ERode

Kurai Majokko

Hm, can probably imagine things getting real messy real fast, with the amount of characters that'll be together soon.

Kurai Majokko

_{@FroggRFlowR@Villamvihar@CamiCat}

In truth, Nonsuch was fine with leaving out the new girl to dry. It was the way of magical girls and the way of the solar system, after all. A singular light, against many shadows. If that pink, fluffy gal couldn't figure out how to handle herself around the entirety of the Detention Club, she wasn't going to last long in Hibusa.

At the minimum, they operated in pairs. At the maximum? Between Shatterscape, Kriegspiel, Evil Eye, and Will of the Wisps, it was like going up against a small army. A baptism was required, as such. The winged archer (reminded Nonsuch of Pit) needed to show the bare minimum of being able to escape from a collective of ten dark magical girls first, before the idea of sticking around here was to be entertained.

Alas, the Light Magical Girls of Hibusa weren't nearly the same sort of monolithic force as Schrade and Friends, and while Nonsuch may have simply brought out the popcorn if she were alone, Kaeru was inviting her to a party, so who was she to say no? They sailed through the nightscape upon an amphibian's back, her lips stretched out in a bright smile, before an entrance most dynamic saw the mismatched pair descend upon the same rooftops as Shatterscape and new girl. Crouched upon a water tower, Nonsuch waved at Shatterscape cheerily, her hammer leaning casually against her shoulder. She had chosen an elevated position for herself that was behind both Kaeru and new girl, providing a wider field of view and, more importantly, the opportunity to look down on that mishmashed jiangshi-oni-mecha girl.

"And I'm Nonsuch," she called out. "Take a look upwards, new-girl. Here in Hibusa, there's a certain rule we all follow, ok? Whenever you see something that looks like a flying eyeball, you kill it! It belongs to this super creepy voyeur, you see. You'd be doing a public service by keeping the sky free of those types."

A roll of her eyes, exaggerated.

"Of course, if you do, you can expect to get jumped by this chimeric girlie over here, but hey. That's how the dark girls roll. Accomplices n everything."

Iris Ascendis

The Seeker

Otis Tan Arillo

_{5'6 | 97 lbs | Male | 16 y/o | Strigidae Beastkin}
⚒

Alignment: Neutral Evil
Personality

Otis is intense and obsessive, finding beauty in details and specifics. To others, the open-minded skeptic may be insufferable in the way that his questions sound like interrogations, in that he refuses to accept anything until he has exhaustively, personally, investigated it, but at the same time, there is something admirable about just how open-minded he is. He loves the Truth, find beauty even as his previous understanding of the world is crushed underfoot. To him, it doesn't matter what shape it ultimately takes: a myriad of beliefs are rooted in a single truth, and Otis wishes to reach the thread that is spun from the nebulous wool of mortal perceptions.

Open-minded as he is though, there are still things that he has no tolerance for. He's a perfectionist, and a perfectionist who wishes for processes that are always correct at that. Intuition and instinct, to Otis, is only guessing, and guessing brings forth unpredictability that can otherwise be controlled for. And if there’s one thing that he doesn’t like, it’s the inconsistency where there shouldn’t be any. If someone promises something, he expects them to fulfill their promise. If someone has done something once, he expects them to be able to do it again. That harshness is doubled onto himself. Though failure is alright, Otis does not ever want to let that stand. He’s not insane. He’s just stubborn and prideful, a child beneath that veneer of maturity.

Backstory

Upon the descendants may an unfinished sentence be fulfilled.

A rebellion extinguished was not a rebellion exterminated. When the Clockwork Queen's fist rose away from the carnage she had dealt, that had not been the end of her wrath. Those who survived, those who had surrendered and pleaded for mercy, were brought then to serve their sentences, imprisoned for their folly, then conscripted to the frontlines of a war that none could survive. Of the thousands sent off as flesh to feed the Seedspawn tide, none survived, leaving their sentences unfulfilled.

So, naturally, the burden of their great crime would fall upon their children. Mercy was not to be offered, not to the weakest, most helpless of the rebel lot. Treachery persisted within blood. The boot of the brass tyrant cared not for nurture, only nature.

And so, it was only when he was ten years old that the sentence of his great grandfather finally ended and Otis Tan Arillo was afforded the opportunity to step outside the five meter by ten meter cell that had been his world for the entirety of his conscious existence. The sun scalded him. The earth scratched him. The wind kissed him. The moon graced him. The World greeted him. And it was beautiful, enough to smother the legacy of hatred he had for that undying ruler, enough to silence the decade of propaganda that spoke to her infallible nature. He grasped it as easily as he grasped a leaf: the planet was born before Queen Everember, and would last longer than she. There, just five meters away from the prison that housed so many like him, the amber-eyed youth laughed and left it all behind.

But his footprints remained.

Given the freedom to learn, Otis became voracious in the pursuit of knowledge. He questioned all that he encountered, going so far as to voice his doubts with regards to the creation of the world itself. Humanity in its entirety did not peer into the notes of the Sacred Record, after all. Only a select few had that privilege, and there was no true way to tell who actually created the Sacred Tower. And even if one did create an ever-lasting tower...that, in and of itself, was still far and beyond what the planet itself was. Kazaar was no god, not in the sense of omnipotence. It was simply a creature like any other, a con artist that possessed power to back up their lies. What birthed this being? From whence did the Light come? Questions dogged Otis's dreams, an inquisition that at once charmed and harangued his professors.

His efforts were real though. Enough so that when High Bishop Verne gave his answer to the rising chaos that came with the fluctuation of leylines, the fading of essence, those who knew the child born in a prison, the child possessed the purity and flexibility to delve into the minutiae of Castalia's existence, responded by sending him to Wingram Academy.

The world didn't need heroes.

The world needed the Truth.

Otis, however?

What he needed was an experiment, one the size of a city.

Magic: Arcane
Prime Essence: Seeker
Ethos: "Show me wonders of this world."

The Seeker, reversed, becomes a workshop that grants Otis a place where all he needs will be within arm's reach.

Upon invoking his Ethos, Otis manifests a doorway that leads into a starry pocket dimension that appears near-limitless in size. Marble flooring manifests over the feet of those who enter, and a litany of tools swirl around him, always within arms reach. In this space, the Strigidae is able to create any substance he desires, before using any number of tools to process and transform those substances. Twisted inventions and perfect weapons are craft by his callused hands beneath the infinite cosmos, theory realized or proven false with no cost to 'reality'. Indeed, within this space, all is illusory: beyond the 'cost' of summoning this dimension-breaching door to begin with, nothing that Otis creates is real.

Until he gives that creation the Maker's Mark.

Once he does, an amount of essence proportional to the 'value' of the object is consumed, solidifying the 'concreteness' of the object, and from that point on, when Otis manifests the door to his Workshop, he can summon that object. It is limited, of course, in the amount of time that such objects can remain summoned, but at the same time, it is perfect too. After all, anything that can be brought out through the door can be replicated in reality. What Otis possesses, what his Ethos grants, is a dimension where prototypes can be made with no cost, where inventors that craft without worry of funds.

Curiously enough, a tertiary function of the Strigidae's Ethos is that once Otis enters his Workshop and closes the door, he can exit, reemerging from any door he has encountered in his life. Granted, that too comes with a cost of essence, but theoretically, he could cross to the other side of the world, so long as there's a standing door there.

Miscellaneous Skills

Strigidae Physiology
_{Rooted in genetics, Otis can see well in the dark, turn his head all the way around, and possesses a relatively light skeletal structure, giving him the sort of natural agility and acrobatic skill that heavier races could only dream of.}

Universal Craftsman
_{Did such talent come before or after he discovered his Ethos? Regardless, Otis possesses a fair amount of skill in any common craft, though he's particularly skilled at weaving and tinkering. His clothes and tools are both handmade, after all.}

Marksmanship
_{He's a good shot. It comes with having steady hands and an unflinching gaze. In a world so dangerous as this, it's foolish to not possess some method of self-defense. Even if it's often a lethal method.}

Huge Dork
_{What can be said? He loves learning, and he learned to learn fast.}

Inventory

A beautifully crafted break action revolver with a polished mahogany grip. When it breaks open, there’s the distinct ring of a sounding crystal.

A thick, but breathable coat embellished with the red-and-brown patterns of the Arillo family, patterns uncovered through visits to the parts of archives that a young child born of rebel's blood ought not to be. While it offers some protection against bludgeoning blows, its main function is the many pockets that Otis had sewn into it afterwards, offering plenty of different places to put his various knick-knacks. Of particular note is a tin box that contains all his most useful tools, as well as a half dozen hard candies to give him that necessary sugar rush.

We Love Casting Spells

"Fluid roots for living Earth.
The tides recede upon glassy flats.
Quickly flow, quickly flow,
And submerge with land what drowns at Sea."

Quagmire

_{Applies the essence of fluidity to the earth, creating a quagmire of dirt and stone to entangle and swallow the forms of those atop it. Efficacy ranges from making the earth 'muddy' to having people drop through the earth as if it were water.}

“Temples and pyres, embalming and cremating.
Whether buried or scattered, we remain beings of air and earth.
When the last leaves our lungs, our coffins are prepared.
But for the living? Return to her embrace, struggle in despair.”

Earthbind

_{Applies the essence of 'embrace' and 'binding' to the terrain, causing it to rise up and collapse upon a particular object, subsequently burying it. The more essence used, the thicker and harder this 'coffin'.}

Iris Ascendis

Yeye, World Trigger rep.

Kurai Majokko

Mm, gonna wait for at least a Frogger post before I post again. Though as a general preview, Nonsuch is entirely, wholly, absolutely fine with just letting Lycoris try to solo the entire Detention Club.

Iris Ascendis

Otis Tan Arillo

_{5'6 | 97 lbs | Male | 16 y/o | Strigidae Beastkin}
⚒

Alignment: Neutral Evil
Personality

Otis is intense and obsessive, finding beauty in details and specifics. To others, the open-minded skeptic may be insufferable in the way that his questions sound like interrogations, in that he refuses to accept anything until he has exhaustively, personally, investigated it, but at the same time, there is something admirable about just how open-minded he is. He loves the Truth, find beauty even as his previous understanding of the world is crushed underfoot. To him, it doesn't matter what shape it ultimately takes: a myriad of beliefs are rooted in a single truth, and Otis wishes to reach the thread that is spun from the nebulous wool of mortal perceptions.

Open-minded as he is though, there are still things that he has no tolerance for. He's a perfectionist, and a perfectionist who wishes for processes that are always correct at that. Intuition and instinct, to Otis, is only guessing, and guessing brings forth unpredictability that can otherwise be controlled for. And if there’s one thing that he doesn’t like, it’s the inconsistency where there shouldn’t be any. If someone promises something, he expects them to fulfill their promise. If someone has done something once, he expects them to be able to do it again. That harshness is doubled onto himself. Though failure is alright, Otis does not ever want to let that stand. He’s not insane. He’s just stubborn and prideful, a child beneath that veneer of maturity.

Backstory

Upon the descendants may an unfinished sentence be fulfilled.

A rebellion extinguished was not a rebellion exterminated. When the Clockwork Queen's fist rose away from the carnage she had dealt, that had not been the end of her wrath. Those who survived, those who had surrendered and pleaded for mercy, were brought then to serve their sentences, imprisoned for their folly, then conscripted to the frontlines of a war that none could survive. Of the thousands sent off as flesh to feed the Seedspawn tide, none survived, leaving their sentences unfulfilled.

So, naturally, the burden of their great crime would fall upon their children. Mercy was not to be offered, not to the weakest, most helpless of the rebel lot. Treachery persisted within blood. The boot of the brass tyrant cared not for nurture, only nature.

And so, it was only when he was ten years old that the sentence of his great grandfather finally ended and Otis Tan Arillo was afforded the opportunity to step outside the five meter by ten meter cell that had been his world for the entirety of his conscious existence. The sun scalded him. The earth scratched him. The wind kissed him. The moon graced him. The World greeted him. And it was beautiful, enough to smother the legacy of hatred he had for that undying ruler, enough to silence the decade of propaganda that spoke to her infallible nature. He grasped it as easily as he grasped a leaf: the planet was born before Queen Everember, and would last longer than she. There, just five meters away from the prison that housed so many like him, the amber-eyed youth laughed and left it all behind.

But his footprints remained.

Given the freedom to learn, Otis became voracious in the pursuit of knowledge. He questioned all that he encountered, going so far as to voice his doubts with regards to the creation of the world itself. Humanity in its entirety did not peer into the notes of the Sacred Record, after all. Only a select few had that privilege, and there was no true way to tell who actually created the Sacred Tower. And even if one did create an ever-lasting tower...that, in and of itself, was still far and beyond what the planet itself was. Kazaar was no god, not in the sense of omnipotence. It was simply a creature like any other, a con artist that possessed power to back up their lies. What birthed this being? From whence did the Light come? Questions dogged Otis's dreams, an inquisition that at once charmed and harangued his professors.

His efforts were real though. Enough so that when High Bishop Verne gave his answer to the rising chaos that came with the fluctuation of leylines, the fading of essence, those who knew the child born in a prison, the child possessed the purity and flexibility to delve into the minutiae of Castalia's existence, responded by sending him to Wingram Academy.

The world didn't need heroes.

The world needed the Truth.

Otis, however?

What he needed was an experiment, one the size of a city.

Magic: Arcane
Prime Essence: Seeker
Ethos: "Show me wonders of this world."

The Seeker, reversed, becomes a workshop that grants Otis a place where all he needs will be within arm's reach.

Upon invoking his Ethos, Otis manifests a doorway that leads into a starry pocket dimension that appears near-limitless in size. Marble flooring manifests over the feet of those who enter, and a litany of tools swirl around him, always within arms reach. In this space, the Strigidae is able to create any substance he desires, before using any number of tools to process and transform those substances. Twisted inventions and perfect weapons are craft by his callused hands beneath the infinite cosmos, theory realized or proven false with no cost to 'reality'. Indeed, within this space, all is illusory: beyond the 'cost' of summoning this dimension-breaching door to begin with, nothing that Otis creates is real.

Until he gives that creation the Maker's Mark.

Once he does, an amount of essence proportional to the 'value' of the object is consumed, solidifying the 'concreteness' of the object, and from that point on, when Otis manifests the door to his Workshop, he can summon that object. It is limited, of course, in the amount of time that such objects can remain summoned, but at the same time, it is perfect too. After all, anything that can be brought out through the door can be replicated in reality. What Otis possesses, what his Ethos grants, is a dimension where prototypes can be made with no cost, where inventors that craft without worry of funds.

Curiously enough, a tertiary function of the Strigidae's Ethos is that once Otis enters his Workshop and closes the door, he can exit, reemerging from any door he has encountered in his life. Granted, that too comes with a cost of essence, but theoretically, he could cross to the other side of the world, so long as there's a standing door there.

Miscellaneous Skills

Strigidae Physiology
_{Rooted in genetics, Otis can see well in the dark, turn his head all the way around, and possesses a relatively light skeletal structure, giving him the sort of natural agility and acrobatic skill that heavier races could only dream of.}

Universal Craftsman
_{Did such talent come before or after he discovered his Ethos? Regardless, Otis possesses a fair amount of skill in any common craft, though he's particularly skilled at weaving and tinkering. His clothes and tools are both handmade, after all.}

Marksmanship
_{He's a good shot. It comes with having steady hands and an unflinching gaze. In a world so dangerous as this, it's foolish to not possess some method of self-defense. Even if it's often a lethal method.}

Huge Dork
_{What can be said? He loves learning, and he learned to learn fast.}

Inventory

A beautifully crafted break action revolver with a polished mahogany grip. When it breaks open, there’s the distinct ring of a sounding crystal.

A thick, but breathable coat embellished with the red-and-brown patterns of the Arillo family, patterns uncovered through visits to the parts of archives that a young child born of rebel's blood ought not to be. While it offers some protection against bludgeoning blows, its main function is the many pockets that Otis had sewn into it afterwards, offering plenty of different places to put his various knick-knacks. Of particular note is a tin box that contains all his most useful tools, as well as a half dozen hard candies to give him that necessary sugar rush.

Kurai Majokko

@VillamviharEyo, it was my understanding that Nonsuch and Kaeru were a fair distance away from the chaos that's actually occurring at the big ol' Miseria Summoning Party, and the only reason Nonsuch spotted the Detention Club in the first place was because of Nyxia's rainbow vomit.

Like, in terms of proximity, I had figured it was...

Nonsuch and Kaeru (vibing on a rooftop) > Lycoris (hiding on a distant rooftop) > Detention Club (mostly on the ground)

Less of an issue if Shatterscape's stance is something like "muh territory is the entirety of Hibusa" though.

Kurai Majokko

_{@FroggRFlowR@Emeth}

“Ooiii!”

It wasn’t a voice that evoked any particular memories, but the frog that emerged, its slimy form blotting out the moon upon its descent, did good work to remind her of who it was that was the rider. Turning towards her Miseria-foe once more, Nonsuch winked at the writhing mass of tangible shadows, before dropping her war hammer. Her fingers flicked to her temple in a two-finger salute, and then she leapt skywards, propelled by her own magic.

On passing, her hand reached out to the frog-summoner. Light Magical Girls didn’t make a habit out of fighting together, but Nonsuch wasn’t so greedy for action that she wasn’t ever going to ‘tag out’.

By the time the blonde paladin dropped upon the roof once more, there was only an unsightly, smoking stain where the Miseria had been. She kicked up her hammer, hefted it over her shoulder, and smiled. “Kaeru! My favorite girl with more frogs than the rice paddies in Honshu!”

Unlike her, Nonsuch had no particular problems with getting up close and personal, so she did, sliding up beside her to give a fellow sister a hug, as her other hand extended outwards to shoot a selfie of the two of them.

“Say ‘hi’ to Evil Eye too!”

The Mogall couldn’t do much more than send a sappy visual of Nonsuch grinning cheerfully at it, her eyes sparkling as brightly as her teeth, before metal fingers closed tighter and squished the familiar into bits. Benefits of looking up when the frog came down, after all. Wiping the viscera off her pants, she separated from the froggy priestess once more, nodding along with her comment.

“Yeah, but it’s not that weird, right? Our wayward sisters pick up the slack anyhow. We just need to make sure the people affected by it don’t get caught up too much.” Hypocrisy, unrecognized. She didn’t even twitch, wasn’t even worried about whether or not Kaeru saw the ‘accident’ on the highway. “Looks like they’ve got a new one joining ‘em up too. Saw the Northern Lights over in that…”

That was the thing about nights in the city. It wasn’t all that dark, ever. And when one wore white, when they had pink hair and translucent wings, when they bounded from building to building like a grasshopper or a fruit fly, well, it wasn’t all that hard to see them either.

“…huh.”

Nonsuch’s voice dropped a bit, turned a shade more serious, but in a way that only inspired parody rather than gravity.

“New blood.”

Expedition to Isekai

---

//Day 1 | Location: Nameless Forest - Lakeside
_{@AThousandCurses@baraquiel@Nakushita@Yankee@Vertigo}

“Ehhhhh…”

Kumi leaned back from the embarrassment of actually having someone beg for food before her. Certainly, it spoiled the taste of her own fish more than the lack of salt and seasoning ever would. Before the glistening puppy dog eyes that Ayana shot at her, eyes that gradually gained the cursed light of madness. Honestly, it was a bad look for herself if she folded so easily, but on the other hand, Ayana was literally out there fighting monsters, so…

“Hmph! Well, if you insist, I guess I can g-”

“Ah, Kumi.” Masami tilted the smaller girl’s face back towards the direction that Ayana had been. “She’s already gone.”

Gone snapping branches off at lightspeed, without even waiting for the charred fish that Kumi had been wholly willing to give her. The curly-haired girl scratched the side of her ear, then let out another sigh, before resolving to set aside a particularly big fish for Ayana afterwards.

As for the Awakened klutz, she found herself working in the company of Shun, Haruko, and Fujita. While the quartet was certainly an unlikely selection, they were nevertheless doing good work with regards to constructing a wooden frame for the group. The supernatural strength of both Shun and Ayana had helped immensely in that regard; Rin tossed them trees that had been turned into long poles, while Fujita taught them how to twine and lash with long grass or plant roots.

Well, not without much trouble. Somehow, once again, the blue-tinged youth, who maintained his good looks even when his makeup was faded at this point (thank Ayano for the skin and haircare routine she forced on him), was surrounded by girls. Granted, one of the girls had a boyfriend who would fold him like a pretzel, the other girl was absolutely fucked up by the fact that her crush was dead, and the third girl was so empty-headed that Fujita was a bit considered for her, but still.

It was a lotta girls.

“Uh, y-yeah, could you hold onto that, Shun?” He cleared his throat, pointing towards the intersection of two wooden poles. “And Haruko, tie them up there, tight as you can. Ah, and, let me think…oh, Ayana! We’ll need two more of that length. Could you, uh, ask Rin again?”

With three Awakened pitching in for the construction of the shelter, they were definitely making faster progress now. It would still take an obscene amount of effort for them to construct a shelter that could comfortably fit 20 students at a time, especially when the process of creating string was a process that couldn’t be sped up with pure brute force, but if nothing else…hardly an hour had passed, but the frame of the shelter was already taking shape.

“Hmmm, you’re the outdoorsy type, Fujita?” Haruko tilted her head, her own hands smelling of dirt and grass.

He shook his head. “Amemiya-sensei. From the Gardening Club?”

“Ah…hmm.” Her blue eyes swiveled towards Ayana and Shun. “You two go get something to eat, alright? And grab some for the boys too, while you’re at it.” Her head swung in the direction that Asahi, Masato, and Duncan were.

She slapped Fujita on the shoulder.

“Me and this guy here’s gotta have a one-on-one interview sorta thing, y’know?”

...

So many answers, and yet he could not understand it.

It was a different sort of rule that governed his body now, removed from his understanding of it just two days ago. Duncan knew things. He understood them like one understood what happened in a TV show or a movie. But the memory remained insufficient for allowing a solution. Asahi looked at him, a fiery desperation that sparked only anxiety.

He knew too, that Asahi’s threads could not transfer ‘light’. The functions of Cable were imprinted upon his own memories now, after all.

Helplessness, still. The basketball star had the will to do what had to be done, but that was his limitation too, for a directionless desire would not save any of the two boys before him. What was he to do, in truth? He hardly understood how donating blood worked, after all. He was an athlete, not a doctor. They didn’t even have Biology classes in Kuroshio Ogata!

And no one had answers, had reassurances to what he asked, what he suggested.

All that answered him, in that moment, was a muted silence.

Something burned. Something itched. Anxiety and confusion turned into a curious embarrassment. His body flushed, his core’s heat, that forge within him, turning molten without reason. Duncan looked down at Yuki’s face, the youth so lifelessly still when he had only seen the lad in constant, energetic motion before. Hitting up cheerleaders from other schools. Clowning around for Ayano’s attention, back when she was single. Fielding incredibly personal questions towards Kunio, only so he could feed those answers back to Yukiko.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

What the hell was more blood going to do?

Recent failures flickered through his mind. Shun’s scars, where his body had been perfect.

Something burned.

Something itched.

It was a malformed desire, an indistinct need. He had blood. Plenty of blood.

And his stomach opened once more, spilling out a golden blood, upon his lap, his hands, the earth itself. Soil drank greedily, roots absorbed something, and the grass around him grew, snaking towards the open wound in Duncan’s body, desiring more of that sunlight ichor.

Yet, his wound didn't hurt.

"What the fuck."

Only one person said it, but in that moment, they were all thinking it.

Kurai Majokko

Biker Kiyo is definitely not compensating for the "basic bitch" look she used to have and be made fun of for. No ma'am.

@Emeth

Gonna continue to call her basic until she looks like an art deco museum piece.