yamamoto lineup with large draping forms that fall above his toned yet undeniably skinny frame. Earrings do appear to be a pretty constant staple, at least when he's not in uniform. A Ruby and a Sapphire, one for each ear. Surprisingly understated but the color makes it pop enough to draw attention way from his oddly colored eyes that seem to swirl between sunset orange and sea-foam green depending on the angle you're looking at them from.

_{Psychology
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"Just- I mean it's an act, except it isn't but... I don't actually know."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Fully establish himself in an identity and lifestyle that he can truly call his own, outside of the influence of others, of societal pressures, of the strange call that supernatural entities have to each other. He'd like to one day settle down somewhere, maybe at a beach if the climate crisis hasn't ruined those yet, doing a job he loves with people that he loves, whatever that might be. But for now, he's just trying to survive and maybe pay back some debts he thinks he owes to people who are now dead.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ "Somethings felt wrong ever since the accident. I can't shake it. This gnawing feeling inside of my chest that something about me isn't right, that there's a problem with me that I can't fix. Every time I look at myself in the mirror it's like I go farther and farther away from the person I'm supposed to be. But is that person even the person I want to be? I feel like for the past fifteen years I've been dragged around from one place to the next, one job to the next, one life to the next, without anyone ever asking me where I want to go, and now it's happening all over again. Still, if you can't swim against the tide, might as well keep floating with it and hope you run into an island, right?"

SECRETS ⫻ There was an accident that he was involved with years ago, before he was ever involved with the Coven. He tells people it was just a bad scrape, and to the people of the Coven that it was just an unlucky encounter with an apparition that cursed him, but honestly... a part of thinks he really did die that day and for some reason any time he wants to bring that possibility up something silences him before he can even try.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Straight? Honestly he's not too sure himself either. He hasn't had a lot of time to explore this side of himself and even then he's not really sure if he wants to right now.

FEARS ⫻ He fears that everything he does is just an act, a facade, and that somewhere in the middle of all the acting whatever is his real true self somehow got lost. He's also afraid of taking life, and how that can affect him. He's fine with participating in violence but he is horrified about being the person to actually pull the trigger. He also has an irrational fear of cats. Something about their eyes... it's like they can see through him.

REPUTATION IN OLD COVEN ⫻ Kali, to the coven was like a picked up stray. When he first came to them, shivering, alone, recently run away from his parents they offered him a home, shelter, a place to remain comfortable. But something about him always seemed to put him in the fringes. He never stood out, never put himself in the center of any of the Coven's affairs. He pulled his own weight during the battle against the snake no doubt but otherwise he almost seemed like a part of the furniture. When the Coven dissolved, he was there. He heard quite a bit regarding what happened, not because people told him but because people didn't notice enough to realize he was within earshot of those conversations. In the end, the tide of fate was what threw him into the Coven in the first place, and life a piece of driftwood as soon as the Coven dissolved he would continue to float down stream as if nothing happened.

ROLE IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE STYGIAN SNAKE ⫻ At first, he was just another person on the front lines. Dealing with the lesser apparitions and doing his best to support from a position of weakness. But then, to everyone's surprise, he started saying things. Things about what the Snake would do, and what his intentions were. They were clearly speculations but more often than not he was actually right. It was as if Kali was somehow able to read the Stygian Snake and through his insights they were able to better maneuver around what it was doing and counterattack. Though, for some reason, near the tail end of the fight Kali had vanished. It wasn't that important however, the Snake was more or less cornered anyway and he was known to run when the going gets tough.

FLAWS ⫻ He's extremely skittish, paranoid, and generally conflict averse. He's harmless, but in a way too harmless. He's used to being pushed around a lot by people with extremely strong personalities and holding bottling up his feelings, to a point. His general weirdness about his own identity and the constant sense of discomfort that he gets from it also makes it difficult for him to connect with others. Stress, anxiety, and general sensory overload can cause him to shut down in crucial situations if someone else isn't there to knock him back into his senses, but when it all reaches a breaking point he can also lash out violently without much care for anyone else around him both physically and emotionally as a defensive response.

_{Backstory
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"We don't need to bring up the past. Nothing good lives there."
(I'm gonna write this in First Person if you don't mind. It's just how I like to do things.)

For as long as I could remember I've always had these... expectations... put on me. My mom and dad they were both, successful, I think. She did something with banks and dad was a doctor, or something like that. I don't really remember I haven't talked to them in fifteen years.

Still, I can't tell why but something, something was wrong back then. There was this thing gnawing inside of me, scratching away at my chest like it was trying to get out. I could feel it, growing, every day until I just- I couldn't take it anymore! I had to leave I had to run I was... I was. I was running somewhere. Into a field. It was a big one filled with wheat as tall as trees. There was a scarecrow in the distance. I don't know why I remember that but there was. It was tall, so tall. You couldn't miss it. And it just had these... eyes? Yeah, eyes, and they kept following me. And I just kept on running and running and running until before i knew it I was out of the field and into one of those back country roads and then. Well that's when it happened. The accident.

Something caught up to me there. I can't remember what it looked like but I just knew I was afraid of it, terrified even. I was on the ground, I was bleeding, I think I fell onto the asphalt and my heart was pounding so hard I swore it was gonna jump straight out've my chest but then it just left. Thankfully someone was nearby and they took me to the hospital but I still have the scar. That wasn't the only thing it left me with though. Something changed. I could tell instantly. It was like my entire body was filled with this... sickness that I can never cure. I could see things, hear things, know things that I never could before, that I shouldn't have known.

For a while I was just drifting around. An odd job here, an apprenticeship there. Sometimes I got by hiding in people's basements, creeping out from below when they were asleep to grab whatever I could from the fridge. But no matter where I went something just kept dragging me further and further along. Then, eventually I was just... walking. Walking, and walking and walking until finally I was just, somewhere else.

That was when the Coven showed up. Or more like I showed up to them. I can't remember why but for some reason I was just sitting there in front of their base, shivering, cold, was it raining? Probably, but it was definitely cold. They were nice. Or well, they at least helped me understand what exactly happened to me. Those were some wild years now that I'm looking back on it but, even if they weren't really my friends they still gave me a home. They gave me food, shelter, a place where I could just be myself for a little while. It was a good thing going for me. Right? Yeah I had to... technically, help in a fight against a horrific abomination from across the pale or something like that but it at least I belonged there. At least I think I did. But, at the same time I just can't help but wonder if I even had a say in any of that. Did I want to be there or was I just there because that's just how things went? I, no, no there's no point in thinking about that.

Eventually, things started going south though once the Snake was gone. It was funny, the Snake kept us together. No matter how much they might have hated each other as long as the Snake was there then it was fine. They all had something to hate together. But after that it all just crumbled. It was slow. very slow. Too slow honestly. But once it all rotted away I left with it. I was alone again. Nothing but the clothes on my back and a bit of loose change to try and figure something out with.

Then it happened again. I was found again. Not by the coven, but by the government. The PRA. I don't know what they see in me honestly but it's not a bad gig all things considered. The training is tough but... not much tougher than what I went through at the Coven. The jobs are honestly a little easier as well. They pay me, the housing is subsidized, I get discounts on the bus and train passes and can use the veterans discount at the grocery store. All I have to do is just deal with some paranormal things occasionally which is definitely not where I thought my life was going but it's not the worst, especially with all the benefits and insurance. It's cozy. Comfortable.

But is that what I want?

There it is again. That feeling. That thing gnawing away at the back of my skull. I can't listen to it this time. Nothing good happens when I listen to it. I'll figure things out. I have to. I always do. No matter what happens no matter where I go. I am me. I am me.

Then, one day, a letter shows up at my apartment door. A letter... old fashioned but, I like it that way. Then the name, Auri Auclair. Like a shot to the chest. No, no it can't be. There's no way right? Then the seal on the letter hits my eyes. It is. It's her. What the hell could she want with me? No, I should just throw it away. I'm done. I have a new life now I'm not going to let the damn pull drag me back in!

But that feeling... there it is again. I'm running away, just like I always do. I hate it. I hate it so much. So with a shaky hand I reached out to it, touched it, carefully undid the seal like I was handling a bomb before peeking at the contents.

Oh God.

Ashley Stone is dead.

I stare out into the distance from my front door. I read the address. I know where that is. I know it all too well...

So this is where I'm being dragged too next?

_{Abstraction
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"Let me become you."

Aberration (Abscised) ⫻

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Mimicry: It is not simply enough to copy the superficial, you must embody them, take their essence, make it yours, and lose yourself in it.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ It can take many different forms depending on who Kali is in contact with and for how long. However, the key sign of its usage no matter how little it is being used is a shift in the coloration of his eyes, almost as if paint is being mixed into his irises.

Embody: When in long periods of contact with another entity or individual Kali can begin to take on their traits. This happens in stages, first from the superficial traits and thoughts to eventually, if taken far enough, becoming an identical copy complete with all of the various traits, emotions, and capabilities included. This embodying even extends to abstractions if they are present though until Kali has fully "synced" with the identity of his target the abstraction itself will always be naturally weaker than what the original target is capable of.

Base: The "base form" of the apparition that has inhabited Kali's corpse. It is nothing impressive manifesting itself as shadowy claws and spikes that wrap around Kali's arms and can be used both offensively and defensively with enough durability to at least survive low caliber bullets but otherwise these offer no other benefits to his physique, reaction speed, or anything else for that matter. When using only his base abilities he simply has to rely on whatever mortal physique he has to make the best of it. The more he "Embodies" another however the less present his base form becomes, starting from the shadowy thorns at the top of his arms and receding further and further until the claws themselves also disappear when he has become fully "synced".

Empathy: This is more of a side effect of "Embodying" something but it also has its uses. When Kali is in the process of embodying a target he also gains access to their thoughts. Not in the sense that he is reading them but in the sense that his brain is being shifted around to think in the same way his target is and therefore is naturally forming those thoughts on its own as if it were that target. This process starts at the superficial level. Immediate goals, surface level desires, strong emotions, but if the process continues it will allow for access to even deeper, more subconscious, even horrifically personal thoughts though that is if Kali would even be able to retain enough of his own identity by that point to use this information.

LIMITS ⫻
Time/Compatibility: To embody a target requires sustained close proximity, roughly within thirty feet but this can vary depending on a number of factors, and it also requires an extensive amount of time. Becoming another person is not a fast or easy process and if the target is not another apparition or someone that Kali has a high emotional "compatibility with" (Knows extremely well on a personal level) then that time will take even longer, maybe even weeks to fully complete the process if the target is too incompatible with Kali and his own desires. Deep admiration for the target may shorten that time frame however though this is not always the case.
Ego Death: The closer Kali becomes to "fully syncing" with the target the more his own identity becomes lost in the process. There is a sort of undertow to this where the more he becomes the target the harder it is for him to pull away from the process to return to being himself. There might be a theoretical way to return Kali to who he once was after he "fully syncs" with someone but that is not something he has ever attempted nor is it something he ever wants to risk attempting.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ By mimicking someone, Kali begins to gain their memories... however, he loses the ability to differentiate what are his memories and what is someone else's. The more he uses this abstraction on a target, the more he loses his memories as they are replaced with the targets. By mimicking someone's abstraction, he also gains their weaknesses.

^{Other
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"I am me. I am me. I am me. I am me. I am me. I am me. I am me. I am me. I am me."

-They can also speak Hindi and Telugu and a little Spanish from High-school.
-He has a dog at home named Pebble. He's a Shih Tzu.

It's a bit of a weird idea but hey, let me know if you want me to change anything.