Force and Fury

May you walk on warm sands..

Welcome aboard new-but-not-new person! There are plenty of great fantasy offerings here, among other things. I look forward to seeing you in them and hopefully writing alongside you sometime. If you'd like any help with direction or just with getting the lay of the land, I'm a DM (that's 'direct message' and not 'dungeonmaster', haha) away!

Code Vein (Closed)

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_{Location: Cross-street Battleground @ The Ruined City // Date: February 23, 2057 // Time: 11:11 // Interactions: Ajax @DClassified, everyone else on the Rear Team mentioned.}

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Lys had been preparing to loose another shot - expanding head and not explosive, since she had zero desire to blow herself up - when she'd caught sight of Ajax hurtling her way. It was an act of trust, putting your life in someone else's hands, but not an unfamiliar one, and one she'd been on both ends of. She kept her bow raised, arrow nocked, until she was sure he'd dealt with the problem. Her hands went immediately to her wheels then in a vain attempt to preempt the embarrassment of being lifted out. It's just the wheelchair equivalent of getting your foot stuck under something, she counseled herself, Could've happened to anyone. Yet, Lysandra was smart enough not to believe her own bullshit. Maybe, someday, she'd be able to accept with grace that she did pretty damned well with half a working body - well enough that she had value to these people - and that it was okay if she needed more help sometimes. That moment did not come now, however.

Ajax jostled her loose. "I thought you trained to have a leg up on those kinds of obstacles…” he teased, and she glared lasers at him as he handed her controller back. "I usually rely on force of arms," she replied, putting hands to wheels. "But I wanted to keep you sharp. Plus -" she smiled sweetly and shrugged "- turning down the chance to be rescued by the Sword of Cerberus himself?" She arched an eyebrow. "I don't think so," she cooed, pausing and perhaps blushing a little. She needed a breath just to say the words: "Thanks, Chop-Chop." In return, she received a simple nod.

Then, Lys turned on the spot, dusting off the controller on her lap and taking stock of things. Sage and Princess were orbiting and Desmond had his glaive stuck in a Thrall's eye socket. It dispersed presently and it appeared to have been the last in the immediate area. Meanwhile, Dallas seemed to have overcome the Tent that had ambushed him and Vincent was almost up in the A-type's grille, about to feed it a righteous knuckle sandwich. "So um... should we -" Ajax pulled his sword and pointed it just as a Kruger Thrall came barreling around the ruined car. Lysandra whipped out the pistol taped to the bottom of her seat and put two rounds into its head. It fell and dispersed. She let out a breath and lowered her gun. Ajax, for his part, returned the sword to its sheath, seeming completely unbothered. "So yeah," Lys continued, "think we should... help those guys or whatever?"

Ajax peered over that way and furrowed his brow. "We'll see," he replied, voice almost evaluative. "Check your devices to make sure they are still functioning well enough."

"Yeah," she agreed. "They look alright." She flipped the controller over on her lap just to be sure, "but I should check." With that, she lowered the headset over her eyes, took up the joystick, and was flying once again.

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The Hourglass Order

Part Four: Prospero of Revidia and Segona

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Prospero Malatesta was a cautious man but, paradoxically, a risk taker. If anything, his strongest characteristic had always been knowing precisely when and how to leap. Today, he had made such a leap and, in the strictest sense, it had paid off for him. Even now, his enemies were fleeing the city, tails between their figurative legs. Jobanzaggah, he had allowed to stay on the council, simply because he had no further partners who were both reliable and credible and because it would leave the Belzaggic emperor in his debt. Of course, he didn't expect the Thunder King to honour any sort of formal agreement, so he had merely asked for an exchange of favours.

Giving up Horik had hurt, but President Yibozo was a definitive upgrade. The Eskandish king had provided ample reminder mere hours ago of what a hotheaded fool he truly was. "There will be blood," he had threatened. Prospero had nearly rolled his eyes. The only blood shed would be Horik's, most likely when his people rebelled against the costly and foolish war he was sure to try to call.

Yet, despite the completeness of his victory and the humiliation of his enemies, an uneasy feeling sat atop Prospero's stomach as he listened to updates from his spy chiefs. Rouis had had a moment there, as Perrence had been ousted from the council. It had been a powerful one - the sort that spread, as news, on the tongues of people who made stories. The Doge knew that he needed to nip it in the bud.

That was not the only thing bothering him, though. The poise of Rouis... he'd always been a hothead. That song the girl had started: The Doge had had his people scout her after the fact. She was to be in the king's carriage tonight as part of his guard. Her father - a printer - had ties to Rouis. It was not an ironclad fact that the entire thing had been planned, but it was a possibility and Prospero didn't like possibilities when they weren't ones that he could control or that wouldn't benefit him.

There were many moving pieces on the board now and, as always, having some idea of what they were and who was moving them would give him a better understanding of why they were being moved and where they might go next. He had pieces of his own, of course, and they were doing his work - the work needed to drag this world out of its feudal ignorance and into an age of enlightenment, science, and reason. Of course, people tend to resist changes so fundamental, and it was inevitable that blood would have to be -

It cut into his thoughts: a cracking boom, distant but massive, and Prospero l'Anguilla turned to gaze out the balcony of his villa. It was on a small, semi-forested hill and, when he glanced down, he could see that a few people in the streets below had taken notice as well. He furrowed his brow, casting about, and reached out with the Gift, searching for any sign of what had caused such an explosion.

"My Doge!" It was Maurizio, stepping out with alarm on his face, ever protective. Prospero smiled reassuringly. "Don't fear, my friend. I am quite well." The look of relief on his guard chief's face was palpable. Prospero stepped further out onto the balcony and craned his neck, certain that the noise had come from that direction.

An enormous mushroom-shaped cloud rose into the sky and the usually impossible to ruffle Doge of Revidia blinked in surprise. What in Eshiran's name!? he wondered, instinctively reaching out for familiar energy signatures. Eight. He counted them. All six Arch Zenos, the Zenith, and the Paradigm were accounted for. There were other strong signatures too: some of the Zenos, Tans, and even students. He noticed Maurizio staring off in awe at the explosion with him. "Whoever's responsible for that, they're not from the school." That was... due North, Prospero noted, and he wondered. There were four moons up in the sky tonight. He'd heard rumours, of course, but he hadn't been able to confirm them, much to his annoyance. Still, what could've been dangerous enough to make him reveal his true power? The Doge shuddered at the thought.

"Milord," Maurizio prodded. "What shall I do?"

Prospero's eyes narrowed. He clasped his hands behind his back and pivoted to face his oldest and most loyal confidante. "Have the Tethered reach out and confirm those energies." He nodded. "And have our people who can move with the Gift dispatched due north and south down the Godsroad, nearly to the borders." He paused. "Have another out to sea, in the direction His Majesty, the Emperor of Belzagg, departed. They are only to witness and report, not to engage."

Maurizio bowed slightly at waist, hands pressed against his sides. "Very good, sir."

"And Solaire, the performer, request his audience here on the morrow."

Maurizio nodded. "It shall be done."

Prospero smiled tightly. "That is..." As he spoke, he reached out with the Gift, deadening the air outside of his immediate surroundings to sound. The enemy were at the gates - the true enemy. He could feel them, and his gaze turned in their direction, even though they had rendered themselves beyond sight. "... not all," he amended.

"Yes, milord?"

"Send for the girl. Send for Ismette."

The Hourglass Order

Dorothea is approved! Just one small thing: looks like you've got a broken 'bold' text in there. Fix that up, post her in the Character tab, and welcome aboard!

The Hourglass Order

Part Three: Horik of Eskand

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Few were the people who knew of King Horik's true nature, for had more known, perhaps they would not have called him 'Horik the Lean' quite so mockingly. Indeed, the gargantuan figure tore through the common sellswords, foaming at the mouth and roaring like a beast. Even blows that were blocked broke the arms of those who blocked them. People were thrown dozens of meters through the air and you could tell which had the Gift and which didn't by how they landed.

Whoever was commanding these people was smart, however, because, after less than a minute of this unholy massacre, they regrouped wordlessly and changed tactics. The skirmishers closed in close to the King's men, leaving little opportunity for him to attack without harming his own people. The magusjaegers remained hidden in the trees, but they shifted their fire from the behemoth of a man who'd been deflecting their bullets back, using them to find the assassins. Instead, they focused on his honour guard, and a couple of figures dropped immediately.

One of their first targets was Marlijn Vaanse, but she was not there for long. Heart thudding in her chest, the youth grabbed a hold of the light and vanished from view. Normally, moving quickly and trying to maintain invisibility was impossible for her, but the darkness and chaos helped. She didn't need to be too precise. Instead, she made for her brother's position, letting her veil of shadows fall away and drawing all of the heat and metabolic energy from a dying horse. She knew the animals. She knew when they were suffering, and this one was finished. She took the gift of its life and turned it into death, unleashing Wyvern's Breath on the nearest two enemies and Owain. Of course, her brother wasn't stupid. He drew from her fire, creating a freezing aura around himself and launched his own fireball. A roiling ball of orange, it roared into the trees and set them ablaze. "Let's see you hide now!" he bellowed, stoking the flames, spreading them. Oraff-Zept, forgive us, Marlijn prayed in her head. It is to preserve life that we take it.

Desmond, called 'Catulus' ('Young Wolf' in Avincian) in lieu of a last name, was one of the few who had stayed mounted, wheeling his horse about with the practiced hand of a sellsword. He exchanged fire with the enemies in the trees, bullets arcing, jumping, and zipping, but had little success. He was fundamentally at a disadvantage in the open, while they fired from cover. Then, he noticed Owain's fireball. It hit the trees and gave him an idea. As the Eskandishman stoked the flames, so did he, pausing his gunfire. It was not long before this tactic paid dividends. Most magusjaegers were about stealth above all else and, robbed of that, were easy targets. As they poured out from the burning forest, he took out one, then a second, and then a third in succession. Their bodies thumped as they hit the ground. He winged a fourth, who screamed. Desmond grimaced, resighted the enemy, and put her down for good. Then, the easy part was over. Those with RAS levels high enough for illusion magic in the dark began to fade. So a shadow game it was to be. He would find them before they could find any of his allies. Lives depended on it.

More importantly, Desmond needed to find whoever was coordinating them, doing such a good job wordlessly moving them around like pieces on a chessboard. His experience told him that it was likely an internal chemical mage, and those were very dangerous targets. As he started to reach out with his senses, looking for the telltale agglomerations of energy that denoted magic users, things took a turn for the worse. A Tan-Zeno, overwhelmed by bullets from multiple directions, let one through and fell. The sellsword could see Anesin Bjelke, with whom he'd shared a class or two, rush over in an attempt to heal him, but then there were other problems. A freezing wind whooshed across the trees, quelling the flames and deadening the smoke. Someone or something hurled King Horik backward, unafraid of his immense power. Desmond was a practical man. He knew that he couldn't tangle with whatever monster was capable of doing that, but there was a subtler figure at work here, equally as dangerous, and something needed to be done about them... quickly.

This was something that the convoy's lone Paggonian, Karim Nazeri, a youth who looked like he'd seen combat once or twice before, agreed with. In truth, his appearance didn't make him a soldier, but one would've been hard pressed to recognize that based on his skilled deflection of the new volleys of bullets and knives that came his way. Everything metallic that approached him went careening away and, slowly but surely, he built up a charge that people around him on the battlefield could tangibly feel. The air hummed with electricity and it arced and leapt from his fingertips. Karim was no killer by any stretch of the imagination. He was a plain, good old-fashioned Paggonian merchant's son, but mortal danger tends to make moral danger fade to the back of one's mind. Desperately, a pair of sword-wielding figures hurtled towards him, their movements enhanced by kinetic energy, trying to stop what they knew was coming.

They were too slow.

As if he were some Thunder God of yore, bolts of lightning leapt from Karim's fingertips and pounded the attackers. They screamed and writhed, their bodies going stiff and burnt, and dropped - smoking - to the ground. Next, he turned his attention to an area of the trees where he'd noticed a lot of fire coming from. Stalking forward, gathering energy, he brushed off the sting of a bullet graze, grunting in pain, and unleashed a second torrent. Electrical power, scorching, arcing, peeled off of him in waves, sweeping through the nearby forest. Invisibility doesn't help when there is nowhere to run. Assassins tumbled from branches, convulsing and shrieking, and Karim had held back. He wasn't a killer. He was a protector and these men might live were they wise enough to stay down and surrender. He opened his mouth to give them a warning, still fairly charged up and ready to unleash should he have to, but that was when King Horik was hurled like a ragdoll. He noticed Desmond looking too, and then Marlijn Vaanse was there, materializing seemingly out of nowhere.

"Gentlemen," she panted, looking haggard and exhausted, "I hope you're not thinking we should join that fight. We'd be worse than useless. We'd be a liability." Her eyes darted between them, and then she winced and focused, calling up a stone from the ground to deflect a bullet. "There is someone else here: a controller of some sort. We need to reach him. We need to stop him."

But it would all be for nothing if the King didn't win his personal duel. Anesin, scion of House Bjelke from the deep spine of Eskand, had remained by her King's side. She had done so, openly, as a Blood Mage and received no reproach. She had pulled from living beings - pulled the life and existence from them to fuel her magic, and unleashed hellfire that nearly matched the King's own. Yet, still Horik's power was greater. She had felt it at the start and felt it now. He must be a mooncaster, she realized, but whoever this was who'd appeared before him, who'd caught him off-guard and flung him aside like trash... this woman is inhuman. Even standing near her was draining. There was... an aura, one could almost call it. It was heavy and oppressive. It drained Anesin of energy and will. It made her head pound and body ache. Internal Chemical Magic. Her movements felt sluggish. They cost more energy and had less effect. Offensive Kinetic Drawing.

Dressed in a white and blue cloak, with an owl mask covering her face, she dodged King Horik's murderous attacks with a nimble, mocking ease. In return, she bashed him telekinetic shoves. She uprooted rocks and trees from the ground and hurled them at him in a growing maelstrom. Horik roared in challenge and frustration and Anesin could feel a massive intake of energy. The air grew colder. The sky seemed momentarily to dim even further. It took her a moment to realize what he was about to do and, drawing a wrecked carriage to nothing, she filled herself with energy and bolted away.

"Everybody back!" She screamed, grasping a couple of the injured with threads of energy and pulling them along with her. Then, the sky exploded. The force of the shockwave knocked her clean off of her feet, singeing her hair and skin, and she used the Gift to keep herself from burning alive. Debris, plants, and corpses pitched and tumbled back from the epicenter and she blinked, flash-blinded and deafened, as a towering mushroom-shaped cloud rose hundreds of meters into the sky. King Horik... she thought, guts turning to ash. He had sacrificed himself for his people, to take out that... blue woman, whoever she was, or had been, for surely no human could've survived such a blast.

Anesin stumbled to her feet, a dull, numb thing. Her hands were burnt and shaking. She would need to heal herself, and others too, she knew. She blinked furiously and her eyes watered. Dirt and ash rained from the heavens and the massive cloud grew still, blotting out the light of the moons. Then, she felt it, unmistakably: energy - massive, abominable energy. The sheer force of it was like nothing she had ever experienced. In the center of an enormous crater stood Horik Vinderborg of Oleften, Berserker King of Eskand. Dirt was still falling from the sky and the air around him glowed with energy. His great beard was seared and singed, still smoking. His clothes were a tatters, his massive chest and the runic tattoos across them exposed as he stalked forward. Anesin's heart leapt.

And then, it stopped.

It lasted only a second. She felt something grip her inside and she knew fear. The pain was barely recognized before it was over.

Volto Azzuro, the one they called Triste, cast the girl's body aside, body language and voice alike disinterested. She turned her gaze upon the King of the Eskandish. He was more powerful than they'd told her. This was a real fight, but the child had gotten in the way and, sadly, the only way to get her out of it was to end her young life. "You didn't think a parlor trick like that would really work," she sneered, "did you?"

King Horik's eyes went to the body of his countrywoman. She'd been brave and capable, young and beautiful. Too brave, though, he thought somberly. In time, but for the eagerness and foolishness of youth, she might've grown into someone great. Now, because of this blue witch, she and a half-dozen others would be nothing. "You will suffer for what you have done here," he growled, drawing from the power of the four moons. Had the fifth been up, he would've cast her aside like the dirt that she was. "By the Old Gods and the New, I will break you slowly. The Poets will pen tales of your suffering." In one fell swoop, he drew everything from the smoke, the ash, and the residual heat of his mighty blast. It burned inside of him, he drew in a great gulp of air, opened his mouth almost inhumanly wide, and breathed fiery death.

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The Hourglass Order

Part Two: Rouis of Perrence

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Perhaps the assassins had underestimated King Rouis and his retinue. Perhaps the students and guards defending him were just that strong and resourceful but, whatever the case, they seemed to have turned the tides against those who wold assassinate the King of the Perrench.

Rouis himself was plowing through sellswords like a battering ram, Fleur-de-lis cloak fluttering behind him, long, wavy hair whipping each time he changed direction, but he was handful for his own side too: the king's eagerness in battle forced them to throw themselves to his defense, desperately blocking bullets with defensive magic. Penny Pellegrin, the printer's daughter with the missing leg, was a revelation in particular: disintegrating projectiles in midair, spreading flames, and tossing bodies around like ragdolls. She was not the only one: Carmillia Carbonneau, a hesitant fighter at best, displayed a different skillset, marshaling the students among the honour guard, sending one to stop the carriage and commanding another - Madeleine Marchand - to light the trees on fire. What dividends the act paid! The forest was ablaze and enemies were pouring out of it, coughing and staggering. How shortsighted of them to hide in a place so flammable. Zenos Lascand and Giroux employed their master-level Chemical magics to render these threats unconscious for later questioning. Muttering about the folly of war, the former bustled about the battlefield patching the wounded up, including his own nephew.

It had become a mop-up action, the attempt on Rouis' life thwarted through brave and decisive action. The king thrust his sword into the air. "Vive la Perrence!" He shouted, towering above a handful of bound and gagged captives. "Vive la peuple Perrencais!" A cheer rose up around the clearing, and he returned his sword to its sheath with a flourish. "I promise you this, my people and our loyal friends: Perrence will repay your efforts. We will not go gently as our enemies wish us to. Why, even now, as Doge l'Anguilla believes that he has our nation in his nefarious trap, it is he who has fallen into ours. That is a matter for a day soon to come," he amended. He cleared his throat. "For the time being, I wish to recognize the bravery and ingenuity of those who have won this day." His eyes beamed with pride, taking in his fellow Perrenchmen and Perrenchwomen. "Miss Carmille Carbonneau," he announced, "though a mere girl of seventeen, your level head, cunning, and command of others has not gone unnoticed and shall not go unrewarded. Please step forward..."

Yet, not so very far away, there was still some deadly intrigue left to play out. For her part, the Tan Keoulean, Seung Eun-Ji, had swept the perimeter clean, making sport of most of her targets. One had his head cleaved open with a knife, Another's had been smashed to a pulp. It was a clean, precise sort of brutality, but utterly brutal nonetheless. When she'd gone in for her most recent attack, however, Eun-Ji's target - a nondescript-looking magusjaeger - had simply disappeared as if he had not existed in the first place. This, she knew, was a powerful enemy. She had not even sensed more than basic illusory magic out of him - the sort commonly employed by those of his skillset for camouflage. The ability to make oneself invisible and project an illusion, all while masking the true extent of one's magic... that was academy-level skill. She was not far from the main struggle. She could likely retreat, but would it be wise to let such an adversary escape? Did he even want to escape? Was it worth risking her life against someone of this caliber, for some foreign king? Eun-Ji reached out with her magic senses and, all around her in the forest were the little spots glowing with energy that denoted the presence of living things. They were not as clear as they could've been, however. The fire drowned many of them out, its thermal and chemical energy radiating across the area, making it difficult to detect those who wished to remain undetected. To be fair... that was something that she, herself, could use.

Meanwhile, for his part, Flavius continued to monitor the battlefield from his treetop perch. Stealth had always come naturally to him and he considered himself rather a master of it. The fact that he had not detected Eun-Ji's hidden opponent beforehand was alarming. This guy was good. He reached out with his senses, looking for all of the usual tricks, but was having trouble -

"The next time you see her," said a voice, and Flavius was immediate in his evasive action. "Tell your lady that she is on the wrong side." The speaker perched almost... delicately atop a nearby branch, no more than a handful of yards distant, hands clasped behind his back. A featureless white mask covered his face, but Flavius could sense amusement in his voice, maybe even a smile. The depth of the skill gulf between them was immediately evident. The youth was plenty good enough to know when he was profoundly outmatched, though that did not happen often. "Also," said the white-masked man, his voice a rich Revidian roll, "you may want to watch your footing." As he spoke, the branch beneath Flavius disappeared as if it had never even existed, as did the speaker. Not even a trace.

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The Hourglass Order

The Three Kings and the Doge

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Part One: Jobanzaggah of Belzagg

Nothing that had happened sat well with Jomurr as he dawdled back from the docks - nothing at all. That the enemies of Belzagg were acting so brazenly was a sign that they felt powerful: overwhelmingly so. Mighty Jobanzaggah had managed to cut some kind of deal to stay on the council, but he would not say what, even to Jomurr, and the future duke was certain that it has been an Eshiran's Bargain.

The last of the sun's rays had faded from the sky, pulling curtains of tangerine, magenta, and indigo closed behind them. The nighttime fog, he knew, was soon to roll in and cover the city in its ethereal blanket. It was nothing like the vast, dry savannah of home, with its termite mounds, islands of acacia trees and roars of lions in the dimness. To be honest, it still unnerved him and perhaps always would.

There was something else about this night, though... As one would expect of a youth of his station, Jomurr had always been possessed of strong instincts. Walking through the disgusting streets and hovels of this slum called Mudville, he wrinkled his nose, but it was as much in distaste for the situation as the place. Then, however, he felt it. The second son of House Ikon blinked and reached out with his senses. His head snapped about, eyes gazing intently out across the water. An intake of energy - a massive one. It was coming from the direction of the Indomitable Lion - the King's ship. Then, another. Something was wrong. He glances around, checking if anybody else felt it, but it was distant and the people around here were weak. They would not feel it. The boy's heart hammered in his chest. He should tell somebody. No, he should investigate. If he took the time to tell someone, it might already be too late. Indecisiveness was not a trait a future duke should cultivate.

Jomurr pushed off with his feet, sprinting for the ocean, pulling, with each step, from the fires and the lights around him, from the pounding, churning waves as they bashed against the promontory at the mouth of the harbour. He felt the power fill him, lift him, propel him. Still, he drew more, until he felt warm and light-headed. His arteries bulged with magical energies as they had scarcely ever done before. Don't foul this up, Second Son. He breathed deeply, the wind beating against his face, pulling the wetness from his eyes. The sparse gatherings of people about at this hour turned to watch, and they would've seen a human-shaped blur plunge over the edge of the cliffs, but Jomurr did not fall. He pushed all of that kinetic energy out, hammering against the forces of gravity, launching himself through the sky.

He was flying.

Unbidden, he let out a bark of laughter, and got a mouthful of dry wind for it that puffed out his cheeks and made him cough. His dreadlocks whipped against his neck, back, and shoulders, but he scarcely paid them any attention, continuing to draw from the waves and expel, trying to maintain his height. Gravity pulled at him and he drew from it, effectively reversing it. This was what mages called the 'gravity loop' and he'd done it before, of course, but never like this. It was... joyful, freeing, empowering, and inn a way that all of his worldly wealth and command.

But then Jomurr was sobered, his wings clipped. Up ahead, he saw the Indomitable Lion, and it was indeed under attack. There were fire and flashes onboard and the youth, streaking in like a comet, steeled himself for combat. He would earn his spurs or he would die defending his king, for such was the highest duty and honour of one of his station. His mouth became a grim, determined line. He drew copiously from his momentum, slowing and dropping, trying to stick the landing.

Figures resolved themselves on deck: black-clad and masked. Rezaindians! How had they gotten there!? The Royal Guard was heavily engaged. Some of their number were down, along with some of the attackers. But the King himself stood like a mighty predator, laying waste to all who approached him with Arcane Lances and Kinetic Sledgehammers. Jomurr picked a target - a Rezaindian who'd cornered an injured Royal Guard - and converted the last of his kinetic momentum into a powerful Arcane Lance. The beam impaled the attacker through the chest, leaving a smoking hole where once he'd had a heart and lungs. Jomurr dropped to the deck and landed in a crouch, casting about for danger.

It found him before he could find it, however. A trio of throwing knives hurtled toward him in the darkness, slowing and dropping maybe a foot from his head and chest. The youth scrabbled backwards and Jobanzaggah himself was there. "Brave," he snapped, "but foolish. You should not be here, boy."

"I would die for my King."

The monarch's face shifted for a moment and seemed to soften in what Jomurr wanted to think of as respect, but it became hard again quickly. "You may very well get your wish." Then, he was gone, leaping from the forecastle to the stern in a single bound to bring the fight to the enemy.

This was his King: a mighty lion of a man whom his family served with unswerving loyalty. It had brought them power and wealth and suzerainty over one of the Empire's most powerful duchies, but when Jomurr was challenged, he did not take it lying down. Spreading his arms, he pulled with everything he had. His body crackled with energy. His eyes flashed with it. The air around him burned and froze in turn. The waves went eerily still and the ships tattered sails slack. As could only someone trained from early childhood, the Second Son reached into the very heart of the matter around him and ruptured it. Colossal flashes of power brightened the night sky and filled him to bursting. He turned to face a tall, robed figure who perched on the forecastle, directing the other attackers and unleashed hellfire. He pulled and released, pulled and released, and the enemy was erased before him.

Inn a haze of power and bloodlust, Jomurr scarcely recognized that the figure he had been pursuing had escaped - evaporated as if it had not even been there. He scarcely felt the pull of the King's grateful energy. Then, Jobanzaggah disappeared, an apparition himself, but the air hummed with his massive power. The youth staggered and blinked. The deck was awash in flames, the masts destroyed and sails burnt to cinders. The ship was slowly sinking. Only a handful of guards remained, but every single assassin was dead, save the leader. Jomurr reached out for energies and could feel him and the king moving even though invisible. The power! It was fantastic - mind numbing. It actually made his head hurt. Then, there was an explosion in the water. The youth darted over to the side railing as the robed figure was hurled mercilessly into the ocean. Jobanzaggah dove in after him, relentless, merciless, pummeling.

Yet, the water boiled and ruptured, glowing orange and bursting open. The Lion of Belzagg was thrown backward, catching himself nimbly against the side of the ship and backflipping to land on its deck.

The robed figure was a woman - she bolted in so quickly that Jomurr did not get much of a look at her. He felt his mind burning and recognized chemical magic. Desperate, he reversed his polarities and she backed away, staggered.

The Second Son slumped against the deck, blinking to clear his head, but the king took advantage of his counter and went on the offensive again. The Kinetic force was incredible. He plowed into her, knee first. Like a ragdoll, she smashed through three decks. Jobanzaggah rose into the sky, eyes burning gold and orange, opened his mouth, and belched pure flame. A heaven's lance of Eshiran-Zept, it caught her on the arm as she was shooting out of the way, propelled by a kinetic draw, and erased the limb from existence. She howled and stumbled, glaring at the king with bloodshot eyes, and Jomurr could feel a powerful chemical attack building.

"Not so fast, rabble!" he shouted, more to distract her than anything else, but she began glowing with chemical fury and the King groaned and grabbed his head, fighting off the internal attack. Jomurr scowled. Time to put you down, he snarled inwardly. Gathering up his energy, he unleashed it upon her: Wyvern's Breath. Consumed by fire, she thrashed and screamed, and the youth counseled himself not flinch away from the sight. "He's coming for you," she wailed, "You'll see! Your time is up. He's -"

Impassively, Jobanzaggah wrenched her head around, snapping her beck, and the attacker went silent. "We show mercy to the doomed," he said, bowing his head slightly, and Jomurr followed his lead. This woman had been strong - unnaturally so. It had taken both he and his king, working in concert, to defeat her, and both were among the strongest on the continent, at least in terms of raw RAS level. "It was an honour, my King." Jomurr bowed immediately and deeply. "We have won the day."

The great king's head reflected the light of the four moons and the fires flickering across his ship. With a great, freezing wind, he swept them out. "Good men and women have died, serving me. I would not call this a victory, young count. This was survival." His face was pinched, his tone pained, and Jomurr furrowed his brow, apologizing instantly, having learned that the mandate of a king was to care for and protect his people. "Come now, let us tend to the wounded."

The two of them made it no more than a handful of steps. At the bow of the ship, a small flame flickered to life, illuminating the tattered remains of a sail that fluttered behind it. Into relief it cast a shadow: a lone, tall lean figure.

Jomurr felt a pressure begin in his head. The wind disappeared and the very air seemed to still. For as far as he could see, the sea flattened like glass. Flames flickered and the sky darkened. A cold, electric pulse traveled up and down the boy's spine and even the mighty king seemed to hesitate. The pressure built: burning cold, crushingly heavy, oppressing Jomurr and driving him to his knees. A man in a mask. He tilted his head to one side.

"To your feet, boy!" Jobanzaggah commanded.

"My king: I will fight with you."

But the monarch's face was haunted, as if he had peered into the eyes of Eshiran himself. "Don't be a fool. That is..." He regarded the figure perched almost mockingly on the bow. "A monster among monsters."

The pressure built and Jomurr fell back to his knees. Such power: it was unimaginable. This is what a 9-plus draw feels like, he realized, with pained clarity. The figure began walking towards them, his voice sepulchral, dripping with a deep, cold disdain. "A pity that did you did not rise. You will die as you lived your life, then: on your knees."

Who was this monster!? What was he!? Jomurr knew terror then like he had never known it before, but he knew defiance, too. The weight of this man's energy was crushing, but he forced himself to his feet, blood trickling from his nose and ears. "I will live!" he grated, "on my feet!" he roared, but that was the last he spoke.

The king's shove caught him off-guard, and he sailed from the dying ship and hit the surface of the water with a cold splash. He could feel himself moving - he knew not to where - then, darkness claimed him.

---

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Kōkyo | Anime Survival Horror RP [Interest Check]

The IruCa Four

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So named because they all take the same Kotoden bus home and use those ubiquitous cards, these four third-year students at Kōkyo have gotten to know each other fairly well, despite their very different personalities and backgrounds. They comprise the character ideas that I had for this RPG and I hope that you like them! I doubt that I can play all four, of course, so feel free to pick the one that you like best or, if you're cool with all of them, I don't mind picking either. You're welcome to make the others into NPCs. Also, if anyone else is struggling with character ideas or likes one of these, I'm up for adopting them out!

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Sasaki Mio (the bad girl)

_{Mio out of uniform, mugging for her Insta profile}

17 | Female | Band, Art Club

_{Characterization}

Mio's that girl who desperately wants to be someone cooler and more grown up than she really is. Her father is a manga artist who works long hours for a major studio and her mother is a nurse and part-time musician who never made it big. Both are gloriously unfulfilled people who love her very much and have very little time for her or her eleven-year-old brother, Daisuke. I suppose you could say that a certain amount of creativity is in her blood but, truth be told, she's always been more of a fan than an artist of any sort herself. She plays bass in a typical teenage garage band that mostly just hangs out and smokes (though she doesn't really like smoking that much). She likes to be thought of as a bit of a bad girl, piercings, short skirt, band t-shirts and all. She's a doodler and dreamer and probably has a mild form of inattentive ADHD, but has gone to primary, middle, and now high school with many of her classmates and isn't really the angsty social outcast or cold kuudere she'd have you believe, at least sartorially. She's either the normie among oddballs or the oddball among normies and she's secretly kind of happy with that.

In fact, under the right circumstances, Mio can absolutely talk your ear off about a subject that she's into. You see, she has these monthly obsessions, and she can go very far down online rabbit holes learning every inconsequential little bit of trivia there is to know about them. The posters on her bedroom walls are a memorial to her past obsessions and even the less-than-heavy-metal boy bands she guiltily listens to sometimes. There are a few things that she keeps coming back to, however: deep sea species of fish, the Titanic disaster, and zombie apocalypses. She knows exactly which lifeboat she'd get on and when were she to time travel back to April 15, 1912, and she has a Complete Written Guide to Surviving a (Theoretical) Zombie Apocalypse... in her head. Someday, she'll get down to writing it. Not that such a thing would ever actually come in handy.

_{Character Ties}

?? — TBD later if accepted. Do not fill out until then. Add more if needed.
(She takes the same bus home from school as Yuito, Akari, and Sota)

_Inventory

1) Studded belt & chain because they're metal AF and Mio is metal AF, obv.
2) Pepper spray in her backpack because creeps are a thing. She really shouldn't have it.
3) A sketchbook and pencils for shading and colouring.
4) A bunch of random library books, most of them slightly overdue.
5) A torch-style butane lighter.

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Noguchi Yuito (the nice guy)

_{Yuito out of uniform, looking as relaxed as ever}

18 | Male | Chess Club

_{Characterization}

Yuito just might be the most easygoing guy you've ever met, though if you insisted otherwise, he wouldn't press the issue. More likely, he'd just shrug and smile. The only child of older parents - a salaryman and an early childhood educator, this eighteen-year-old is one of life's background characters. Truth be told, he's happy enough with that, since he's the main character in his own head.

In truth, Yuito is one of the better-liked students in his class, even if some people consider him a bit boring. He's just genuinely good-natured and emotionally uncomplicated. His rock-solid mental health, strong academic performance, and friendliness stand in stark contrast to media portrayals of a troubled generation. There is not, nor has there ever been, so much as a hint of chuunibyo about him.

Yet, it is almost impossible to tag Yuito with a defining trait, and perhaps that is a symptom of his overwhelming averageness. He's a good student, but not the very best. He has friends, but isn't one of the 'populars'. He's tall and particularly good at baseball, but rather plain-looking, and he's distinctly shy and quiet. Sometimes, he feels like he's destined to be one of those people who just coasts through life, on autopilot, absolutely nothing special about him. Of course, he doesn't voice those thoughts. His friends have bigger problems than he does and his parents are very hard-working people. He wouldn't want to burden anybody, and he has his PC and videogames as an outlet. He's honestly quite good. Sometimes, he wonders if he should try a bit more in those. His reflexes and reaction time are amazing, and his tactical mind, honed through years of chess playing that started as a young boy with his father, is sharp. He'd rather play with his friends than advance to a higher league, however. The time that they spend together is valuable, and it's not like he could make a career out of gaming anyhow.

_{Character Ties}

?? — TBD later if accepted. Do not fill out until then. Add more if needed.
(He takes the same bus home from school as Mio, Akari, and Sota)

_Inventory

1) 'Black Knight' chess piece that is the only one left from a set he got as a kid and lost in a house fire. It is always on him.
2) Louisville Slugger baseball bat.
2) Two cans of energy drink, his keys, and a packed lunch.
3) A FitBit.

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Hondo Akari (the good girl)

_{Akari lining up to take a free kick during a soccer practice}

18 | Female | Fitness, Soccer Team

_{Characterization}

The first - and sometimes only - thing that people notice about Akari is her missing leg: result of a childhood battle with osteosarcoma (a type of bone cancer). In many ways, it defines her approach to life: nothing is guaranteed and nothing should be taken for granted. There are too many variables beyond your control, so instead of wasting your time worrying about them, just live the hell out of every single moment. Now, that's a wonderful bit of self-motivation to post on her social media profiles, paint on her bedroom wall, or recite as a kind of personal credo but, in practice, it's exhausting to keep up that level of intensity.

Generally speaking, Akari supplements her extended periods of go-getter attitude with flashes of indulgent, self-aware, sweatpants-wearing laziness. The second youngest of four siblings from a family of farmers who very much represent the fast-disappearing rural roots of Kagawa prefecture, there has never been any option not to be active, play outdoors, and keep up. However, during her cancer scare as a child, her parents moved their family to the city for her treatment, and her father took a job as a cab driver while her mother became a waitress. Money has never been abundant in the Hondo household, but there's a stubborn pride to them - Akari included - and you'll never see them asking for handouts or sympathy. They make do.

That's another part of her motivation: she's determined to justify what her parents and siblings went through - what they gave up for her sake. She'll never admit to that feeling of guilt, of course. She'll probably just punch you on the shoulder and make a joke or tell you about a great place she knows where you can get really cheap ice cream or Udon. Akari's a very hard worker in school, to the point of not having the kind of social life that she could and perhaps should. She also trains for hours a day in multiple sports and is already on the shortlist for the 2024 Japanese paralympic team. Coming home with a medal around her neck would be the sweetest thing ever. While she's a teenage girl and far from immune to the allure of pop culture, she doesn't indulge herself in it. In fact, Akari attempts to bloc her time and schedule her day quite strictly, though usually with limited success. She has a sneaky, understated sort of natural curiosity that often gets the better of her, and she enjoys joking and taking a joke at her or someone else's expense. However, one senses, sometimes, that she's not quite as chipper as she seems.

_{Character Ties}

?? — TBD later if accepted. Do not fill out until then. Add more if needed.
(She takes the same bus home from school as Mio, Yuito, and Sota)

_Inventory

1) Numerous hair-ties and a pair of fingerless gloves.
2) A small sport bag with a soccer cleat and shin pad, sports drink, teriyaki beef jerky, and lanyard with keys.
3) A pocketknife and multitool with wire cutters and a screwdriver for... reasons.
4) One half of a paired koi pendant, carved out of wood. Her older sister Misaki has the other half.
5) A pair of light, sturdy forearm crutches. No, she chooses not to wear a prosthetic. It has nothing to do with money!

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Uehara Sota (the bad boy)

_{Sota out of uniform, as always...}

17 | Male | Photography

_{Characterization}

Sota was never going to be anything but the school bad boy and sometime class clown. A fairly recent arrival (circa three and a half years ago) from Okinawa, he stands out in his spoken dialect, heavily Americanized interests, and darker skin tone. His parents, who both work in the travel and tourism industry, upped and moved to Kagawa to take advantage of its recent rise in popularity as a place for Tokyo and Osaka-ites to get away. They bribed him with a new Nintendo Switch and his sister with some girly thing. It wasn't like they were going to listen had he said 'no' anyways. He just figured he'd kick up a bit of a fuss and get something out of the move. If his classmate Akari is 'the straight-laced girl from the sketchy family', then Sota is the 'sketchy boy from the straight-laced family'. His father, being a bit of an outsider and representative of a major hotel company, works hard to maintain a positive public image, something that this teenage 'bad apple' always seems eager to undo.

While most people assume that Sota doesn't really care and see him as a bad influence on their children, the truth is that he just doesn't care about school. He's dyslexic and wasn't formally diagnosed until age eleven. By that point, he'd become used to finishing bottom of the class and being the family embarrassment. Instead, he's circled the wagons around other pursuits - basically any other pursuits. Regularly found smoking behind the school with the likes of Mio and crew, he plays a lot of baseball, busts into vending machines (though not as often as people accuse him of) and shoplifts, composes freestyle rap verses and works on his DJ skills, and indulges in long energy drink-fueled gaming sessions funded by his parents' credit card or whatever side hustle he has going on at the moment (some are quite ingenious while others are pretty harebrained). Sota's also a member of the photography club. It's not that he particularly loves the hobby. He just loves a girl who's in the club and maybe he can have a try at developing a softer side?

_{Character Ties}

?? — TBD later if accepted. Do not fill out until then. Add more if needed.
(He takes the same bus home from school as Mio, Yuito, and Akari)

_Inventory

1) Nintendo Switch that has been confiscated by teachers more than once.
2) Ziploc bags of... products for sale.
3) Laser pointer and a cheap digital camera.
4) Pocketknife, lighter, and brass knuckles because 'bad boy'.

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Mr. Dolphin (the mascot)

Kōkyo | Anime Survival Horror RP [Interest Check]

I N T E R E S T

I И ꓕ E ᖉ E S ꓕ

Code Vein (Closed)

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_{Location: En Route to the Dying Mistle @ The Ruined City // Date: February 23, 2057 // Time: 11:08 // Interactions: Vincent @Daxam, Dallas @pantothenic, Desmond @Theyra, Ajax @DClassified}

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The string of curse words that flashed through her thoughts was a rich and colourful one. This wasn't Lysandra's first rodeo - not by a longshot - but things were dicier than usual. She'd gotten reckless. The Advance team could've saved themselves. Now there were enemies closing in from two of the four cardinal directions and she was undefended save Desmond and her own weapons. Her fingers found the necessary switches and Sage and Princess rocketed back, rotors screaming at full thrust. No sooner had they arrived above her than the air lit up with crimson bolts. Her skin prickled with sheets of cold static. A-type. She watched Dallas take a clean head shot through Princess' rapidly-gaining cameras and he slumped to the ground. Three thralls closed in on his prone figure and her nerves fried with adrenaline and a sense of helplessness. She took Sage off of follow mode and set him to engage the hostiles. Sonic Blast. Dallas was unconscious and the others were far enough away that it wouldn't be anything worse than unpleasant for them. Then Vincent was taking a glancing blow to the shoulder from the A-type and he was nearly spun off of his feet. Sage blasted the thralls and they screamed and batted wildly at their heads, halting their advance on Dallas. Vincent had recovered and was racing over to the husk of a car. He dived behind it, taking shelter, and that was one less thing to worry about. Lys, however, was out in the open: a sitting duck. There was an O-type coming too, shield up. Dallas was down. Vincent was cornered. Desmond was close to being overwhelmed. Run! screamed every instinct that Lysandra called her own, the impulse of a scared animal demanding that she turn tail and take flight like she had countless times before, darting and dodging through the labyrinth of ruins until she was safe. That instinct, however, was lost on her body. Numb and dumb to it, her legs refused to move and reason reclaimed her.

Lysandra set Princess to turret mode, Evasive pattern Z, released her brakes, and flipped her headset up. For a moment the diffuse glare of the real world caused her to blink, but then there was a massive groan and Vincent was rushing forward with the car held out like a shield. She watched him leap with it and bring it down on top of a thrall. He was an absolute battering ram, plowing through them like it was nothing. She put hands to wheels and headed for the cover that he was offering. Then, he took a shot from the A-type that staggered him. Her heart caught in her throat as he winced and nearly dropped the car. He recovered himself after a second, though, and gritting his teeth, stepped in front of her and slammed it down. A half-dozen thralls dissipated and he stood there in repose, burning with reddish-orange energy. Lysandra was saved.

"That should buy you a bit of time," he panted, clutching at his side, where he had taken that shot during his mad charge. "I'm gonna get back out there and try to get that fucker shooting at us. If I can get the shield guy, too, then that's a bonus."

"I'll cover you!" she shouted, but he was already moving, screaming out loud at the Lost all of the obscenities that she had screamed only in her head. Immediately, her attention turned to Desmond and Dallas. Ajax had made a break for the shadows earlier, and she could only assume that he had some greater purpose in mind that she couldn't see. The former had taken cover behind her, switching from gun to glaive, focused on warding off the stray Thralls. The latter was up, with a bloodied nose, and charging back into the fray, wrecking house with his battleaxe. Right, Lys thought, back in. He had things well under control. She had enough cover. It was time to help Vincent, and so she flipped her headset down and took control of Princess, setting Sage to orbit and defend her and Desmond.

9/12 on rockets, she reminded herself, all other ammunition full. She needed to take out that A-type or, if the opportunity presented itself, Princess could slip in behind the O-type, where its shield would be useless. Vincent against both, though? Ajax, where are you!?

Then, everything changed. Lys was so in the moment, piloting Sky Princess, that she barely registered the crash, but she physically felt the massive Tentacled Lost slam Dallas into the ground. She saw his arm hang limp and she saw the thralls closing in. "Sorry, Vincent." She almost couldn't do it. She felt like she was abandoning him, but Dallas needed her help more and that took precedence. She steered Princess toward the gang of thralls approaching him, added a bit of height, and target locked the two closest to him. Princess confirmed lock and she grimaced as she spent two more rockets. A readout in red confirmed two targets down and she decided that should give Dallas the breathing room he needed to deal with the Tent.

Then, however, Sage's proximity warning beeped and she switched to his view. Two more tentacles emerged from the building at her seven, the one with what she recognized as a faded 'Subway' sign. She doubted the Lost were smart enough to have done this intentionally, but the Rear Team was being caught in a pincer movement. Those things were big, too. They usually took two rockets each, and she was already down to seven. Lys set Princess to sonic blast them before they were too close. She put hands to wheels and turned, unable to see what she was doing but recognizing a one-eighty by muscle memory. Instinctively, she backed up a push but, by the time that she felt the ground slip out from under her left side, it was too late. She shifted her weight, nearly thrown from her wheelchair, and settled at an angle, wheel caught in a deep crack that must've been the result of Vincent slamming the car. "Fuck!" she shouted, straining to push herself free.

Lys tore off her headset and looked down. To her horror, the controller had slid off of her lap and clattered to the ground, out of reach. She tried to wrench her right side around, but there was no wiggle room. The crack was just the right width and her wheel was in deep. "Horsie! Lift!" She commanded, fighting down a rising panic, but the ground was caved in around the car and he was at an angle, unable to get much leverage. He tipped back and forth as he tried. The pair of Tents were whipping at Princess with their tentacles and one actually nicked her. Lysandra's stomach turned into an icy pit, but the drone spun away, recovered, and rose higher, its automatic defensive programming kicking in. They lumbered closer and she grabbed for her bow. The angle wasn't perfect. She had to twist her body awkwardly. She was loath to use up one of her few high-explosive arrows, but this would have to be a one-shot kill. There was no time to breathe deeply or set herself. She pulled back and loosed.

The sheer force of the explosion was fantastic. It reverberated through her chest like a thunderclap and she blinked, half flash-blinded and deafened. Chunks of the Tent were strewn all over the place and, absently, she noticed its guts on one of her legs. The second Tent had fared much better, though. Flung to the side, it was burnt all down one flank and had lost an arm and a couple of tentacles, but it stumbled to its feet, very much alive and very much furious. It let out a bellowing roar, tendrils writhing and glowing, and charged at her.

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