@ Kiwi and Max: I am going to throw up what I have done on my CS below. Please, take a look and see what you think about potential partnerships and if you think my character would fit well with what you have in mind. If nothing else, I would think that everyone residing within the Circle would at least know each other and perhaps even work with each other on occasion. In the OP it does state that Guardians can sometimes be partnered with two mages, but I don't know whether you'd both want to go that route. Regardless, I'd love to hear all your thoughts and ideas. I love plotting and interweaving back stories with people, so even if only one or the other or neither ends up being partnered up with me, I'd still like for my character to at least know the everyone a bit. I honestly didn't think I'd have more than one person hit me up on my offer, lol. I hate decisions like these.
But here's my WIP character sheet. The history doesn't go past the beginning of her fifth year of training as of now, but most definitely will relationships and back stories are developed.
Name: Tegan, Warden of the Magi
House Name: None.
Age: 29
Appearance: Tegan has a body consistent with the warrior culture of her people. She is tall, standing just short of six feet while wearing her sturdy boots. Being female, she lacks the bulk most commonly associated with a Guardian or other soldier types, but instead the muscles along her limbs and torso are long and each group well defined to compliment the fast, agile style in which she needs to fight to compensate facing foes commonly stronger than herself. Her face is oval with only the slightest protrusion of cheekbone visible beneath sun-darkened skin and her chin is small and rounded. A nose that looks to have been broken and then realigned on several occasions sits beneath intense eyes the color of rolling thunderclouds and hard with experience few others in the Circle can claim. Tegan’s high brows make it easy for her to vividly express her emotions, though they rarely stray from their crooked lift that accompanies her normal, lackadaisical smile. She enjoys letting the loose waves of her light, ashen brown hair fall around her shoulders while residing within the Tower but will almost twist it into a thick braid while traveling or on the hunt for feral mages. Her willowy hands are well calloused and her skin toughened into leather and scarred sporadically in reflection of her most dangerous, physically demanding lifestyle.
The Guardian claims a total of three whole outfits for herself: a loose pair of black breeches along with a red tunic, a set of worn, though well-oiled and cared for, leather armor made for training and traveling, and her full regalia plate armor in the style of the Wardens complete with helm and shield. Tegan will never be seen without her long, slim longsword belted to hang doggishly off her left hip, while a dagger stays sheathed on right.
Homeland: Ferros
Race: Guardian
Spells: Ritual of Sealing
Bio: Tegan was the fifth child and youngest child of her family and born in the Ferronian capital of Snowhearth, high within the mountains that covered most of kingdom. Her father, Drest, was a royal guard who had left the mentorship of the Ivory Tower before his fifth year of Guardian training and her mother, Isolde, was a seamstress who worked at shop specializing in noble finery. The family lived in one of the upper districts of the city and earned enough of an income to provide a comfortable lifestyle for their brood, and a young Tegan never found herself in want.
Being the youngest of five had its own brand of hardships, however, her three older brothers and sister constantly warring despite their mother’s chastising. Tegan often got the brunt of any sibling rivalry, being the baby of the family, and had to quickly grow thick skin and fast wit. This helped her greatly when she grew a little older and was allowed out of the house on her own. Being a society who celebrated the warrior so much, it was very common for children in Snowhearth to carry little wooden swords tucked in their belts and duel with one another and Tegan was no exception. When not occupied by house chores or by sword lessons given by her father or eldest brother, Kain, the young girl was often running with a small pack of practice sword wielding children like herself, fighting for honor and to prove her skill. She routinely came home at night with a bloodied face and bruised body, sometimes crying and burying her face into her mother's skirts but more often than not with a proud grin plastered across her mud ridden face.
When she reached the age of thirteen Tegan, like all her siblings except her sister before her, began her official training as a soldier of Ferros. She would follow in her father’s footsteps. She would learn to better wield a sword, to shoot a bow, to wage war. The strict discipline of her highers and the harsh training would shape her into a formidable fighter. Then she would volunteer to leave for the Ivory Tower an learn to control the magical power she knew she was capable of wielding but never had. After four years there she would return home a warrior mage and unlike her father, if she had grown strong enough under the tower’s tutelage, she would fight her way to the top of the Ferros hierarchy. The challenge of it rang heavily in her ears and the honor of it called to her.
Tegan would not have to wait long for either a challenge or her chance to earn honor. For it was not but a few months after she had completed her initial training as a soldier that the hordes of Malfear surged into their kingdom. The armies of Ferros pushed into the Stoneguard Mountains to attempt to hold the enemy there and Tegan was with them. She was young and fast and so for the first two years of the war was made a messenger. It was no easy work and she often found herself scrambling through a gauntlet of swinging weapons and arrows arching down from the sky as she raced from one side of a battlefield to the other with only a shortsword to defend herself. Luckily she was largely overlooked by most of the combatants and managed to come back from errands mostly unscathed.
By the time she was sixteen Tegan was serving on the frontlines of the war. They had had so many casualties that the military had been stretched thin and even younger children than herself were being conscripted into the army to perform the jobs Tegan and her training mates had. They needed them to fight. Now she was a part of battle after battle, only pure luck and her own tenacity allowing her to survive. Through jungles, on the sides of mountains, and in the midst of valleys she waged war with Malfear’s army. She forged through what seemed like unending seas of the undead and barbarians time and time again. So many of her brothers and sisters in arms she had lost that Tegan often wondered why she was left standing. People so much better than herself -stronger, faster, smarter- had perished, yet she remained. Remained to step over their corpses to push back the enemy, to hold them as they screamed out in their death throes, to carry their bodies to the huge funeral pyres, to carry on for them.
Well before the war was over did the young woman give up on the concept of fighting for her own honor; the childish notion that it had been. It was for the men and women who stood with her, shoulder to shoulder, in which she fought. Her ethos became one loyalty and camaraderie, to honor those who sacrificed everything for her and being willing to do the same for them. She grew better for them as she no longer sought glory for herself. And so, five years after she had marched from the kingdom’s capital, Tegan celebrated the victory of Ferros over Malfear’s horde, not as the foolhardy child soldier she had been, but as the adept warrior she had become.
When she returned home to Snowhearth for the first time in five years Tegan went immediately to her family’s house. There she found her mother and elder sister, Treva, and the three of them embraced, and cried, and rejoiced in their reunion. The three women waited several weeks for the men of the family to return from the wars, after all there were still some skirmishes and pocketed groups of resistance that could be keeping them from home. Every time the watch would sound horns the announce the arrival of another group of soldiers and Tegan would climb up the ramparts to watch them march doggedly home. Then she would scamper back down and walk among them as they filed into the gates in an attempt to find one of her brothers or father. But only Kain ever returned and after a month passing where no horns sounded at all did Tegan accept the death of her two brothers and father. She didn't know if she'd ever learn when or how they had perished.
Still wanting to follow the path her father had, it was then that Tegan decided to make her way to Valeal to seek out the Order of Magi. She was perhaps one of the first Ferrorians to come to the Circle for training since the five year war and it was no surprise that the young warrior chose the path of the Guardian. Already a veteran of combat and skilled with her sword, Tegan only became better as her instructors chiseled away at the rough fighting style she had used to survive full scale battles and refined it into one of precision and finesse. She was always at the top of her class. Her magic, however, never progressed passed anything more than simple spells and the ability to not kill herself with it.
On the first day of the fifth year of her training, Tegan’s magic was taken and her life bound to the Circle...
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Raid said
So, would it be horribly presumptuous of me to ask some ideas people have for character(s)? It just be nice to skip over that awkward "Oh, hai, nice to meet you" phase so that we could actually incorporate the types of relationships our characters will have with each other right off the bat.
I'm definitely going to wait to get the information from the other three kingdoms before making a solid skeleton to work off of, but as of now I plan on going the Guardian route, most likely of the female variety. As odd as it may sound, I like to play non-magic users in magic centric RPs. So if anyone plans on having a veteran tower mage and wants to perhaps collaborate a partnership between characters I'd be all for it.
Brand said
"Most believe Malfear dead, but there are dark whispers of Malfear's return, and now more then ever the Five Kingdoms are divided. Can the Kingdoms put thier squabbles aside to face a bigger threat, or will Malfear's undead armies tear them apart."Basically there's a whole lot of turmoil and war going on that is ripping the Kingdoms apart, and on top of that there are threats of Malfear's return, but everyone has thier own agenda so it's very unlikely for the Nations to unite for any cause. I plan on Malfear's threat being only a side element to the stories plot, and more or less used as an excuse for some players to draw together and what not. If you want to imagine the RP in arc, then the Undead Invasion would be the first arc, and subsequent arcs would revolve around the players decisions and bios. I very much intend for the plot of this story to be player driven, which is why I ask you go as detailed as you can in your characters bio/history. The more you tell me about your characters the better I can tailor the story.
You can definitely count me in. :D
What do you have in mind as far as plot goes? I really love what you have going so far (very Dragon Age like, which is awesome and I'm a sucker for well developed worlds), but I don't want to officially throw my hat into the ring without knowing the basis of the story.
*raises hand* Present!
ShonHarris said
No biggie. I've been apartment scouting lately and haven't been accessible. Can't wait to get our two together!
Awww yeah! The dubious duo. The pugnacious pair. The combative combo. The testy twosome. The belligerent band. The truculent twins. The other alliterations that mean two people who are going to be at each others throats constantly that I can't think of...
Posted. I know I said I'd let you get a look at it first, Shon, but for some reason the doc has decided that I'm not allowed to copy and paste things from Word. It's weird... But I just synced our timelines up at the very end of the post, so it shouldn't be a biggie.
She looked so much like her father that it hurt. The thin pull of her lip, her pert little nose that was upturned ever so slightly, the roundness of her face, the hooded shape of her eyes; the cowlick that kept the left side of her part a bit higher than the right, the slight curve of line that traced soft cheekbones. In the dark recesses of Cassie’s mind, buried deep to try to maintain what arguable sanity she had left, the vestige of a man was etched. She tried to forget, fought tooth and nail to forget, but seeing her daughter had the image dragging itself back to the surface of her mind. It always did. The young girl’s prominent features fit so perfectly over the face of her father floating in Cassie’s memory that it was startling. For a moment all the woman could do was stare stupefied as her only child stood shyly behind the legs of her caretaker in their family’s doorway.
Nobody would have guessed that Brianna was Cassie’s daughter, they looked nothing alike, but then the woman shook herself out of her transfixion and smiled. And that little girl’s shy smile dragged out into the same lopsided, mischievous smirk, her eyes crinkling at the corners, which Cassie wore so often. It left no doubt of their shared blood and it was the thing that often anchored the child to her heart. Bri may have looked in so many ways like her father, but her expressions were all her mother’s. And her stormy gray eyes, slight dimple, hair so light it bordered on white, and fluttering eyelashes were unique to her alone; Cassie’s daughter.
“Squish!” Cassie called, casting off her insecurities and opening her arms wide to receive the squealing little girl rushing towards her seat by the fire. The two toppled over onto the rug and Cassie planted a solid kiss on her daughter’s forehead as she squeezed her in as tight of an embrace as she dared. “I missed you so much,” she crooned and inhaled the scent of Bri’s wispy blonde curls, “look how big you’ve gotten!” Cass never considered herself a good mom, far from it, but she couldn’t seem to resist doing overtly mom-like things.
“I’m almost four!” Brianna pulled out of her mother’s grasp enough to hold up the correct number with fingers still chubby with baby fat.
“Four?!? There’s no way, Squish. You look at least six!” The little girl giggled and clutched Cassie around the neck in another hug as her mother pushed them both off the floor to stand. In that motion she caught the knowing look from her own mom, which had her quirking an eyebrow. Another lecture about her current traveling lifestyle would be coming Cassie’s way; that was for certain. But for now she’d hold off the inevitable by hiding behind a human shield or two and moved over to the petite woman who still stood at the entrance of the home. “Laily!”
“I am happy to see you are safe, Cassandra-jaan,” the younger woman said as they embraced, her words carefully forced through her heavily laden Persian accent. Her English had improved greatly since the time the Shannahan clan had taken her in at the beginning of apocalypse, but she sometimes still found herself having a hard time finding the right words to express herself properly, and her speech would occasionally lapse as she attempted to translate her thoughts from her native Dari to English. Despite this language barrier, Cassie always thought that Laily’s soft eyes often communicated her feelings better than most peoples’ words.
“Not through lack of trying, Khua-harum,” Cass laughed as they parted, using the Dari word for sister; her normal way to refer to the Afghan woman. On top of it being one of the few Afghan words she could actually ever remember, it was also considered a term of endearment in Laily’s culture and represented how much she meant to Cassie. The little wisp of a mousy thing may have been almost a decade younger than Cass, but she most definitely played the part of the older, wiser sibling in their relationship.
Her mother caught her attention again as the two girls separated from their embrace, Laily adjusting the traditional head scarf she still liked to wear back in its proper place and Cass setting her daughter back on her feet; Bri still clutched to her mother’s leg, however. “I am glad your back home, Cassie,” Samantha started, “but why did you come back so close to Horde Season? It’s so dangerous on the mainland this time of year.”
Cassie cringed. “I need to speak to the council. It’s ahhh… kinda really important.” Her mother’s look prompted her to elaborate, “I may have, by complete and total accident mind you, gave Mackinac’s location to a hostile paramilitary group.”
Samantha blinked. “Oh, Cassie,” She exhaled deeply. There were so many implications and undertones packed into those two little words that it had enough potency to make even one such as her eccentrically optimistic daughter dip her head.
“…Yeah...”
~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~
There was something about Mackinac that set it apart from the rest of the Havens Cass had been. It was an island, sure, but that wasn’t what made it stand out so much in her mind. The people here were different; Less soft, less delusional somehow. The main street bustled with hurried people as they went along and performed their daily chores. Vendors bellowed out into the crowd from their stalls to attract patrons to their wares. Men and women alike shuffled through the throng of human and horse traffic on their way to and from work. In that, it was very much like something you’d find in Chico, Bismarck, or even Reno, but it was still different.
Many wore animal pelts against the cold northern air, true, but not even that denoted anything out of the ordinary to the veteran salvager and wanderer Cassie considered herself. The islanders knew, she decided. They not only knew they were living through the apocalypse, they accepted it. She’d seen so many people try to forget that the undead were walking the earth and live like they had before the collapse of society that seeing such mass acceptance was odd to her; it was like being among thousands of salvagers.
The very nature of the haven itself demanded it, she supposed. Mackinac island was too small to sustain even a few hundred people by itself, even with the little farming colony recently started up on the neighboring island of Bois Blanc, let alone the six or seven thousand that actually called the place home. There wasn’t enough food, plain and simple. That meant the people were forced to abandon the safety of the island to scavenge and hunt; they were forced to confront the walkers, the apocalypse. They fought the hordes almost every winter. The haveners of Mackinac didn’t have the luxury of forgetting nor did they have the ability to plead ignorance.
They were harsh, but they were strong, Cass thought as she climbed the steps of the hotel the ruling council of Mackinac had declared their base of operations. It was traced in the hard lines each face she passed by. If any haven could withstand the brute force of the 1007th, it was the Haven of Hunters. At least she hoped.
Cassandra Shannahan was well known to the thirteen members of the council. There were very few people left in Apocalyptica they had found with her particular skill set, and none of which that compared in either the eccentric woman’s vast knowledge base or her uncanny ability to give the lot of them migraines. She had been paramount in developing most of the communications the haven claimed, including a working dish that connected them to a small satellite network, so when their daily meeting had been interrupted by a secretary announcing her need to meet with them there was little they could do to deny her an audience.
She strode straight into the Victorian-era grandeur of their meeting hall with little pretense. The woman looked haggard, probably just back from one of her months long trips into the expanses of the apocalypse, but still she shook her head at the proffered chair a guard had brought before the long hardwood table in which the council sat. Instead she met the eyes of each of the nine men and four women seated in turn. “We have a problem.” Eloquent as ever.
A man with a closely trimmed salt-and-peppered beard was the first to humor her. “And what is that, Miss Shannahan?”
“I think the hundred and seventh knows where the haven is.” Despite Mackinac’s relative seclusion from the rest of the world they still maintained a small number of scouts and other information gatherers to maintain a general understanding of the state of things outside their small sphere of existence. So they knew of the group, but not enough to understand the urgency of this meeting.
“The military group?” Another man asked, a war veteran himself, “The ones who are supposed to be helping people with condemned and the undead?” He failed to see the problem.
The young woman before them snorted indignantly. “Only if by ‘helping’ you mean forcefully taking over their havens, enacting fucking martial law, and keeping the havenfolks’ necks pressed firmly beneath their shiny boots… Then yeah, helping. They’ve already taken over Evergreen Haven on the west coast.”
All thirteen of the haven’s leaders raised their voices’ in dissonance; this was news to them and the fall of what had been a very stable haven certainly called for their further attention. Questions, accusations, concerns, and opinions spewed into the cavernous room, echoing off the arched ceilings and nearly bare walls. Cassie had trouble picking out one voice from another, let alone making out an entire sentence, and so she crossed her arms lightly over her chest to wait out the bombardment of noise impatiently.
What felt like hours, but in reality was only mere minutes, later their voices lowered until they eventually returned back to the organized silence they had maintained at the beginning of the meeting. Thirteen sets of eyes swung back in her direction.
“You’re sure? How? How did Evergreen fall and how do they figure out where we are?” They seemed to have consolidated their questions to the most pressing few.
“I was there,” Cassie said flatly, “I saw it. They came riding in like a fucking white knight promising to help the haven against a condemned threat, only to overtake them when they were weakened from the fight. Bullied their leaders into compliance and subdued anyone they thought would rebel. They were trying to press anyone into their ranks that they thought could be useful with bribery or threats when I escape—“
The large doors to the meeting room burst open, a kid not older than sixteen or seventeen rushing into the space in their wake. The blue band of fabric tied around his left arm marked him as a member of the volunteer force, his heavy panting and stooped over stance indicated his sprint to the chambers. “Councilmen,” he said in between taking in large gulps of air, “We’ve just received a report that a helicopter crashed not far inland… It was shooting at one of our hunting parties, with machine guns. They think they know where it landed and are going to investigate.”
Cassie turned back to the council grimly. For once in her life, she wished she hadn’t been right.
Nobody would have guessed that Brianna was Cassie’s daughter, they looked nothing alike, but then the woman shook herself out of her transfixion and smiled. And that little girl’s shy smile dragged out into the same lopsided, mischievous smirk, her eyes crinkling at the corners, which Cassie wore so often. It left no doubt of their shared blood and it was the thing that often anchored the child to her heart. Bri may have looked in so many ways like her father, but her expressions were all her mother’s. And her stormy gray eyes, slight dimple, hair so light it bordered on white, and fluttering eyelashes were unique to her alone; Cassie’s daughter.
“Squish!” Cassie called, casting off her insecurities and opening her arms wide to receive the squealing little girl rushing towards her seat by the fire. The two toppled over onto the rug and Cassie planted a solid kiss on her daughter’s forehead as she squeezed her in as tight of an embrace as she dared. “I missed you so much,” she crooned and inhaled the scent of Bri’s wispy blonde curls, “look how big you’ve gotten!” Cass never considered herself a good mom, far from it, but she couldn’t seem to resist doing overtly mom-like things.
“I’m almost four!” Brianna pulled out of her mother’s grasp enough to hold up the correct number with fingers still chubby with baby fat.
“Four?!? There’s no way, Squish. You look at least six!” The little girl giggled and clutched Cassie around the neck in another hug as her mother pushed them both off the floor to stand. In that motion she caught the knowing look from her own mom, which had her quirking an eyebrow. Another lecture about her current traveling lifestyle would be coming Cassie’s way; that was for certain. But for now she’d hold off the inevitable by hiding behind a human shield or two and moved over to the petite woman who still stood at the entrance of the home. “Laily!”
“I am happy to see you are safe, Cassandra-jaan,” the younger woman said as they embraced, her words carefully forced through her heavily laden Persian accent. Her English had improved greatly since the time the Shannahan clan had taken her in at the beginning of apocalypse, but she sometimes still found herself having a hard time finding the right words to express herself properly, and her speech would occasionally lapse as she attempted to translate her thoughts from her native Dari to English. Despite this language barrier, Cassie always thought that Laily’s soft eyes often communicated her feelings better than most peoples’ words.
“Not through lack of trying, Khua-harum,” Cass laughed as they parted, using the Dari word for sister; her normal way to refer to the Afghan woman. On top of it being one of the few Afghan words she could actually ever remember, it was also considered a term of endearment in Laily’s culture and represented how much she meant to Cassie. The little wisp of a mousy thing may have been almost a decade younger than Cass, but she most definitely played the part of the older, wiser sibling in their relationship.
Her mother caught her attention again as the two girls separated from their embrace, Laily adjusting the traditional head scarf she still liked to wear back in its proper place and Cass setting her daughter back on her feet; Bri still clutched to her mother’s leg, however. “I am glad your back home, Cassie,” Samantha started, “but why did you come back so close to Horde Season? It’s so dangerous on the mainland this time of year.”
Cassie cringed. “I need to speak to the council. It’s ahhh… kinda really important.” Her mother’s look prompted her to elaborate, “I may have, by complete and total accident mind you, gave Mackinac’s location to a hostile paramilitary group.”
Samantha blinked. “Oh, Cassie,” She exhaled deeply. There were so many implications and undertones packed into those two little words that it had enough potency to make even one such as her eccentrically optimistic daughter dip her head.
“…Yeah...”
~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~
There was something about Mackinac that set it apart from the rest of the Havens Cass had been. It was an island, sure, but that wasn’t what made it stand out so much in her mind. The people here were different; Less soft, less delusional somehow. The main street bustled with hurried people as they went along and performed their daily chores. Vendors bellowed out into the crowd from their stalls to attract patrons to their wares. Men and women alike shuffled through the throng of human and horse traffic on their way to and from work. In that, it was very much like something you’d find in Chico, Bismarck, or even Reno, but it was still different.
Many wore animal pelts against the cold northern air, true, but not even that denoted anything out of the ordinary to the veteran salvager and wanderer Cassie considered herself. The islanders knew, she decided. They not only knew they were living through the apocalypse, they accepted it. She’d seen so many people try to forget that the undead were walking the earth and live like they had before the collapse of society that seeing such mass acceptance was odd to her; it was like being among thousands of salvagers.
The very nature of the haven itself demanded it, she supposed. Mackinac island was too small to sustain even a few hundred people by itself, even with the little farming colony recently started up on the neighboring island of Bois Blanc, let alone the six or seven thousand that actually called the place home. There wasn’t enough food, plain and simple. That meant the people were forced to abandon the safety of the island to scavenge and hunt; they were forced to confront the walkers, the apocalypse. They fought the hordes almost every winter. The haveners of Mackinac didn’t have the luxury of forgetting nor did they have the ability to plead ignorance.
They were harsh, but they were strong, Cass thought as she climbed the steps of the hotel the ruling council of Mackinac had declared their base of operations. It was traced in the hard lines each face she passed by. If any haven could withstand the brute force of the 1007th, it was the Haven of Hunters. At least she hoped.
Cassandra Shannahan was well known to the thirteen members of the council. There were very few people left in Apocalyptica they had found with her particular skill set, and none of which that compared in either the eccentric woman’s vast knowledge base or her uncanny ability to give the lot of them migraines. She had been paramount in developing most of the communications the haven claimed, including a working dish that connected them to a small satellite network, so when their daily meeting had been interrupted by a secretary announcing her need to meet with them there was little they could do to deny her an audience.
She strode straight into the Victorian-era grandeur of their meeting hall with little pretense. The woman looked haggard, probably just back from one of her months long trips into the expanses of the apocalypse, but still she shook her head at the proffered chair a guard had brought before the long hardwood table in which the council sat. Instead she met the eyes of each of the nine men and four women seated in turn. “We have a problem.” Eloquent as ever.
A man with a closely trimmed salt-and-peppered beard was the first to humor her. “And what is that, Miss Shannahan?”
“I think the hundred and seventh knows where the haven is.” Despite Mackinac’s relative seclusion from the rest of the world they still maintained a small number of scouts and other information gatherers to maintain a general understanding of the state of things outside their small sphere of existence. So they knew of the group, but not enough to understand the urgency of this meeting.
“The military group?” Another man asked, a war veteran himself, “The ones who are supposed to be helping people with condemned and the undead?” He failed to see the problem.
The young woman before them snorted indignantly. “Only if by ‘helping’ you mean forcefully taking over their havens, enacting fucking martial law, and keeping the havenfolks’ necks pressed firmly beneath their shiny boots… Then yeah, helping. They’ve already taken over Evergreen Haven on the west coast.”
All thirteen of the haven’s leaders raised their voices’ in dissonance; this was news to them and the fall of what had been a very stable haven certainly called for their further attention. Questions, accusations, concerns, and opinions spewed into the cavernous room, echoing off the arched ceilings and nearly bare walls. Cassie had trouble picking out one voice from another, let alone making out an entire sentence, and so she crossed her arms lightly over her chest to wait out the bombardment of noise impatiently.
What felt like hours, but in reality was only mere minutes, later their voices lowered until they eventually returned back to the organized silence they had maintained at the beginning of the meeting. Thirteen sets of eyes swung back in her direction.
“You’re sure? How? How did Evergreen fall and how do they figure out where we are?” They seemed to have consolidated their questions to the most pressing few.
“I was there,” Cassie said flatly, “I saw it. They came riding in like a fucking white knight promising to help the haven against a condemned threat, only to overtake them when they were weakened from the fight. Bullied their leaders into compliance and subdued anyone they thought would rebel. They were trying to press anyone into their ranks that they thought could be useful with bribery or threats when I escape—“
The large doors to the meeting room burst open, a kid not older than sixteen or seventeen rushing into the space in their wake. The blue band of fabric tied around his left arm marked him as a member of the volunteer force, his heavy panting and stooped over stance indicated his sprint to the chambers. “Councilmen,” he said in between taking in large gulps of air, “We’ve just received a report that a helicopter crashed not far inland… It was shooting at one of our hunting parties, with machine guns. They think they know where it landed and are going to investigate.”
Cassie turned back to the council grimly. For once in her life, she wished she hadn’t been right.
ShonHarris said
We missed you Free Fall :3. Are you officially back for a while?
Yup. Finished up a month long army training thingy and don't have anything in the foreseeable future that would cause me to not be able to post. I'm working on a post right now that will time skip me to about where you guys are at.
Fallenreaper said Just world domination... that's all.
Again!?! I always miss out on the fun stuff. You could have waited...
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