Bubsy 2

Brilliant Fake Kaleidoscopic Prism

It smelled like rot. Decayed, dead things. But it was comfortable enough, and it was getting better, and everything was going to be just fine. Sunny hummed to herself as she swept. But I’m Different. A battery powered lantern filled her sewer nook with soft yellow light. She had a bed and a couch; some shelving, plants, books, a table. It looked almost clean. It was almost homey, even.

She stopped and frowned. Gently, she knelt down to the floor. She picked up the rat trap. It was a tube; it was supposed to be neat and humane. The rat entered the enclosure, it tripped the spring, and the door shut behind it. It had air holes. She could’ve released it and let it go on its way.

The rat inside was face up, dead.

Were you sick? Did I do something wrong? Poor thing. I’m sorry. This must’ve been your home once too. The sigh on her breath was ragged and uneven. Gently again, she put it back down. The string lights she got didn’t even work, they had nothing to plug into. She walked to her couch and flopped heavily onto it. She felt sort of tired. It was too early to be up anyways.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

She grabbed her phone. 12%. Would be another coffee shop run to recharge it today. There was nothing to do, except… Torii Gate Appears In Tokyo Bay; Youkai March on City.

Yep, it was time to go.

---

The air was overly cold. If there was anything positive to say about living in the sewers, it was that it was warm. Sunny sucked in a breath, wrapping herself in her jacket. She was hungry. She should have toast – that was on genre, right? She entertained the thought with a smirk. As it was, she was running toastless. Luckily, or unluckily depending on perspective, her corner of the world was right on the bay. She’d studied the zoning maps for Tokyo’s sewers religiously since she set her sights on her new home; she’d come out just almost at the water. Just a corner to turn, and…

Morning light broke across the bay. Rays refracted into wave; soft white light dispersed. It didn’t match the scene around it. People ran madly. There was no shortage of those things; with backs of turtles, faces of dogs, plenty more things that Sunny did not have the vocabulary to describe, they rampaged across the street. A ship sailed into the bay. A stage dominated the street, with a boy sitting on a throne. Others like her were here to fight. The torii gate jutted into the sky above the bay, breaking through the ice.

She couldn’t just keep staring.

“Ut supra, sic Infra”

The pentagram on her neck burned; for a moment, always, it was too much. It was consumed by flame tipped with blue. It spread, catching her clothes, her hair, her arms, engulfing her. A bystander looked and saw a woman on fire. He recoiled. She looked like a nice girl – so young, and now casualty to the youkai.

Or so it had appeared.

Her clothing burned away. That which replaced it was forged in fire; as the flames cleared, a woman who did not look like Sunny Day emerged. Not so nice. Long leather boots; immodest clothing; overly individualistic makeup; a big sword. The only thing that truly could mark her as the woman she was before was her large grin. Still, she felt more like a girl in a costume than a hero.

But there was work to do. She pitched her heels into the street below, stabbing Joyeuse through the pavement, black ephemera wilting off of the sword onto the ground. Her hands pulled and her feet pushed, and all at once the kinetic energy came to head and she flung herself forward. She soared forward with magical speed, wind whooshing in her ears. The bystander that saw her transform watched in abject confusion as she flew right over his head. He whipped around to follow her movement; Sunny didn’t go much further, instead implanting her sword into the head of an inugami that had very nearly snuck up on the man. Stab and cut. She’d been practicing – it was not a natural motion, but the sword was perfectly balanced in her hand, supernatural strength helping her along. She cleaved down, splitting the demonic dog into two pieces.

“Sorry sir – excuse me, please keep running,” she said to the bystander. He did. She had to keep moving; onto the next – or, no. She repeated the maneuver she did before, flinging herself into the air again. This time, she went further. She closed the distance to the bay, and then hopped again onto the ship. As she suspected, there were other magical... people here.

She grinned at the others assembled, giving a short wave and her best “Howdy," in exaggerated English.

Was that guy naked?

Brilliant Fake Kaleidoscopic Prism

Sunny Day

"Yep, that's really my name! And it totally rocks, too!"

Age: 19

Background: Depending on which parent you ask, “Sunny Day” was either a terribly brilliant name or a bad joke that stuck. According to her mom, it was in hope that she would embody all the qualities of her namesake. Which she does, or tries to anyways. Sunny is the daughter of an expat family. She is technically an expat herself, although she has not seen America since the age of six and has few memories of her native country. Her family left their homeland seeking a more progressive political climate and culture; circumstance and fortune bought them to Japan, which could be generously described as a lateral move. Despite that, they forged a decent enough life in Minato, and Sunny considers Tokyo to be her home.

As of the present day, Sunny is neither employed or in schooling. Of course, her parents think she’s off to college. In reality, she’s currently embracing her identity as a Magical Girl, fighting for justice in the streets of Tokyo.

Naturally, with no home, she’s created a ramshackle “superhero base” in a disused sewer pipe.

Personality: With a name like Sunny Day, she was essentially destined to be completely insufferable. At least, if one is prone to believing that there is a such thing as a person being “too nice”, Sunny certainly fits the bill. At her core, Sunny desperately just wants to be friends with everyone she meets. She tries her utmost to treat others with kindness, a strong believer in meta-physical concepts such as karmic energy. She is quick to joke and quicker to laugh. Her interests and fashion lean towards the hipster-ish, having been raised by her parents with a strong counter-cultural streak. As a non-conforming expat, she’s used to being treated with occasional disdain. Of course, when she encounters adversity, she always does her best to live up to her name and meet it with overwhelming, annoying happiness.

In the vein of her patron, she often tells people that she lives her life with “big witch energy” (otherwise known as “BWE”), and leaves them to make of that what she will.

Appearance: If one thing about Sunny is to be noted, it is her incredibly radiant smile. It goes wide. It is almost always there. Her attire is appropriately and ununiquely hipster. She has a fondness for bomber jackets, converse, beanies, and cuffed jeans. Her hair, which falls to her mid-back, is usually concocted into some sort of bun or ponytail. It is black with grey-white dyed streaks. She is 5’7” and a fairly fit 125 lbs. She is in the awkward state between high-schooler and adult, where she could pass or be mistaken for either. She is Caucasian; her skin is pale. Her green eyes have been likened to perfectly ripe avocado at least once.

Baphomet is ever the fan of contrast. Transformed, she is inappropriately goth. Which is fairly uncomfortable for her. Her arms and legs are caught in tight fishnets, which have been frayed and distressed, holes improperly burst. A black crop top hand loosely from her shoulders. Below is a tight black miniskirt. Further, making up the space below the fishnets, there are aggressively black thigh high leather boots. A choker wraps around her neck, hanging from it the symbol of Baphomet – a downward pointing pentagram. More of the aggressive black is above. Lipstick, thick racoon makeup, faux-tear streaked eyeliner. To cap it all off is her dramatic headpiece, a black crown from which extends two large outwardly pointed horns, mirroring the Sabattical Goat, a traditional depiction of Baphomet. Her hair is an appropriate enough color already, and remains.

---

Patron: Baphomet

Patron Tool: A black choker, from which hangs the emblem of Baphomet: a downward pointing pentagram.

Patron Weapon: Joyeuse – whose name rather serendipitously matches Sunny’s demeanor – a sword wielded in antiquity by Charlamagne, supposedly fashioned from the Lance of Longinus. Sunny cannot truly say whether or not the sword she wields is genuinely the same Joyeuse, as Baphomet themself is rather cagy regarding the weapon’s identity. All they are willing to say certainly is that the sword in the Louvre certainly isn’t Charlamagne’s.

What can be said for Sunny’s Joyeuse is that it’s a spectacular weapon. It is a longsword wrapped with blackened leather, from which extends dully glowing blue blade. Legend states that Charlamagne’s sword radiated light and ever-changing color, but Sunny’s instead sloughs pitch-black dark energy.

Patron Aspect: Balance

Aspect Magic: Baphomet can best be described as the representative of opposites and equality. They are both a devil and a god, and at the same time neither. They embody the nature of contradiction, and the nature of karmic balance. Sunny, for her part, has not quite mastered this sort of center – but balance and opposites makes sense. As such, Baphomet granted her the power of balance; that of the equal and opposite reaction.

Using her aspect magic, Sunny may “tag” two humanoid targets (including herself) by inscribing the symbol of Baphomet (a downward pointing pentagram) on them. This can be done with any medium, be it blood, ritual chalk, or, most commonly, a special set of markers she carries with her, designed for surgeons to draw on skin. As long as the marking is legible, it becomes a permeant engraving on the target’s skin for as long as the magic holds effect, not dissimilar to a tattoo.

After tagging two targets, they are bound. While bound, any injury that one receives acts as panacea to the other, healing them proportionally to the damage caused. And, conversely, if one is healed by magical means, the other is proportionally harmed. Of course, there is no potential for any sort of feedback loop, as the magic does not activate itself. In terms of effect, the spell does its upmost to mirror injury/healing 1:1, although it may also work by more esoteric means. Sometimes, proportionality is quite clear. Healing a broken finger? Break a finger. Healing a cut? Make a cut. In terms of more abstract malaise, such as illness, the case is not so clear. There is some guesswork involved in what Baphomet will see as sufficient recompense, although they lean towards cruelty – if one is unsure, it is always an option to drub an unfortunate victim until the other is well again, although this could end up being quite unpleasant.

The limits of Sunny’s aspect magic is as such: she may only bind one pair at a time. If another is bound, the earliest mark placed will disappear. Baphomet’s sigils will disappear an hour after they are placed. Only those that are humanoid may be marked, and certainly nothing inorganic may be marked. She does not like hurting people.

---

Miscellany: Amateur in electronic music production; has an okay singing voice; prone to the dramatic, as her mother was an actor; dabbles in painting; very knowledgeable when it comes to niche hipster music; writes poetry; can do a handstand; decently fit; is an okay cook; can touch the tip of her nose with her tongue.

Brilliant Fake Kaleidoscopic Prism

Sunny Day

"Yep, that's really my name! And it totally rocks, too!"

Age: 19

Background: Depending on which parent you ask, “Sunny Day” was either a terribly brilliant name or a bad joke that stuck. According to her mom, it was in hope that she would embody all the qualities of her namesake. Which she does, or tries to anyways. Sunny is the daughter of an expat family. She is technically an expat herself, although she has not seen America since the age of six and has few memories of her native country. Her family left their homeland seeking a more progressive political climate and culture; circumstance and fortune bought them to Japan, which could be generously described as a lateral move. Despite that, they forged a decent enough life in Minato, and Sunny considers Tokyo to be her home.

As of the present day, Sunny is neither employed or in schooling. Of course, her parents think she’s off to college. In reality she’s currently embracing her identity as a Magical Girl, fighting for justice in the streets of Tokyo.

Naturally, with no home, she’s created a ramshackle “superhero base” in a disused sewer pipe.

Personality: With a name like Sunny Day, she was essentially destined to be completely insufferable. At least, if one is prone to believing that there is a such thing as a person being “too nice”, Sunny certainly fits the bill. At her core, Sunny desperately just wants to be friends with everyone she meets. She tries her utmost to treat others with kindness, a strong believer in meta-physical concepts such as karmic energy. She is quick to joke and quicker to laugh. Her interests and fashion lean towards the hipster-ish, having been raised by her parents with a strong counter-cultural streak. As a non-conforming expat, she’s used to being treated with occasional disdain. Of course, when she encounters adversity, she always does her best to live up to her name and meet it with overwhelming, annoying happiness.

In the vein of her patron, she often tells people that she lives her life with “big witch energy” (otherwise known as “BWE”), and leaves them to make of that what she will.

Appearance: If one thing about Sunny is to be noted, it is her incredibly radiant smile. It goes wide. It is almost always there. Her attire is appropriately and ununiquely hipster. She has a fondness for bomber jackets, converse, beanies, and cuffed jeans. Her hair, which falls to her mid-back, is usually concocted into some sort of bun or ponytail. It is black with grey-white dyed streaks. She is 5’7” and a fairly fit 125 lbs. She is in the awkward state between high-schooler and adult, where she could pass or be mistaken for either. She is Caucasian; her skin is pale. Her green eyes have been likened to perfectly ripe avocado at least once.

Baphomet is ever the fan of contrast. Transformed, she is inappropriately goth. Which is fairly uncomfortable for her. Her arms and legs are caught in tight fishnets, which have been frayed and distressed, holes improperly burst. A black crop top hand loosely from her shoulders. Below is a tight black miniskirt. Further, making up the space below the fishnets, there are aggressively black thigh high leather boots. A choker wraps around her neck, hanging from it the symbol of Baphomet – a downward pointing pentagram. More of the aggressive black is above. Lipstick, thick racoon makeup, faux-tear streaked eyeliner. To cap it all off is her dramatic headpiece, a black crown from which extends two large outwardly pointed horns, mirroring the Sabattical Goat, a traditional depiction of Baphomet. Her hair is an appropriate enough color already, and remains.

---

Patron: Baphomet

Patron Tool: A black choker, from which hangs the emblem of Baphomet: a downward pointing pentagram.

Patron Weapon: Joyeuse – whose name rather serendipitously matches Sunny’s demeanor – a sword wielded in antiquity by Charlamagne, supposedly fashioned from the Lance of Longinus. Sunny cannot truly say whether or not the sword she wields is genuinely the same Joyeuse, as Baphomet themself is rather cagy regarding the weapon’s identity. All they are willing to say certainly is that the sword in the Louvre certainly isn’t Charlamagne’s.

What can be said for Sunny’s Joyeuse is that it’s a spectacular weapon. It is a longsword wrapped with blackened leather, from which extends dully glowing blue blade. Legend states that Charlamagne’s sword radiated light and ever-changing color, but Sunny’s instead sloughs pitch-black dark energy.

Patron Aspect: Balance

Aspect Magic: Baphomet can best be described as the representative of opposites and equality. They are both a devil and a god, and at the same time neither. They embody the nature of contradiction, and the nature of karmic balance. Sunny, for her part, has not quite mastered this sort of center – but balance and opposites makes sense. As such, Baphomet granted her the power of balance; that of the equal and opposite reaction.

Using her aspect magic, Sunny may “tag” two humanoid targets (including herself) by inscribing the symbol of Baphomet (a downward pointing pentagram) on them. This can be done with any medium, be it blood, ritual chalk, or, most commonly, a special set of markers she carries with her, designed for surgeons to draw on skin. As long as the marking is legible, it becomes a permeant engraving on the target’s skin for as long as the magic holds effect, not dissimilar to a tattoo.

After tagging two targets, they are bound. While bound, any injury that one receives acts as panacea to the other, healing them proportionally to the damage caused. And, conversely, if one is healed by magical means, the other is proportionally harmed. Of course, there is no potential for any sort of feedback loop, as the magic does not activate itself. In terms of effect, the spell does its upmost to mirror injury/healing 1:1, although it may also work by more esoteric means. Sometimes, proportionality is quite clear. Healing a broken finger? Break a finger. Healing a cut? Make a cut. In terms of more abstract malaise, such as illness, the case is not so clear. There is some guesswork involved in what Baphomet will see as sufficient recompense, although they lean towards cruelty – if one is unsure, it is always an option to drub an unfortunate victim until the other is well again, although this could end up being quite unpleasant.

The limits of Sunny’s aspect magic is as such: she may only bind one pair at a time. If another is bound, the earliest mark placed will disappear. Baphomet’s sigils will disappear an hour after they are placed. Only those that are humanoid may be marked, and certainly nothing inorganic may be marked. She does not like hurting people.

---

Miscellany: Amateur in electronic music production; has an okay singing voice; prone to the dramatic, as her mother was an actor; dabbles in painting; very knowledgeable when it comes to niche hipster music; writes poetry; can do a handstand; decently fit; is an okay cook; can touch the tip of her nose with her tongue.

Tartarus Institution

Emerson Evans

hex: d7989d

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Class: Witch

Rank: Cadet

Personality: Emerson is doing his best. He’d hardly call himself the military type, after all. Everyone who knows him would agree. He isn’t an enlister, doesn't believes in the greater good of the Tartarus Institution, and doesn’t particularly believe in the hierarchical ado that permeates it either. Nor does he feel that he fits in particularly well with his “comrades”, given his atypically androgynous fashion sense and general dislike for excessive machismo. It hardly helps that his generally disaffected attitude might seem sour to some, although he would swear that he’s a lot nicer than he seems. Despite his claims, generally, he looks rather unapproachable and angry. A bad case of RBF, as it were. He has a bad habit of being overly terse with strangers, and often mumbles without intending to. He attempts to be friendly and kind. He has a hard time doing both of those things.

Why’s he here, anyway?

Most couldn't say.

Background: From Emerson’s perspective, both the Tartarus Institution and the Federation seem slightly ridiculous. He hails from a populous independent village, that, for lack of a better word, is completely filled with hippies. This contributes greatly to both his unusual worldviews and style. In a failing world without much concept of “counterculture”, his hometown serves one of the last bastions for it. His parents instilled in him a strong sense of anti-authoritarianism and individuality, as their parents had in them and so on and forth.

Emerson had an affinity for magic from an early age. He felt, in some way, that he ought to use it to better the world. Which he tried to do, although it didn’t take long for him to be identified by the Institute as a rogue mage. After he was captured by them, he was given the choice to either join them or lose his magic – and, loathsome as he found it, chose the former.

Education
Evocation: ||||
Mana: ||
Incantation: |
Familiar: |

Spells

Telekinesis
Psionic
Move objects, or people, by sheer force of will. Emerson’s signature, with which he is capable of minute control and great strength. With great concentration under ideal circumstances he can lift up to 4 tons, however, several factors can effect his abilities. His abilities are somewhat impaired when using them on an object or person struggling against his grasp, reducing his lift potential to roughly 1 ton. Of course, this is impaired further if done "on the fly" without time to concentrate. His manipulation range is 60 feet, and he can reliably launch objects that are roughly half of his carrying weight at 100 miles per hour.

Pyrokinesis
Psionic
Less refined than Emerson’s telekinesis, but can be effective. Can produce limited flames, but mostly useful for redirecting existing fires.

Aquakinesis
Psionic
Ditto to the above, but with water.

Mind Bullets
Psionic
Telekinetic energy focused into potent projectiles. Possess the power to kill a yak, reliably effective to 50 feet away. Further targets are possible, but require concentration and finesse.

Mind Shield
Psionic
Emerson can briefly focus his psionic energy into an invisible barrier, although it’s taxing to keep up for longer than a few seconds.

Levitation
Psionic
Accurately described as telekinesis redirected on the caster. Not particularly fast, but occasionally useful.

Mindspeak
Evocation
Telepathic, on the fly communication, effective up to 300 feet away. Only usable on visible targets.

Empathy
Evocation
Through a touch, understand the general emotion someone is experiencing.

Blink
“Evanescet”
Incantation-Conjuration
Disappear for one moment, reappear in the next at a visible location up to 30 feet away.

Astral Projection
"Visus"
Invocation-Divination
The ability to project one’s consciousness beyond their own body. Manifests as a subtle but not unnoticeable mote of light that can appear within 50 feet of Emerson in locations he cannot see but knows of, and can travel a further 1000 feet at walking speed. Emerson is not aware of his own body while projecting, and anyone who physically attacks the projection will cause it to dissipate.

Minor Illusion
“Imitari”
Incantation-Illusion
Fabricate the image of a small object roughly fitting the dimensions a 5-foot cube, or a sound no louder than a human scream.

Illusory Clone
“Attono”
Incantation-Illusion
Creates a false image of the caster, which can move upon a set path. Used to befuddle and elude.

Trusted Familiar, Bandit the Tabby

Name of Familiar: Bandit
Type: Servant (“She’s my partner, not a servant!”)
Species: Cat
Appearance: An elegant gray tabby with a slightly timid air to her.
Gender: Female
Personality: She’s a little shy, but if you keep trying to pet her she’ll eventually give in and let you.

Skybound

Nia

Nia Tyr

Janitor Extraordinaire, Professional Cargo Mover, Sous-chef-in-training
_{18 | Sanyan}

There really isn’t much of anything that’s remarkable about Nia. Her life, by all metrics, had been entirely normal. Which, to her, was entirely unsatisfactory. She craved adventure and played with the idea of trying a Manifest, but never did. All she knew was that she would never be happy as long as she stayed on the island she was born on.

So, when she got the chance, she got onto a ship. Not just any ship – the ship. At least, it was to her, having grown up following stories of the Fornacis’s adventures. She had no real skills, but she could swab the deck well enough and was willing to work for nothing but room and board (and adventure).

Well, so she says. No one is actually sure who hired her.

Skybound

Nia

Nia Tyr

Janitor Extraordinaire, Professional Cargo Mover, Sous-chef-in-training
_{18 | Sanyan}

There really isn’t much of anything that’s remarkable about Nia. Her life, by all metrics, had been entirely normal. Which, to her, was entirely unsatisfactory. She craved adventure and played with the idea of trying a Manifest, but never did. All she knew was that she would never be happy as long as she stayed on the island she was born on.

So, when she got the chance, she got onto a ship. Not just any ship – the ship. At least, it was to her, having grown up following stories of the Fornacis’s adventures. She had no real skills, but she could swab the deck well enough and was willing to work for nothing but room and board (and adventure).

Well, so she says. No one is actually sure who hired her.

Spirit Wielders!

“You couldn’t have done anything, child.” Nemeos never said it like a reassurance. Though it may or may not have been that; it sounded almost accusatory, now. He didn’t mean it that way, of course, or at least Savannah didn’t think he did, but it kept coming back to her. Couldn’t do anything, couldn’t do anything.

He was right, of course. She was weak.

Her parents were out of town, and fine in the end. They called and came back as soon as the news hit TV, but it didn’t really matter either way to Savannah. In a weird way, the events of the week seemed to just wash over her. Life was mostly the same, besides that school was cancelled, and everything was being rebuilt, and that there were monsters now.

But the big change was those words. Couldn’t do anything.

On her first day off, she took a bath. She still didn’t want to shower. It made her lightheaded, and she could feel her breath quicken, and she just though about passing out and slipping and hitting her head or something. At least her parents didn’t notice; she was happy to keep these quiet little struggles to herself.

But it seemed like bad memories always followed her here. Steam rose from the hot water, fogged the mirror, and filled the air. The wooden baseboard had started to rot from that time the toilet overflowed and no one noticed, flooding the bathroom. She gingerly stepped into the tub of tepid water, taking a deep breath. This wasn’t as bad, she thought, so she slipped down into it all the way.
The first time that it happened, she had been walking late through suburban streets, night air cool and crisp, and she liked that it felt like the world was all her own at night. It must have been ten or eleven PM, but it was safe, she lived in a good neighborhood and her house was close. It was a little foggy, and the warm orange lights of the dying streetlamps marked her path through the darkness and the fog. She always loved nights like this, and always loved walking in them. She put her earbuds in and listened to sad music, and it actually made her feel uncharacteristically great. That’s what scared her the most about it: there was no rhyme or reason. It should’ve been a good night.

She saw this black cat run across the street, and something in her brain just went wrong. She didn’t know what it was, or what started it, and she didn’t realize it at first, but she was starting to breath fast. Faster and faster, and then she was hyperventilating. Savannah didn’t know what was happening, but there was suddenly some awful primal instinct in her brain telling her that something was very, very wrong. Something was going to kill her, she was in danger, there was something suddenly unreal and disquieting about the entire world around her. None of it felt real, it was like a dream, or more accurately a nightmare, and she had started to run home without really thinking about it. She was running and she was suffocating and she was dying. At the front door she pulled out her keys, but missed the whole once, twice, and thrice until she landed it, turned it, and opened it, went in, closed it, and then collapsed against the door frame, sinking low to the ground, crying and trying to breath, because she was sure that she couldn’t breathe and if she couldn’t breathe she’d die. Eventually, still feeling wrong and dying she turned on the TV and tried to calm herself. She watched something she was comfortable with, that she’d seen many times, but it looked all wrong and while the world outside didn’t feel like it was real, the world inside the TV seemed like it was, and that characters threatened to go outside the bounds and escape the screen with some malicious intent.

She fell asleep, eventually. She never told anyone about the episode; her parents weren’t home to witness it, and she was embarrassed, or scared, or something. She just didn’t want to talk about it. She never wanted to talk about it.

The second time it happened was maybe four or five months later. It was the same as the first, sudden and unexpected. She was eating dinner with her mom and dad, but excused herself and went to her room. When they went to check on her, she was buried under the covers, and they thought she must have been sleeping so they left. She was trying so hard to catch her breath under there, suffocating and dying again. She hated that feeling so much. She didn’t find out what ‘panic attack’ really meant until later, beyond the imprecise terms of TVs and movies, and when she did, she realized that’s what it was. That made sense, she guessed.

The third time, it was in the shower. The third and worst time. She didn’t even realize it was happening. She was looking down the drain and thinking about the water and where it went. She turned off the shower and stepped out, and then she felt really tired. Her muscles and limbs ached. She grabbed her phone, and she was trying to do something, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Savannah was trying to type something on it, but she couldn’t hit the right keys so she just stopped and set it down. Her vision was grainy, and then spotty, and then she realized she couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t hyperventilating this time, just suffocating. This time, she really was convinced she was going to die. Need to lay down, she thought, so she opened the bathroom door and tried to make it down the hall to her bed, still naked and wet, but she couldn’t make it she realized. So tired. She laid down on the ground, for a moment, trying to breathe. The carpet was rough on her skin. The bed, bed, make it to bed. She stood up again, and then tried walking but she was stumbling instead, stomping down the hallway wildly and blindly. Her eyes closed but she still moved, until she felt something hit her head. When she woke up, she was on the ground, collapsed. She fainted trying to open the door, but she didn’t even remember making it that far, and she hit her head against it, but she couldn’t even remember turning the corner to get here. Her head hurt so much. Shoulders hurt too, against the doorframe, and there would be a bruise there for weeks. She fainted. She didn’t think people really fainted like that, especially when they had panic attacks; she’d thought it was just some Hollywood thing that was made up, but it happened to her now. She felt awful and dead, weak, too, like she couldn’t control her own body and that she was some very unhealthy dying person that fainted.

So, she didn’t want to get back in the shower.

She was afraid.

Right, again, of a shower.

But maybe a bath. Maybe a bath was fine. She felt so filthy, and now here in the hot water she was just wishing she could wash it all off and go away. She dipped her head below the line of the water and just let it all envelop her and swallow her up. She always remembered things, here. She felt the most alone in the bath or the shower and the most like herself; it really was a different world of absolute solitude and stillness. The steam rose from the water, and from her skin and her hair, and it was all the bad things rising up and leaving her, friends that were gone, and parents that were away, secrets and tension all wound up so perfectly tight. Most people she had ever decided she’d liked weren’t here now; and somewhere, those things had meaning.

Below the water, it was her own world, another level of separation. The tile insulated her from outside, the water insulated her from the tile, her body, and her skin, and her muscles and the tendons, the bone, it all insulated her mind. She didn’t need to breathe her. She was completely unto herself. She felt sick. Nemeos was out in that tile world above the water, and his words still echoed in her head. He could tell she wasn't feeling well, and he'd known since he got here. Part of him wanted a better host.

Spirit Wielders!

Leah | Savannah | Alex

_{@Lasrever @bubsy 2 @Scribe of Thoth}

Hider

There wasn't much hope left that this was all a messed up dream, really. The sound of the thing... chewing on that girl; Leah knew it wasn't something even her worst nightmares would come up with. There was a weight to this stuff, but it sat wrong with her that she was just running.

Not that she had some silly 'heroism' idea in her head. Just, well, she supposed she ought to have felt bad about it in a general sense. Whew. Morality sure was fun.

Still, she'd decided she was going to move it, and rather than risk one of the main exits, she'd made her way towards the nearest fire door that didn't have insect sounds near it. Surprisingly enough, it didn't seem like she was the first one there. But as she realised who was, Leah decided it wasn't the good kind of surprise. Not that she was about to try and find another door.

"Wow. It really is my lucky day."

Savannah stopped. She turned, but didn't say anything. There were giant bugs everywhere. Something in her eyes communicated fear, but that was all Leah got from her. Savannah's backpack shifted with the weight of Nemeos, who was thrashing around trying to do something, the spirit urging her to speed her egress and stop looking at the other girl and all the people and all the carnage. And there was some other voice in her head that wondered if the person with actual superpowers (which she had yet to use) should be doing something, but the rational-instinctual part of her brain was just telling her to go very quickly.

She pushed through the fire door and held it open, ushering Leah forward.

Well, that was a little better - Leah moved quickly, hoping the, uh, oddness of her current appearance was overshadowed by the big things. Just don't smile and it'd be fine; the teeth were creepy when she did. Yep.

Though it seemed she was out of luck as far as bug avoidance went - there was one about thirty or so metres away, bigger than the thing she'd ran from before. Maybe like... a small bear? More than big enough to absolutely kill her at least, and that wasn't mentioning everything else between them and home.

Okay. This was fine. Just don't show her face to this girl for too long, look away while speaking, and hope the flowers counted as a fashion statement. They'd be fine. Envy was smart enough for this, right?

"I... don't figure you've got a plan to get past that thing?"

Savannah shook her head. And in her mind, she heard Nemeos, who seemed more like a lion than ever, voice a deep growl, 'You're going to have to fight.'

Savannah just shook her head again, this time less at Leah and more at herself.

"Great." And while Leah would have quite willingly left this chick to the bugs, the thing seemed to have its attention on her; plus, she'd need way more time than they had for anything like that. So, that left... eyes shut for a moment, she sighed, words murmured under her breath. "Alright, Envy. You win."

'You don't need to say it out loud, you know.'

'Not the time. How much do we have?'

'So long as you aren't foolish, we'll be fine. Try not to get us hurt.'

Good enough for her. Strength was the best bet for now - no way she was trying to take it head-on, but a few people's worth of physicality meant she could move fast enough. The weird girl was still there, but not dying took first priority.

If she could drain its energy, then it'd all work out - but it looked like they'd need a distraction for that.

"What are we going to do?" Savannah asked, voice quiet.

"I need you to distract it, somehow." Leah finally looked towards the girl properly, hiding the channeling seeming way lower priority. "If I can touch it, I can stop it."

"Distract it..." Savannah bit her nail, looking off to the side, "If you can touch it...?"

She had hardly noticed Leah's appearance before, but she looked up and now she noticed that something was off. Her eyes just looked wrong.

'Nemeos, there are more spirits, right? So there's more mediums too?'

'That's correct, but --'

Savannah didn't let him finish that thought. She looked Leah up and down, and then started to change too. Her hair turned white, and her fingernails grew into claws and her teeth became sharp points, and her eyes became beady and milky white, "You have one too, don't you?"

"Y-yeah. Guess that's... lucky for both of us." Leah nodded slowly, seeming to evaluate the other girl for a moment. Physical? More than them, anyway, at least if the claws weren't just for show; 'At least, for now.'

"Can you distract it or not? We aren't exactly the most durable, but if I'm behind it or something..."

"Distract it. Right," she could do that, couldn't she? 'You don't have to bother with this girl. We could very easily escape by ourselves.'

Savannah didn’t entertain that thought. She wouldn’t just leave her behind. Right? And just looking at that bug thing made her shake. She stood still for several moments, trying to force herself to commit to doing something. But words didn’t come.

‘Do something!’

And she did. Savannah turned, and she ran at the bug. She had gotten to it much quicker than expected, not used to the speed her power granted her. She stopped face-to-face with it because she had absolutely no idea what to do. She’d never expected to see a monster; she’d never expected to fight a monster.

Before she could think about it more, the thing turned to gaze at her. Savannah tensed, and was almost frozen, but it shot out the same barbed tongue that had killed Ms. Ford. Instinctually, Savannah wheeled to the side, only barely avoiding it, body moving on its own.

Leah watched for a second, a brief debate with Envy leading to the choice of not running off. After all, there were enough things trying to kill her here without adding another medium to the mix; it was more practical to help once there was minimal risk. So she circled around, waiting until the thing stopped and shot out the tongue, kept still for just enough of a moment for her to sprint forward and jump onto the thing's back, hands placed on it and trying not to think about how outright gross it was.

Spiritual energy, right? That and the strength of its legs. Thankfully it didn't feel like it'd take as long as--

Anyway, the thing's movements began to slow, slowly but surely, as it kept its focus on Savannah. Apparently they weren't the smartest, or maybe it just figured she was the bigger threat, with the way she was dodging it and getting in its face. Animal instincts or something. Luckily enough, it wouldn't take too long for its energy to run out, legs buckling under it in about a minute or so, much to her relief. It'd take another minute to actually take enough for the thing to be dead, though, so Leah stayed there at Envy's insistence, momentarily forgetting the other girl as she focused on draining every last drop.

Savannah was still coming off of all the adrenaline, or whatever it was that helped her dodge the insect’s mandibles, and her head felt all cloudy and some part of her was still acutely aware of all the danger around them. She spoke, and now her voice seemed less distant than usual, a little more commanding, “Shouldn’t we be running?”

'Don't you dare.'

"In a minute."

Savannah looked over her shoulder. There were more bugs; not immediate threats, but still there. “Whatever you’re doing, just hurry up.”

"Hey, you two!" Alex called from across the courtyard, having made his way over once he exited the building. Those two didn't look like the rest of the bugs, but they didn't look like normal people either. They could easily be the ones responsible! Maybe.

He broke out into a jog as he closed in, though he looked hesitant to actually get within striking distance.

Leah looked up, frowned, and then looked towards Savannah. "You talk to him. I'm focusing."

Savannah wheeled around. Another student, but in a weird outfit. A very evil looking outfit, she thought. She swallowed, trying to catch a breath that had frozen in her throat, “W-who are you?”

"I'm-" Wait, bad idea, he had no idea who this was, "You first!" Genius. The Ram seemed to groan in the back of his mind.

'You'd do well to stay guarded, but it appears they were having trouble with these insects as well. Look around for once.'

"I mean, uh..." Alex looked a bit flustered now, though he hoped the mask hid it well enough, "You're students, right?"

“Right. And you’re wearing a skull mask, so what’s your…” Savannah had to pause for a moment to breath again. Not now. She recomposed herself, tensing her claws reflexively, “Deal?”

'This girl isn't a threat, she's tripping over her words as much as you are,' The Ram commented dryly, causing Alex to noticeably relax his posture.

"Um, surviving? No, I'm looking for whatever's behind this. I think." He paused for a moment after speaking, as if waiting for some kind of unheard confirmation, then continued, "Yeah! So what about you two?" Alex shot a wary glance toward Leah, who hadn't addressed him yet. Not to mention she was sitting on one of those bug things, but Alex wasn't so much unsettled by that as he was just confused.

It took another moment for Leah to stand up, stepping away from the bug with a slight grimace. "I plan on getting out of here. This place is a deathtrap."

Savannah nodded in agreement.

Alex tilted his head to the side curiously, "What about everyone else? They're gonna get slaughtered. I mean, unless there's other... people like us around here."

"I don't know them. Why would I want to die for them?" Leah shrugged. "I'd rather go help my family."

Alex frowned at her comment. It was cold, but it was a very good point. He had no idea what his mother was up to right now, and without any power he doubted there'd be any way to call for a proper evacuation.

"I- that makes sense." He hesitantly looked back toward the school, then to the gate. It was dreadfully obvious he couldn't save everyone at this point, and her argument about not knowing these people was very convincing...

"Tell me what to do," The masked boy muttered under his breath, trying to keep his tone low enough that the two girls wouldn't pick up on what he said.

'Stop concerning yourself with the cattle and follow them outside, the source clearly isn't here,' The Ram chided telepathically, 'The more you deliberate, the more of my power you're wasting.'

Alex cleared his throat before speaking again, "Room for one more?" He gave a lopsided, nervous smile.

Leah glanced between the two of them before shrugging. "I won't stop you. Just make sure you keep up."

"Okay! I'll watch the rear, I guess." Crap, now he sounded like a pervert. He just wanted an advantageous position in case they felt like backstabbing him. He swore he could feel The Ram groaning again.

Leah just shook her head, before breaking into a jog. "Guess I'll lead the way, then. I think this is the fastest route to the city, depending how many monsters there are."

Savannah followed wordlessly, taking Leah's lead. Any innuendo went over her head.

Alex paused until there was a suitable distance between him and the girls, then took off after them. He didn't want to get too close without knowing what their powers were, though he assumed the vaguely animalistic appearance of the one girl was a hint. As for the other one, maybe something with plants? Gee, they were almost a whole phylogenetic tree between the three of them.

Spirit Wielders!

Savannah was, after a fashion, entirely normal. But she didn’t want to tell people that she was afraid of showering today. She was ashamed of it, to be honest, because she had never been a dirty person. Really, it was the opposite, she had always been very clean and tidy, kept good care of her room, did her dishes as soon as she done was them, and she’d even taken her showers on the long side. In excess of twenty minutes. Very thorough.

But she thought of the last time, and all the blood and the panic, and she didn’t want to do it again.

She’d skipped the last couple of days and felt greasy, especially in her hair, and just wrong all over. She’d been using powder shampoo and washing her hair in the sink, but it just wasn’t the same. But today was the first day of school and she was laying in bed and she knew she had to do it. There was no choice. She rolled over in her bed, and there was a half-yip because she’d woken up Simba, who was sleeping on her chest. Which he insisted was merely a tactic to better blend in as the creature which he was disguised as, and he always said that word ‘creature’ with that venomous emphasis. And her train of thought was interrupted when he said, “My name is not Simba. It is Nemeos.”

“Okay, fine, I just want to sleep,” she said. She didn’t sound happy, didn’t sound awake, it was more of a grumble than a statement.

“You’ll have to get up eventually.”

“And what if I just don’t?”

“You’ll atrophy away and I’ll be left without a human host. So, get up. That is an order.”

She sighed. Deeply, heavily. He was right. And besides, if she wasted away she wouldn’t be able to tell her parents that she just slipped and split her head open anymore because they’d know something was wrong. They already did, really, she knew that they looked at her and just saw something wrong. So she sat up.

Her room was exceedingly plain. She kept no paintings, had no trophies, mementos, collectibles, or anything like that. Her parents had tried, in the past, to give her gifts and things to put in there but they didn’t really interest her. All she thought she needed was a bed, a desk with her computer, and the sofa that she laid on for a lot of days reading. The rest could exist outside of her space. This was how she was comfortable. In fact, she didn’t detest any of the things her parents gave her, they merely found other places in the house to occupy where she was quite happy with them.

There was one other thing in her room, though. One poster. It was of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night. She’d always been a little ashamed of liking it so much because it was just a little too pop, but she still felt good when she saw it. In fact, when she saw it she thought her and Vincent might not have been so different. Because there was this window in Savannah’s room, and she spent a lot of time viewing the world from it. The second-floor view wasn’t so bad. She lived deep in the suburbs, buried there in the houses and neat lawns where children played outside a lot like she used to, people waked dogs, ice cream trucks passed by playing that jingle, but today none of that was happening because it was the first day of school and it was cloudy all over which is how she liked it to be. She liked it when it rained, too, and she wished it was snowing already. She had her own secret names for all the people she saw on the street every day.

She took another deep breath and got up just a few seconds before her alarm would ring, because she hated that noise. She turned it off and went right away to the bathroom, Nemeos following shortly behind. He said, “You know, I can’t imagine being afraid of water. It’s just water.”

“It’s less the water and more the memories. Seems like I always think about things in the shower.”

He didn’t say anything to that. He just sat in the corner of the bathroom, curled up and she thought it was funny because for all his insistence that he wasn’t a dog he acted just like one and wouldn’t stop following her. Reminded her of the clingy old pug she had that would whine if you locked him out of the bathroom.

The bathroom was quiet and clean, the porcelain and tile polished, the light bright and white. It felt like a horrible place to her then, a horrible horrible place. She undressed and turned the shower on hot and her head felt dizzy just hearing the rush of the water and seeing the first wisps of hot steam, and it was so inviting and nice but she just felt all wrong for it. But then again, if she couldn’t do this what could she do?

She stepped in and she was breathing fast. She went through the motions quickly, feeling like she was floating away; shampoo, then condition, and soap, then she turned it off and left and grabbed a towel and started frantically drying herself. Very quickly. She was breathing fast. She almost didn’t know what she was doing anymore because her vision was spotty and she was going to fall over, so instead she just collapsed against the wall and let herself sit down and she tried to focus on her breath just like she read online. One two three four five. There. One two three four five. Nemeos was looking up from the corner, and he came over and sat against her, but didn’t say anything and she wondered if a spirit just wasn’t equipped for such a pointless personal and human struggle.

This was going to be a normal thing now, she supposed. She was having panic attacks in the shower and had absolutely no idea why. They weren’t her first, but this was the first time they’d been reoccurring so regularly.

She sat there for maybe twenty minutes just trying to breath before she knew that she had to get up because she’d timed getting up early, just in case this had happened, but soon her parents would be stirring and she’d have to get ready for school. So, she stood up and still felt like she was floating in nothing. She walked back to her room and put on the clothes she had set aside for today. And then she looked at her poster before going downstairs and getting a bowl of cereal.

Her parents would get up later and wish her a good first day, and she’d just nod.

Spirit Wielders!

Savannah and Nemeos

Savannah Chase

_{by Raichiyo33}

Age: 18

Normal Appearance: Her mom always said that her blue eyes were deep and pretty and were her best quality. They made her think of the ocean, she’d say. Savannah's eyes stare and gaze with uncommon intensity, and she always looks like she’s absorbing the things that happen around her very carefully with them. She is an uncommonly active gazer and a quiet speaker. When she talks she sounds like she doesn’t really want to, and her words are just a step above whisper-quiet and usually come off as angry. She keeps very good care of her long blond hair and it smells faintly like pomegranate. She’s thought a lot about cutting it all off. Savannah is uncommonly thorough in her cleaning routine. Her makeup skills are impeccable, so she always has this carefully cultivated look of prettiness, the kind of very managed and artificial pretty. She goes thick on the eyeliner because she wants her eyes to look ‘smoky’. She puts similar care into her dress; she cares little about trends but a lot about what she wears. Her wardrobe is an eclectic mix of different styles that she all loves equally and greedily. Everything, at the very least, is uniquely ‘her’ even if it’s a transplant of muddled inspirations. So she feels. She feels smaller than most other people at five feet even, weighing ninety pounds.

Medium Appearance: As a medium, Savannah's hair turns ashy white to match the appearance of Nemeos. Her eyes become beady and the iris grows until her eyes are all white, like the eyes of the lion. The claws of Nemeos push through her fingertips, and her teeth sharpen to deadly points. Her skin doesn't change appearance much, but it feels harder and leathery to the touch. Besides this, the transformation brings with it no particular clothes or other changes.

Channeling Abilities: While channeling, Savannah takes on the power of the Lion of Nemea. Uniquely, Savannah's foci fuses to her own body, taking the form of the Nemeos’s deadly-sharp claws. The claws shoot through where her fingernails usually are, and though they are small and somewhat unassuming they are much sharper than any man-made weapon, capable of tearing through metal with ease. Additionally, her skin takes on the properties of Nemeos’s hide, able to deflect swords and bullets and very resistant to damage. Even though she may be able to deflect and endure attacks, she still feels the impact. This means that she is far from invulnerable, but very durable. Nemeos was once a very deadly fighter, and the lion’s instincts often take over for Savannah. While channeling she becomes a much more capable hand-to-hand fighter than she had ever been before.

Grade: Senior

Personality: I’m not brave or strong, she thought, and I’m definitely not a fighter. There were a number of other things she wasn’t: particularly nice, particularly sociable, funny, or likable. Savannah was sullen or solemn or some combination of adjectives that just meant she was not very good to be around. At least, that’s what pretty much everyone though, and she reasoned that if they thought it they must have a very good reason to. Because she rarely felt like talking to people, even if she wanted to. She was sure she was a perfectly great person in spite of it. Maybe she could even be some sort of hero with the power to, she thought, except her hands got all shaky when she thinks about shades and spirits.

Maybe it was just everyone else that made it hard.

Background Savannah thought she’d do much better in a snowy sleepy little cabin than the city, but she born in Lakewood and that was where she’d stay for now. She had a normal family with a mom and a dad that got divorced like most normal families these days did. She never liked it. She does well in school and doesn’t get in trouble and feels wound very tight. Essentially, she is entirely ordinary. Like many people she doesn’t get along well with her peers for reasons that are beyond her. A lot of people have tried being her friend because she’s pretty and dresses nice, but they never did a good job of it. Maybe they just need to plumb the inland depths, but she hates fake people and most people are fake people.

Nemeos

_{by topazlights}

Spirit Name: Nemeos is a very proud and very ancient spirit, but Savannah prefers to call him Simba.

Spirit Classifications: Guardian

Spirit Personality: He carefully nurses his wounded pride after losing in battle to a powerful medium many thousands of years ago. Nemeos considers himself far above humans, and looks down on their race. Despite this, Savannah thinks that he may have some small spot of affection for her. He rarely likes being summoned and would much rather have Savannah do the fighting. He says that she is weak and must grow strong, that she must learn to do things on her own. Nemeos stands somewhere between a mentor and a passive observer; he insists that he only cares for Savannah in the utilitarian sense. If she dies her Aura dies too, after all.

Spirit Appearance: Nemeos is old and looks old too. He is an old and proud and powerful lion, with a thick and massive mane and proportions that far exceed his mundane brethren. Although his frame is immense he looks slightly underweight. Still, he's absolutely ferocious, his claws and teeth honed deadly. His fur is white, and his eyes are a deep blue like Savannah's.

Sealed Appearance: Nemeos hates how he looks sealed, and he hates that Savannah insists on calling him Simba. He is a small, white, fluffy, and incredibly cute Pomeranian. His roar is replaced by a high pitched yip, and Savannah tries to dress him to his great distress. And he refuses to ride in her backpack to school, but he still ends up doing it in the end.

Simba

Summoning Abilities and Stats: When summoned, Nemeos embodies the great strength he once had as the Nemean Lion. He is ferocious and fast, his claws can rend nearly anything, and the strength of his hide greatly exceeds any man-made armor. Nemeos has no tricks; he is simply a very deadly fighter. Still, while he does posses supernatural strength, he has no allusion towards being the strongest in the land. He was famously defeated by a medium of incredible physique that managed to out grapple him, choking him into submission.

Weakness and Limitations

- Although both Savannah and Nemeos are durable and nearly impervious to cutting and stabbing, they are very susceptible to simply being out muscled. Any opponent that can bludgeon them, beat them, or grapple them will be able to take control of the fight. The hide of Nemeos is like a mythical bullet proof vest: you won't get shot, but it'll feel like you did.
- While in the heat of combat, Savannah acts on the instincts of Nemeos. Often, she may do things she doesn't fully intend to.
- While summoning, Savannah is an especially vulnerable target. She has none of the protective properties that Nemeos grants her while channeling.

In a Cave, Somewhere

The cave was dark and cold and damp and dank, and Savannah smelled something bloody. The smell of gore. Savannah had never smelled death before, but somehow she just knew. She wasn’t sure why she was in a cave. There was no light. She turned back because she felt immediately that she had to leave, that something bad was going to happen. She had to go back to where she came. But the entrance behind her was blocked by a boulder, and she felt some sense that she placed it there herself. To stop herself from going back? To stop it from escaping?

What was it?

She was starting to breath hard. She closed her eyes. Focus, focus, not here. Not now. Inhale. Five seconds. Exhale. Five seconds. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, she couldn’t keep count, she had some allusion that she could feel the synapses in her brain firing and panicking. The lion was coming, the one that had terrorized the townspeople, the one that owned Nemea. The one that lent Nemea its name. Suddenly she felt very much like a transplant in someone else’s story, recalling details of histories that meant nothing to a girl from Maryland in the year 2029. She would kill no lion, but someone came to once before. And then she heard a low growl. It was deep and dangerous. It would kill her so easily, and she would run if she could but she couldn’t. Her limbs and muscles were locking up.

And then her eyes started to adjust, she saw the blue eyes first. The lion was right in front of her with fur white like some sort of winter, crouched low and ready to pounce. She wanted to back up. She tried to, but nothing in her body would listen. All she could do was crumple. Her knees folded and she went right to the ground, fetal and vulnerable and weak.

The lion stared. And then it spoke, “Are you scared?”

She shut her eyes. She spoke to herself, not the lion, her voice shaky and fragile, ”This is a dream, just a dream.”

The lion tilted its head like it was thinking. ”Dreams are just the truths of times and places different from our own,” the voice of the lion was deep and low and gravely.

The voice made something inside her calm. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know why she was talking to a lion, ”I don’t know what that means.”

"I could make sure you're not scared anymore. You could be strong and proud like me. Do you want that?"

"You don't look so strong and proud. You're big but thin, like you can't eat enough," Savannah wasn't sure why she was standing up to the lion. She should be scared, but she was starting to unwind. She wasn’t curled up so tight. She wouldn't talk to a lion, but this was a dream anyways.

The lion let out a noise that sounded like a chuckle. "Yes, I've been in this cave for a long time. But you can let me out."

"Well, okay."

And the pact between Nemeos and Savannah Chase was sealed just like that.