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Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

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Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

"I would also volunteer to scout Miss Danbalion." A voice drawled darkly from behind the young girl, a few of the more green knights who had been only paying half attention reaching for their blades for a half second before recognizing the speaker and deciding to look elsewhere. Gillian sat on an old donkey, the mares fur greyed with age but gait still sturdy. Hardly the mount of a knight, lacking in speed and power but Julia was a tough old creature and bore his weight comfortably in her age and could do so all day if needed. The Living Reliquary lounged comfortably on the beast, overly long arms crossed comfortably across its back and draping down its sides as he gave the would be knight captain a languid stare.

"I was a furrier before I was a knight. Forest like this is going to have a few trapper trails throughout." He said, nodding towards Gerard for confirmation of the fact. "We'll use those to get close. No major traffic along them so the bandits are unlikely to be aware of them. Between the three of us, should be a relatively comfortable fit. And if we're discovered I'm the best suited to signaling for backup...." He gives the group a thin smile. "What with being able to set myself on fire and all." he said casually, as if the idea of routine self immolation had long since dissolved into a passing amusement on par with cloud watching.

@PaulHaynek@HereComesTheSnow@VitaVitaAR

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian, The Living Reliquary

Name: Gillian Reynaud

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Gill is a gangly young man standing at 5’11, with a lithe frame that seems ill suited to armor or the feats of raw strength he often performs. His arms are artificial and strange interlocking plates of insectoid looking silvered metal of unknown origin and composition with a softly glowing blue membrane beneath. They are overly long and thin even in comparison to his body, as though sized for someone much taller than himself and all together more alien. His palms hang comfortably at his knees. While handsome, he does cut a rather...uncanny figure to those not expecting him.

Personality: Gillian values honesty, simplicity and trust. All of which he feels are impossible to find in any sufficiently large group of people. A loner by nature, he prefers not to speak too much, especially on matters of nobility. He can be very defensive when dealing with intimate issues (or those dealing with his condition), and as such avoids them as much as possible except with those he considers close friends. What few friends he keeps are treated to a watchfulness most attack dogs would envy and the occasional stroke of melancholic humor when he’s in his more ‘peppy’ moments.

He has an open disregard for some of the traditions of the Roses, a bad habit inherited from his mentor. He will gladly fight dirty if it means winning and saving more people and considers the tradition of choosing a child as their leader to be insane at best.

Backstory:

Gillian was born in the township of La Reine, located on the Velt-Thaln boarder just off a rarely traveled caravan trail. The only truly notable thing about it was the local superstition that a powerful witch resided in the local woods, though this was mostly to scare children into staying in doors at night as far as Gillian ever knew. His parents were both local hunters, trading much needed food and pelts to travelers and locals during the winter months. It was a quiet place to grow up, much of the day spent hunting or practicing with the town militia (which consisted of little more than a few men armed with makeshift spears). For the first fourteen years of his life, Gillian faced few hurtles aside from the normal trials of a rural hunter and the occasional disorganized Orc warband attempting a raid.

In the fall of his fifteenth year, a small caravan accompanied by a squad of Iron Rose Knights rolled into town. Their commanding officer, Seige Parnella, was investigating reports that the local orc bands had gone utterly quiet. Parnella cut a disturbing figure, a once exceptional beauty now massively scared in ways few in the town could identify and with long strange legs made of blackened metal that seems to chill the grown she walked on.

The people of La Reine, Gillian included, were eager to believe the Orcs had simply vanished, eager to remove this strange visitor from their home as quickly as possible. But Parnella was not so easily removed and ordered her squad to occupy the town. Parnella’s suspicions held true and within the week the town was under siege by an impressive warband, seemingly brought together by an ambitious and skilled young Orc. The Knights, even while bolstered by the town militia, could barely hold back the attack. Being young and untrained, Gillian broke rank quickly, fleeing into the forest, seeking sanctuary in deep in the heart of the forest. He soon discovered that he was followed by an orc on boarback, who hunted the boy seemingly for the pure sport of it, side swiping his prey and letting his boards tusk slowly gore the young man, narrowly missing and tearing a swath of his arm’s flesh away. After many wild and halpless wings, he eventually managed to land a blow on the rider’s saddle, sending the orc tumbling over the side of his awkward to the merciless hooves that awaited him below. As the Orc lay dead or dying, the cripple Gillian limped and eventually collapsed in the hollow base of a tree.

Parnella greeted him in the morning rather unpleasantly, but kicking him awake. A rather unpleasant method at the best of times made all the worse by the still white hot pain in his gored arm. She was mostly alone, save for another knight of her small company who spoke little and made just as much of an impression. The two of them half escorted, half dragged him back to the village...or what little remained at least.

The battle had ended in a victory for the knights and militia, though not without intense casualties on all sides. A good half if not more of the town were piled at the village center, his parents among them. Parnella seemed quite pleased with the result and Gillian would have attacked her (for what little it would have done) had she not immediately followed up with informing him about how his fleeing caused the militia to nearly route before the battle even really began.

The guilt cowed him quickly, the urge to insult the woman overwhelmed by the realization that no small amount of the death before him was his fault alone. Parnella seemed to have little time for his self pity, declaring the town a loss and advising the remaining villagers to grab what they could and flee to one of the larger and more fortified towns to the west.

Gillian opted not to join his fellow villagers, his family was all but dead and, while definitely the minority, some villagers seemed to share in Parnella’s assessment of the battle and were all to happy to lay the blame at his feet. Instead, he decided shadowed Parnella’s group back to the capital. He didn’t really have a reason and Parnella didn’t seem interested even if he had one.

It was a long walk back to the capital, but Gill busied himself with aiding the knights with whatever trivial tasks they needed doing and nursing an arm which still shot with pain. Most of the knights tolerated his presence but...Parnella seemed to enjoy it. If only in a sort of sadistic way. At times she would pile on meaningless chores for him, especially ones too difficult to do with one arm. Other times she would ‘train’ him, an act largely consisting of literally kicking the tar out of him and deciding what note the noise he made was. He was pretty sure he never manage to land even a single hit on the woman, but she never seemed dissatisfied with the results.

Asking the other knights about his new ‘mentor’ (A title she gave herself he might add) revealed atleast a few things. One, yes she was ALWAYS like this and frankly they were all just happy that she was taking it out on him. Two, that she was one of the few Living Reliquaries of the order.

A Reliquary, in this case, being a holy artifact, generally made in the appearance of a major organ or limb. Which was rather relieving because, while nobody put it past Parnella to beat someone to death with the long desiccated body part of a saint in a vial of oil, nobody really seemed able to put it past her.

Back to the point, Reliquaries were a scarce commodity within the Iron Roses, though it was hardly due to a shortage of artifacts. Biology is a fairly fickle mistress, even where magic is involved, and would often physically reject the grafted organ quickly. The host, of course, would die in the process. But in those would could play host to such artifacts were immensely powerful, even with relatively little training. And most knights considered it to be...less than tasteful. A shortcut to strength that many took years to train up to (that said training was expensive and far outside of the realm of possibility for most folks being left unsaid). At the time, only four such knights had undergone the process (all voluntary of course) and as such there were...certain allowances given to their behavior.

Eager to hope that Parnella perhaps saw something in him, he asked her if she knew if he could be a Living Reliquary like her and if that was why she was attempting to train him. After finally getting her to stop laughing the Knight told him plainly she had, quote, “No fucking clue if you are. And even if you were, you’re too chicken shit to do it. Mayon’s tits if you were and were dumb enough to volunteer to get hacked up even more than you are now I’ll eat my loincloth and train you myself!”

Her dismissal hurt, if only she had robbed him of what little he saw he could do to redeem himself for his cowardice. He was tempted to part ways with this sadistic little fucking goblin of a woman and her merry bad of steel clad tag alongs then and there, but he didn’t. Just because Parnella didn’t know didn’t mean someone else didn’t, and (as petty as it might be) he’d die before letting Parnella be right about him.

The next few weeks were spent as usual and of little note. Mostly days spent trudging along trails and suffering through his insufferable ‘mentors’ childish antics. By the time they’d made it to the capital, Gillian was willing to cut his arm off just to shut the old hag up for a day or two.

When the healers at Candaeln took a look at him they were practically beside themselves, due to both his general health, how badly infected his arm was, the sheer amount of neglect he’d been put through by his ‘mentor’, and the fact that a child was asking them to cut things off and stick only vaguely understood magical nicknacks inside of him. Parnella laughed it off, enjoying the chaos of their collective fury with an ease that only comes from having been through it (and probably the cause of it) several times already.
Her mood darkened when they asked if she knew he was an acceptable candidate.

Gill had never seen Parnella serious before or since. The normally bright, if disturbed, woman leered at him like a predator. Ready to kill and devour him if there was even a moment of opportunity.

She didn’t lie about what he would be facing the next few years. It would take two years to recover from the physical trauma, easily. It could easily take two more if they cut major limbs off, as he would need to learn how to live day to day with arms or legs with no sensation beyond vague pressure. And teaching him how to fight, if she even could help with that? She couldn’t begin to guess.
But more so than all of that, she told him that if he did commit to this, then it was a life sentence. There was no way to remove a Reliquary once it was implanted without its host being dead. And the phantom pains that came with it would never go away. So if she needed to know if he was serious. That there was no shame in saying he wasn’t and walking away.

Gill asked if she wanted her loincloth cooked or raw.

Equipment:

Twined Arms of Dawn and Grace: A set Reliquary arms that have replaced Gillian’s own. Attached at the shoulder with a thin set of plates arranged along the spine, these silvered arms end in a three fingered clawed hand with engraved iconography of Reon etched along their surface. There is no sensation of touch in them beyond a vague sensation of weight and pressure. They are finely crafted and he often leaves them uncovered, as armoring them seems to make no real difference. They also provide the following benefits.

Passive Effects: Gillian’s physical strength is well beyond human, able to punch and tear his way through stone and metal with an ease belied by his svelte figure. He is also immune to the fire he conjures when using the arms as a focus for spells.

Active Effects: Gillian is able to wreath his arms and body in white hot flame, adding some extra offensive capability to his already deavistating strength. While not a magical effect, the clawed hands can be used to climb sheer surfaces easily.

If a defensive solution is needed, Gill can form a small shield of energy in front of himself. The shield can withstand most physical attacks for a short duration but is heavily draining to maintain. It does not, however, stop magically created effects or projectiles.

Finally, Gill is able to place a sigil on another creature for 12 hours. The Sigil oozes harmless, but highly luminescent, fluid constantly for the duration. The Sigil can be removed with any commonly available method of removing minor curses.

Armor:Being fairly poor in comparison to many of the knights with who he travels, Gillian’s armor is a bit of a hodge podge. While it is all well fitted, it largely consists of old leather armor, with modest amounts of chainmail and the odd piece of plate to supplement weaker areas. While it offers more mobility and reduced weight, it sadly lacks the greater amounts of protection a proper suit could afford.

Skills:
Gillian is a capable hunter and tracker, having spent many years as a furrier in his youth. There are few Knights of the order who can track a bleeding Orc from a day old trail in the wilds of Thaln, and Gillian is one of those proud few.

While trained in how to use a sword, Gill eschews most weapons in favor of his Reliquary, often fighting hand to hand and ripping shields and armor out of his way through sheer strength and ferocity. He likes to get in quick and strike hard, overwhelming an opponent with sheer intensity and unpredictability.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian, The Living Reliquary

Name: Gillian Reynaud

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Gill is a gangly young man standing at 5’11, with a lithe frame that seems ill suited to armor or the feats of raw strength he often performs. His arms are artificial and strange interlocking plates of insectoid looking silvered metal of unknown origin and composition with a softly glowing blue membrane beneath. They are overly long and thin even in comparison to his body, as though sized for someone much taller than himself and all together more alien. His palms hang comfortably at his knees. While handsome, he does cut a rather...uncanny figure to those not expecting him.

Personality: Gillian values honesty, simplicity and trust. All of which he feels are impossible to find in any sufficiently large group of people. A loner nature, he prefers not to speak too much, especially on matters of nobility. He can be very defensive when dealing with intimate issues (or those dealing with his condition), and as such avoids them as much as possible except with those he considers close friends. What few friends he keeps are treated to a watchfulness most attack dogs would envy and the occasional stroke of melancholic humor when he’s in his more ‘peppy’ moments.

He has an open disregard for some of the traditions of the Roses, a bad habit inherited from his mentor. He will gladly fight dirty if it means winning and saving more people and considers the tradition of choosing a child as their leader to be insane at best.

Backstory:

Gillian was born in the township of La Reine, located on the Velt-Thaln boarder just off a rarely traveled caravan trail. The only truly notable thing about it was the local superstition that a powerful witch resided in the local woods, though this was mostly to scare children into staying in doors at night as far as Gillian ever knew. His parents were both local hunters, trading much needed food and pelts to travelers and locals during the winter months. It was a quiet place to grow up, much of the day spent hunting or practicing with the town militia (which consisted of little more than a few men armed with makeshift spears). For the first fourteen years of his life, Gillian faced few hurtles aside from the normal trials of a rural hunter and the occasional disorganized Orc warband attempting a raid.

In the fall of his fifteenth year, a small caravan accompanied by a squad of Iron Rose Knights rolled into town. Their commanding officer, Seige Parnella, was investigating reports that the local orc bands had gone utterly quiet. Parnella cut a disturbing figure, a once exceptional beauty now massively scared in ways few in the town could identify and with long strange legs made of blackened metal that seems to chill the grown she walked on.

The people of La Reine, Gillian included, were eager to believe the Orcs had simply vanished, eager to remove this strange visitor from their home as quickly as possible. But Parnella was not so easily removed and ordered her squad to occupy the town. Parnella’s suspicions held true and within the week the town was under siege by an impressive warband, seemingly brought together by an ambitious and skilled young Orc. The Knights, even while bolstered by the town militia, could barely hold back the attack. Being young and untrained, Gillian broke rank quickly, fleeing into the forest, seeking sanctuary in deep in the heart of the forest. He soon discovered that he was followed by an orc on boarback, who hunted the boy seemingly for the pure sport of it, side swiping his prey and letting his boards tusk slowly gore the young man, narrowly missing and tearing a swath of his arm’s flesh away. After many wild and halpless wings, he eventually managed to land a blow on the rider’s saddle, sending the orc tumbling over the side of his awkward to the merciless hooves that awaited him below. As the Orc lay dead or dying, the cripple Gillian limped and eventually collapsed in the hollow base of a tree.

Parnella greeted him in the morning rather unpleasantly, but kicking him awake. A rather unpleasant method at the best of times made all the worse by the still white hot pain in his gored arm. She was mostly alone, save for another knight of her small company who spoke little and made just as much of an impression. The two of them half escorted, half dragged him back to the village...or what little remained at least.

The battle had ended in a victory for the knights and militia, though not without intense casualties on all sides. A good half if not more of the town were piled at the village center, his parents among them. Parnella seemed quite pleased with the result and Gillian would have attacked her (for what little it would have done) had she not immediately followed up with informing him about how his fleeing caused the militia to nearly route before the battle even really began.

The guilt cowed him quickly, the urge to insult the woman overwhelmed by the realization that no small amount of the death before him was his fault alone. Parnella seemed to have little time for his self pity, declaring the town a loss and advising the remaining villagers to grab what they could and flee to one of the larger and more fortified towns to the west.

Gillian opted not to join his fellow villagers, his family was all but dead and, while definitely the minority, some villagers seemed to share in Parnella’s assessment of the battle and were all to happy to lay the blame at his feet. Instead, he decided shadowed Parnella’s group back to the capital. He didn’t really have a reason and Parnella didn’t seem interested even if he had one.

It was a long walk back to the capital, but Gill busied himself with aiding the knights with whatever trivial tasks they needed doing and nursing an arm which still shot with pain. Most of the knights tolerated his presence but...Parnella seemed to enjoy it. If only in a sort of sadistic way. At times she would pile on meaningless chores for him, especially ones too difficult to do with one arm. Other times she would ‘train’ him, an act largely consisting of literally kicking the tar out of him and deciding what note the noise he made was. He was pretty sure he never manage to land even a single hit on the woman, but she never seemed dissatisfied with the results.

Asking the other knights about his new ‘mentor’ (A title she gave herself he might add) revealed atleast a few things. One, yes she was ALWAYS like this and frankly they were all just happy that she was taking it out on him. Two, that she was one of the few Living Reliquaries of the order.

A Reliquary, in this case, being a holy artifact, generally made in the appearance of a major organ or limb. Which was rather relieving because, while nobody put it past Parnella to beat someone to death with the long desiccated body part of a saint in a vial of oil, nobody really seemed able to put it past her.

Back to the point, Reliquaries were a scarce commodity within the Iron Roses, though it was hardly due to a shortage of artifacts. Biology is a fairly fickle mistress, even where magic is involved, and would often physically reject the grafted organ quickly. The host, of course, would die in the process. But in those would could play host to such artifacts were immensely powerful, even with relatively little training. And most knights considered it to be...less than tasteful. A shortcut to strength that many took years to train up to (that said training was expensive and far outside of the realm of possibility for most folks being left unsaid). At the time, only four such knights had undergone the process (all voluntary of course) and as such there were...certain allowances given to their behavior.

Eager to hope that Parnella perhaps saw something in him, he asked her if she knew if he could be a Living Reliquary like her and if that was why she was attempting to train him. After finally getting her to stop laughing the Knight told him plainly she had, quote, “No fucking clue if you are. And even if you were, you’re too chicken shit to do it. Mayon’s tits if you were and were dumb enough to volunteer to get hacked up even more than you are now I’ll eat my loincloth and train you myself!”

Her dismissal hurt, if only she had robbed him of what little he saw he could do to redeem himself for his cowardice. He was tempted to part ways with this sadistic little fucking goblin of a woman and her merry bad of steel clad tag alongs then and there, but he didn’t. Just because Parnella didn’t know didn’t mean someone else didn’t, and (as petty as it might be) he’d die before letting Parnella be right about him.

The next few weeks were spent as usual and of little note. Mostly days spent trudging along trails and suffering through his insufferable ‘mentors’ childish antics. By the time they’d made it to the capital, Gillian was willing to cut his arm off just to shut the old hag up for a day or two.

When the healers at Candaeln took a look at him they were practically beside themselves, due to both his general health, how badly infected his arm was, the sheer amount of neglect he’d been put through by his ‘mentor’, and the fact that a child was asking them to cut things off and stick only vaguely understood magical nicknacks inside of him. Parnella laughed it off, enjoying the chaos of their collective fury with an ease that only comes from having been through it (and probably the cause of it) several times already.
Her mood darkened when they asked if she knew he was an acceptable candidate.

Gill had never seen Parnella serious before or since. The normally bright, if disturbed, woman leered at him like a predator. Ready to kill and devour him if there was even a moment of opportunity.

She didn’t lie about what he would be facing the next few years. It would take two years to recover from the physical trauma, easily. It could easily take two more if they cut major limbs off, as he would need to learn how to live day to day with arms or legs with no sensation beyond vague pressure. And teaching him how to fight, if she even could help with that? She couldn’t begin to guess.
But more so than all of that, she told him that if he did commit to this, then it was a life sentence. There was no way to remove a Reliquary once it was implanted without its host being dead. And the phantom pains that came with it would never go away. So if she needed to know if he was serious. That there was no shame in saying he wasn’t and walking away.

Gill asked if she wanted her loincloth cooked or raw.

Equipment:

Twined Arms of Dawn and Grace: A set Reliquary arms that have replaced Gillian’s own. Attached at the shoulder with a thin set of plates arranged along the spine, these silvered arms end in a three fingered clawed hand with engraved iconography of Reon etched along their surface. There is no sensation of touch in them beyond a vague sensation of weight and pressure. They are finely crafted and he often leaves them uncovered, as armoring them seems to make no real difference. They also provide the following benefits.

Passive Effects: Gillian’s physical strength is well beyond human, able to punch and tear his way through stone and metal with an ease belied by his svelte figure. He is also immune to the fire he conjures when using the arms as a focus for spells.

Active Effects: Gillian is able to wreath his arms and body in white hot flame, adding some extra offensive capability to his already deavistating strength. While not a magical effect, the clawed hands can be used to climb sheer surfaces easily.

If a defensive solution is needed, Gill can form a small shield of energy in front of himself. The shield can withstand most physical attacks for a short duration but is heavily draining to maintain. It does not, however, stop magically created effects or projectiles.

Finally, Gill is able to place a sigil on another creature for 12 hours. The Sigil oozes harmless, but highly luminescent, fluid constantly for the duration. The Sigil can be removed with any commonly available method of removing minor curses.

Armor:Being fairly poor in comparison to many of the knights with who he travels, Gillian’s armor is a bit of a hodge podge. While it is all well fitted, it largely consists of old leather armor, with modest amounts of chainmail and the odd piece of plate to supplement weaker areas. While it offers more mobility and reduced weight, it sadly lacks the greater amounts of protection a proper suit could afford.

Skills:
Gillian is a capable hunter and tracker, having spent many years as a furrier in his youth. There are few Knights of the order who can track a bleeding Orc from a day old trail in the wilds of Thaln, and Gillian is one of those proud few.

While trained in how to use a sword, Gill eschews most weapons in favor of his Reliquary, often fighting hand to hand and ripping shields and armor out of his way through sheer strength and ferocity. He likes to get in quick and strike hard, overwhelming an opponent with sheer intensity and unpredictability.

L'Mordryn Academy

Lorcan watched the small redhead berate him, his expression falling somewhere between neutral amusement and indifference.Part of him would admit to enjoying it, it was rare for people not to recognize him (though, that was more an issue of the constant parade his parents put on for him than anything else) so the lack of realization on the girls part was fairly...novel.That and he'd never been called a beanpole before. That she'd said that insult with such honest venom was frankly hilarious. He would have liked to rebut, but the girl seemed to have exhaust whatever patience she had for him with that little tirade and left with a final barb towards Penjani's state of dress.

"...You know Peni..." Lorcan says watching as the small crowd he'd joined slowly follows what he now assumed to be their leader. "I'm starting to think everyone is entirely too sensitive about a little skin." He adds, just as one of the redheads lackeys stops and hefts her skirt up, a pair of pale pink panties greeting his vision as she stuck her tongue out in an attempt to tease him.

And doing very well at that, a faint flush hitting his face as well as dull confusion washed over him. Penjani quirk her head to the side for a better look before shooting a glare at the girl, promising a swift and painful death and poking her master's back. "I..." He began, eyes leaving the pink embrace alone for want of any other (and less confusing) stimuli. "Am getting so many mixed messages from this morning." He concluded, finally deciding that checking back on his cousin was the best way to quickly forget the mooning.

Isobel seemed to have calmed down, snuggled against Grarves as the after shocks of his tumble began to fade away into his rather short memory. Next to her a young man stood sheepishly, smiling uneasily at his cousin as he spoke. Lorcan's eyes narrowed, his expression becoming grim and analytical as he took a moment to commit the boy's face to memory. He looked...vaguely familiar. His posture was wrong to be a noble though, too unconfident. Too lacking the strength of character (however much faked) that ran through Lorcan's normal circles. Former competitor on the dueling circuits? No. While his movements were deliberate enough they lacked the grace, the boys head bobbing too much as he spoke and arms sometimes going slightly too wide. Training would have knocked those habits out of him.

Regardless, Lorcan made a note to have a...conversation with the young man later. While it was doubtful he was a would be suitor for Isobel, it would be better to make sure. The Mulryans (and by extension, the Brighs) had an image to uphold, and while he was not personally opposed to Isobel taking a paramour from the common folk...It would be better for everyone involved if she avoided those without the proper breeding. If the young mans intentions were totally innocent, then all the better for Lorcan. Today was going to be tiring enough without having to scare away an upstart commoner with more hormones than sense.

Turning his eyes elsewhere he caught sight of Isobel's girl friend from earlier, the small blonde fussing over the rude redhead girls hair and picking debris from it. How any stray leaf had managed to catch itself on the girl was, frankly, questionable. She looked to be manicured to the nines on a daily basis, although the shoes were a bit much. Still, the blonde seemed rather pleased with her assistance, saying something quickly in a voice Lorcan assumed was far too cute for most of the girls in the entourage to compete with (earning the blonde no few small glares from her presumed rivals) before quickly gathering her things.

Speaking of people to meet, he should probably make HER his first target for introduction. Isobel would likely be skipping her classes, and while he relished the idea of joining her, it wouldn't fit his station to do so. And frankly, he probably needed more friends than just his cousin.

Penjani pokes his side once more, demanding the remains of his grapefruit silently. With a small sigh he hads the remainder of the fruit to his summon, the dragon girls maw opening quickly and shoving the whole of the fruit before furiously chewing.

"Come along." He grunted, lifting himself from the seat and heading towards the exit, deciding to skip scolding his summon for her poor manners as she wiped juice dribbling from her chin onto her arm. (Note to self: Give her a wet nap later).
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Lady Treeks classroom wasn't really what he was expecting it to be. Lorcan had imagined the class rooms would have some level of familiarity. Ordered rows of chairs and desks in stark sanitation, the cold glow of overhead magitek lighting and the faint smell of nothing mixed with yet more nothing that could only be ascribed to a classroom. What he had not expected was the faint smell of a dozen different teas steeping at once, playing a soft sleepy orchestra of clashing scents. In one inhale you would pass from the feather light tones of a white tea with a raspberry melody to a heady black aroma with full cinnamon brass accompaniment.

The room itself was equally chaotic, a dozen or so dozing summons strewn about the floor like some giddy school girls stuffed toys. Their spark of life only identifiable in the two or three which bounced around, the horseplay too gentle to be their natural inclination. He spoke before he event felt Penjani's excitement bleed over to him through the atmosphere. "No." He said firmly, the purple haired dragon girl beside him deflating as he denied her request before it even happened.

He walks to an empty seat near the front, Penjani following forlornly behind him with a defeated air and a soft pout before taking her place beside him on the floor. "Its only because we don't know the rules yet." Lorcan huffs, offering what little explanation he could to his summon. "Once we know what you're allowed to do and you demonstrate you can behave yourself, you will be allowed to play."

The dragon girl stares up at her summoner with a look sitting between childish annoyance and begrudging acceptance for a moment before crossing her arms and looking away. Glaring at the summoned playthings she'd been denied like a spoiled child, determined to comply to their parents wishes but making it clear they would have a thoroughly miserable time of it.

Lorcan considers threatening to send her back to her realm for a moment before he huffs, knowing it would only make her too upset. Penjani did not like being told no (and to be fair he was rare to do so) and would throw tantrums in her own way when he did, but she would be in tears if he forcibly dismissed her.

"Its bribery then?" He asks, Penjani stopping her pouting to look up at him in confusion. Lorcan slowly reaches into his bag and pulls out a small sketch book and a heavy box of crayons, placing them before the cross legged dragon girl. "I'll let you draw during the lesson. But if you are a distraction or make too much noise, you have to go back home until its over. Deal?" He says softly before Penjani leaps up and wraps her arms around his neck, hugging a quick confirmation before releasing him and setting about her distraction with a happy swish of her tail.

"Next time just nod..." he says, clearing his throat and hoping the teacher would not make any comments about that. ...Or Penjani's clothing. He was liable to say some rather unkind things if someone decided to harass his summon on that point for a third time in one morning. He gives a quick nod to his teacher before pulling out his own supplies.
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"Hehehe, stop that!" Odhra said in between stifling involuntary giggles as Sio prodded at him, finally cracking after what felt like the thousandth time. Odhra, being from house Bestia, wasn't really concerned with the behavior. After all, Bestia was the house of BEASTS. A summon trying bites and stings were just as common as sniffing or licking, though perhaps looked on a little less favorably by those outside the house. So as far as the doctor in training was concerned, Sio simply exploring him in what ways she could.

At first it was adorable and Odhra dismissed his summons to reduce his perceived threat, lifting up his arms slightly so the offending ghost could have better access to him, but after a while even he was starting to run out of patience. Not enough to yell at the offending specter of course, he didn't want to risk upsetting her. A summon trying to understand (and get comfortable with) their masters realm was a vital part of the bonding process. Interrupting now would only damage Livia's hard work, or worse! Discourage Sio from exploring further in the future all together!

Thankfully, Livia saved him from the spooky onslaught and he took a moment to catch his breath and shake the giggles out of his system. He takes a seat at once of the desks and mulls over Livia's question for a moment. " Honestly, since I constructed Baily I'm in-between projects. I mostly came to get reference tables from a few medical texts for the metabolization rates of a few chemical compounds for a thing in herbology. Making a generic version of a medication to help reduce the size of kidney stones." he says with a shrug.

"I could always use a text or two on far realm flora and fauna. Useful for my general projects and...been looking for a specimen of spider I interacted with once. Think it might fall outside of house Bestia's domain, to be honest, but its hard to tell. More abstract the realms get the more fuzzy the house lines get, ya know?" he says, writing down the medical texts he needed for Sio to gather.

"So...whats the legend you're looking for?" He asks, leaning forward on the table as Nettle finished giving her own requests. "Eastern empires aren't exactly my forte, especially after finding out most of their medical legends are just snake oil...in one case literally." He says, frowning at some of the frankly appalling practices he'd dug up in that short jaunt through history. "But I'm pretty sure its not that. Unless you've got erectile dysfunction. Either way, I'd still be happy to help if you want me to!"

L'Mordryn Academy

@ShwiggityShwah
"I am hardly incapable of controlling Penjani." Lorcan explained, examining the child's book neutrally while trying to decide how deeply he could shove it into the soulless automatons nose before it 'died'. That said, the automaton did manage to stir a little more agitation in him than he expected. Probably from his lack of proper sleep. That he enjoyed so blatantly throwing the robots request back in its face was another matter entirely. "Simply refusing to do so for such a trivial matter. I realize that the idea of agency and free will might be a bit beyond the average summon of Machina, but I honestly expected a little more from you sir. Perhaps an upgrade is in order?" He asked, gently putting the book into his backpack along with the few texts he spied among the pile.

"As to the matter of my driver. By definition of a curators position, which you claim to be..." He began noting a soft wilting wind grazing his cheek as he spoke. He takes a step to the left, picking up the final folder for later reference before he continued. "Making the formal request of you IS within your duties as resident site caretaker. If only to assure his presence does not disrupt formal operations." He huffs a small chuckle as Penjani continues to glare at the robot, feeding off his own agitation. He eyes the metal butler with mocking curiosity before finally asking the big question. "Or were you simply not aware such task were also part of your assigned responsibilities?"

He lets the question hold for a moment before shrugging it away. He takes a long protracted moment to examine the pile of collected work sheets, stalling the few seconds he would need before the trap was sprung. "As for the materials I requested, this will do nicely. Though I should mention that the reason I requested they be delivered to my room was-" Lorcan was cut off by a heavy gust of window blowing from behind him, sending much of the pile scattering across the causeway and liberally coating Cogsworth with a veneer of busy work. "...was because we were standing in the open air with a strong tail wind behind me." He finishes, reaching back into his bag and pulling out a student handbook before opening it.

"Which if I recall correctly from page 204, paragraph 19 of the student handbook.." He said, knowing full well how hypocrtical the gesture was and hardly caring. He was a hypocrit about more than a few things, so why not add this to the list as well. "The Littering policy clearly states that the responsiblity of cleaning, along with potential fines, falls to the party responsible for dumping said materials. If said unlawful disposal of materials is the result of neglience in storage or transport of either mundane or magical materials, said party will also face further punative measure." He quoted, his sneer being thankfully hid by the handbook and a well practiced sheepish tone.

"Given that I made a all reasonable efforts to adhere to this policy by my earlier formal request the responsible party in question here is...." He closes the book, shooting Cogsworth the fakest apologetic look he could manage. "Well, you sir. By virtue of negligent transport. Still...." He slaps the handbook shut, pushing it back into his bag.

"I wont presume to quote your own policies at you all day. And I should get breakfeast before classes begin. Come along Penjani..." Lorcan says airily, pushing past the robobutler calmly. The tiny dragon girl in question glaring at the robot while she passes but sticking close to her masters shadow as they continued to the cafeteria doors.

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-Cafteria A-
Darcella @Artifex

Once inside the cafeteria Lorcan allowed himself to relax, his eyes rolling at the outrage that glorified toaster had had at his summons state of dress. Really, if someone was so pathetic their only option for romantic fulfillment was in the form of their own summons Lorcan doubted there was a realm desperate enough to take them up on the offer. More over than that, he'd be damned before he let anything with tentacles call HIS summons inappropriate. Speaking of....

Penjani stared at her master, eyes wide with worry and a silent demand of approval. Sighing, Lorcan reluctantly patted the purple dragons head gently. "Thank you Peni." He grunted, ignoring how the dragons eyes lit up with joy at the rarely used pet name. "Cogsworth can eat a fat dick. You may continue to dress how you please....In fact, I order you to do so." He added after a moment, walking over to the food line stepping past more than a few students ahead of him to grab an orange.

He wasn't really in the mood to eat, not after having to engage in a dick measuring contest with the robot, but he would need atleast something to hold him over until lunch. He ignored the pointed glares of the plebeians he'd stepped in front of for his pilfered goods as he ran his eyes across the room, looking for a place to sit. Isobel was easy enough to spot, being the only face he really cared enough about to recognize, but she seemed to be with another girl already. He was tempted to go over and sit with them, but his 'cousin' had mentioned being late to something and it was reasonable to assume this was it. He'd not be so rude as to intrude on that little meeting, and there would be time to meet her friends later. Now if it was a guy, he'd gladly be so rude. If only to embarrass his cousin a little.

Looking elsewhere he spied a veritable gaggle of Dracona students huddled together and with a shrug he pushed through the crowd and took a seat. A few of the table residents stared his way...well, more glowered really. As if personally offended by his presence. He supposed that was fair, he'd only been there a few hours. Hardly enough time to establish where on the pecking order most of these peons stood.

Silently he noted the person across him was not glaring. She was a thin sort, perhaps a little older than him with scarlet hair and red eyes and perhaps a year or two older than himself. He wondered for a moment if she was of Mulryan stock before dismissing it, her eyes a shade few too dark to pass for it. "Excuse me..." Someone to his left grunted, stopping Lorcan's musings midway through peeling his orange. "But you are..?"

"Eating." Lorcan said flatly, feeling Penjani giggle silently behind him. The young man balked for a moment, Lorcan taking a moment to commit the offended look to memory. "I MEANT..." He half growled. "Is that you are aware that you are-"

"In L'mordryn's Cafeteria, yes." Lorcan huffed, unable to keep his annoyance out of his voice. He turns away from the other student and returns his attention back to the red-haired woman. "Is conversation with him always this dull or did I catch him on a good day?" He asked, popping an orange slice into his mouth casually.

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@Pyromania99@Rune_Alchemist@A Lowly Wretch

"Its....90% junk by volume..." Odhra said in a defeated tone, staying quite as Nettle suffered through the usual morning shenanigans. Seemed like everyday a summon ended up in someones food. Thankfully this time it was on the less life threatening side. He sighed as Floofel addressed him but made no rebuttal. She was right of course, telling someone they need to eat better and MAKING them were two entirely different beasts.

After that he stayed mostly quiet for the meal, focusing on forcing his own food in. His stomach felt painfully full after half way through the porridge but he managed to catch a second wind and force the rest down. Eating didn't always make him feel miserable, but it seemed this one was going to. Snuggles prodded his feet questioningly, concerned with his sudden shift in comfort. He let his hand drift down and patted her gently but said nothing, knowing he'd feel better in an hour or two after his stomach settled.

"If you two don't mind..." He said, finally drifting back into the conversation and turning to Livia. "I might join you. Ives' covers the morning shift at the clinic so I'm free. Plus I've got some books I need to get quotes from for herbology club and I'm doing the catering for C&F for tomorrows meeting. Wanna get what Eva would like as a desert dish since its her turn to chose..." He then turns to Eva with a hard look in his eyes. "And yes, its still Veggie Lasagna as the main dish. Before you or anyone else from the club even asks." he adds, crossing his arms. He already made the food last night, and he was not about to make something new for one or two objections.

TLDR

Lorcan continues to defy cogsworth and goes to get food. Row row fight the power! Tells Penjani to do as she pleases with regard to the dress code, cause aint nobody slut shaming Lorcan Brigh's summons.

Odhra pushes down food and converses with the girls. Veggie Lasagna looms threatening in the cute and fluffy clubs future.

L'Mordryn Academy

-Cogsworth vs. the Forces of Nudity-
@ShwiggityShwah
Penjani practically leapt from her skin as she rounded the corner, nearly colliding with a metal automaton, his dapper dress doing little to hide the tentacles which curled behind it. A silent squeal escaped her, though only experience with the mute little dragon girl clued Lorcan in on that little outburst, and she ducked behind her summoner quickly to hide clinging tightly to the back of his jacket. Lorcan repressed a sigh, Penjani was great company, but he'd be lying if he said her meekness wasn't vicariously embarrassing at times. Normally he'd hushedly remind her of his standing and image, warning enough to usually get the dragon at least stone faced enough to stand at his side subserviently while he spoke. But pleasantries, even with a robot, demanded a more immediate response on his part.

"Cogsworth, it is a distinct pleasure to meet you." He said calmly, his smile polished and warm but as plastic and fake as the Curator's. While he could understand the Curator's need to enforce the rules, the robot had made a simple mistake that would not be allowed to stand. He'd made a demand of a Brigh. And a Brigh, no matter the situation, did not yield to demands. They made them. A lesson he was more than happy to remind the tinman of. As politely as possible of course; A Brigh did not show their anger afterall.

"While I appreciate the word of warning, I'm afraid I must decline your request at this time." He says simply, enjoying the slight shift he felt along his back as said Dragon peeked out from behind him to stare daggers at Cogsworth. "Not out any sense of rebellion on my part though." He adds, almost too diplomatically. "As a dragon, she can be exceptionally stubborn. She simply refuses to wear more out of preference, and super imposing my will over a summon over such a trivial matter would be disrespectful to their service. And as my personal aid, I am ill inclined to do such a thing." He explains, needlessly of course. Most people who WEREN'T invokers knew how prideful dragons were. That Penjani was an exception to this rule wasn't something Cogsworth needed to know. Just because she WOULD dress more conservatively if he ordered her to did not mean he would.

"I will speak to her on this matter privately and see what can be done." He adds, his smile taking on a hint of arrogance as he threw any intention of doing such straight into the dirt where it belonged. "However, beyond that I can promise nothing." He returns the small bow Cogsworth gave earlier, Penjani being lifted up as she continued to cling about his waist and glaring at Cogsworth with uncharacteristic sense of hostility.

"Still, I am glad to have run into you. Saves me the trouble." He says quickly, not wanting to give Cogsworth a chance to immediately rebut his denials. "I'd like to make two small requests of you. Firstly, my driver is at the gates. Please see to his comfort and inform him he is to rest a day before returning to town. Naturally I will pay for any fees his accommodation requires." He says, voice now a little softer, if only for the benefit of his drivers comfort. It helped, though it was probably hard to miss that it was worded as less a request than an order. Albeit one that would make L'mordryn look to be poor host if they refused.

"Secondly, and more pressingly. I require the collective assignments and reading materials presented in my classes up to this date. While my tutors assure me that they've maintained as close a parallel to the lesson plans as possible, it would be an insult to not make sure personally. You would have my personal gratitude if those materials were to be delivered to my dorm by this evening." He said cheerily, voice sweet and promising in a way that only came with years of practice.

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@Pyromania99@Rune_Alchemist@A Lowly Wretch
Odhra walked carefully through the cafeteria like a bomb was about to go off. Not that he was nervous or anything, it was just that after the first few months at school, after people got to know him, meal times were...well, difficult wasn't the right word. He'd never had problems, but more than a few people were on constant high alert around him for some reason. He could see it in the way their bodies tensed as he'd pass them, or the faint look of misplaced terror as one of his babies skittered behind him. Today it was Snuggles, whose talons clacked loudly behind him as he walked to the counter to grab his normal meal, occasionally turning to examine a few students who probably smelled like enticing meals of their own, 'licking' her mandibles eagerly before finally following Odhra.

Arriving at the counter Odhra quickly snapped up his breakfast for the morning...well, most mornings really. Him standing behind people tended to make them nervous so any high demand item was kind of out of the question, least he encite another queue stampede. Cogsworth had really given him an earful about that one! So, the less desirable items were the best choice. Simple porridge with a small dusting of brown sugar and salt, a grapefruit, and a single strip of limp slightly under cooked bacon (a rare treat!) would work for today.

For him, it was a big meal. Being ill for so long had played hell with his appetite and it was always an effort to try and keep his calorie count up. He groaned quietly as his stomach already began to roll violently at the thought of haing to finish it all; a young man near him taking the outburst as a warning and snapping back down into his seat as his friends shot him a strange look before spying Odhra and nodding sympathetically.

Deciding he should get out of the way before anything that required his services managed to break out, Odhra quickly and carefully scanned the crowd before moving to his normal sitting area. Which was to say, at Livia's flank and across from Eva, Floofel and Nettle. "Good morning everyone!" He chirped as he sat down, nodding at the three politely. Eva was...a friend he guessed? They both went to the Cute and Fluffy Club, and he was hard pressed to say he didn't like all of the things she had submitted for review. The fact that 90% was just Floofel doing something mundane or that he liked pretty much everything that was submitted to the club for review maybe weakened the assertion a bit.

Livia and Nettle though, those two were a lot easier to put in the friend category. Nettle was about the only normal person he'd meet at the school and at least seemed to appreciate his choice in summons, at least as much as someone raised in a swamp could. She was kind of too focused on studying at times, but Odhra wasn't about to fault someone for passion. Plus, she could make some of the best anti-venoms he'd ever seen. Or used for that matter.

Livia was just easy to talk to. She had that cool older sibling air that said they weren't paying attention to what you were saying but totally listening the whole time. She was, frankly, a blessed outlet of conversation (however onesided) in a sea of otherwise way too easily freaked out people.

Looking at Eva's breakfeast of choice brought Odhra out of his musings. "Eva..." He scolded weakly, looking over the pile of sugar and fats. "You're going to stunt your growth if you don't eat a more varied diet." He warned, not for the first time, as he cut in grapefruit in two and shooting Floofel a pleading look. "Please make sure she had at least a little fruit. Hold any cute actions hostage if you need to..." He ordered to the moth in question his tone only half joking, knowing full well there was very little the moth could do that Eva wouldn't find cute. But trusting the moth-maid to do the task all the same, if not for his benefit than for her diminutive masters.

tldr

Lorcan decides that aint no glorified dishwasher is gonna tell his Dragon girl how to dress. Dragons do what we want foo'.

Odhra meanwhile gets lunch and sits with coolest kids in school. He is clearly a great judge of character.

L'Mordryn Academy

-Room 1, 6th floor, house Bestia-
@Artifex
A soft vibration on his chest alerted Odhra that it was time to wake up, bleary eyes opening weakly to the clacking mandibles of a giant blue and white spider shaking violently on top of him. Most people at this point would probably have started screaming, but Odhra had long since become accustomed to such morning calls. "Good morning Snuggles" he coo'd, stroking the beast gently atop her head. It was an admittedly silly ritual of hers, the poor dear. Afraid that if she did not wake him up early enough he would not feed the various spiders and scorpions littered about his room, most in small plastic cages to keep them safe but a few freely wondering about on the walls in small nests of webs. As if he would ever let his babies go without their meals, but Snuggles was a sweetheart like that.

Carefully he let his hands roam around his body and towards the edge of the bed. Not for any sense of comfort, but because of a hard lesson he'd learned long ago about scorpions and their love of dark warm places. His bed being a prime candidate for such things. Losing a baby due to his own mistakes was always hard, especially when he accidentally squished them, but it was the nature of owning this many wild animals. They weren't summons, there was no desire to obey as there was with Snuggles. Only primal needs and knowledge and a frustrating lack of trainability. Working AROUND them was the only option sadly, the creatures too unintelligent to know how to work with him and only encouraging bad behavior if he worked FOR them.

That wasn't to say he was unhappy with the situation, far from it. Of the ten (eleven he reminded himself) arachnids currently sharing his space most were happy to be held or occasionally petted. But it was a small thing, tolerance and not love, for none of them were built for such things. Pushing himself up from the bed he stepped carefully over to his desk (eyes keenly watching for any wandering souls) before opening the desk and taking out a seal plastic jar, filled half way with writhing maggots and discarded fruit.

Reaching inside and ignoring the faint squishing sensation of rotting fruit he withdrew the four he'd need for today. Another hard lesson. The temptation to over feed all of his pets was there but it would only hurt them more if he did. Strict diets and regimented feedings was the way to do it. Just as important was growing his own food for his babies, carefully monitoring the intake of the maggots and roaches he gave to them to make sure they were free of harmful contaminants like heavy metals or mold.

The first three went well, the four spiders sensing their prey and hungrily snatching them up and giving him little to no mind. The fourth, a small brown scorpion missing a pincer, instead flared itself threateningly at him as he opened its cage. "Mr. Gigglesworth..." Odhra sighed, trying to sound disappointed to his newest arrival despite still being half asleep and the admittedly illfitting name. The poor scorpion probably had reason to distrust him, having been stepped by a heartless jerk when he was first rescued. But still, after all the effort he'd gone through to nurse the poor little guy back to health it was a little frustrating to still be considered a threat. Closing the cage he left the scorpion to his meal, noting to find some gloves and handle him a little tonight after classes when he might be more relaxed and active.

He left his room, stopping only to grab a fresh set of clothes and check the seals around his door. Escape attempts were common, though thankfully his roommates were more or less familiar with standard opperating procedure now. Herd his babies into a jar with a hole in the lid and wait for him to collect them. Or there would be hell to pay in the form of Bubbles.

Odhra ran through his morning shower, not really enjoying the hot water or the fevered scrubbing as he cleaned himself. When you spent a lot of your time washing your hands already, bathing sort of lost its relaxing element. As he finished dressing a heavy weight slammed into his back, attempting to climb atop him but sending him tumbling to the ground. "Snuggles..." He grumbled, pushing the large spider off him. "Baby girl we talked about this. You're too big to carry around campus sweetpea..." He said, trying to ignore the pained look on the giant creatures face as it was reminded again that it was no longer the cute little hatchling that sat atop his head.

"Don't worry..." he coo'd rubbing her mandibles gently as she chittered her begrudging pleasure. "I'll let you and Bubbles out during my free period today...and if you behave I'll let you feed today. Okay?" he asked, the giant spider shaking for a moment before disappearing back to her own realm with what Odhra recognized as a pouting look. Satisfied she would behave herself Odhra finished dressing and made his way out the door, heading to the cafeteria to grab some food himself, reminding himself that Snuggles was looking a little thin recently and that he'd need to have a fat heavy breakfast today.

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-Gates to the Cafeteria-

Lorcan rolled his eyes and suppressed a chuckle at Isobel and Ceirvia's threats of retribution. "I'm certain you will try. But alas, I don't think my insult so great that it could not be resolved with a massage and liberal application of mint candy respectively." He chuckles into the earwrym as he sauntered up the stairs. Gods there were WAY too many of these. He was about to ask if Isobel wanted to meet up for lunch when the girl practically exploded on the other end of the line, a cry of tardiness being all he could make out before the line went dead. A small snort of amusement escapes him as he takes the earwrym off and pockets it, glad to see that his 'cousin' was as much a disaster waiting to happen as ever. Some people, like himself, were reliable bastions of order. Some folks might have found comfort in that. Lorcan preferred the proxy catharsis that came from watching Isobel wing...well pretty much everything to varying degrees of success.

He could ask what all that was about later though, for now it was best to orient himself. Reaching the top of the stairs (FINALLY) he reaches into his bag, pulling out a small map of the school and his itinerary for the day. "Penjani..." he huffs, the familiar sense of warmth that came with a gate opening suffusing him as said summon apperated next to him, purple hair wiping about for a moment as she took in the surroundings before relaxing fully. "We've arrived at L'mordryn's." He offered simply, the explanation not really necessary for his dragon-gir-companion. But it would have been rude not to provide it. "I'll need your aid in navigating for the next few days." He says, a faint bubble amusement as the summons eyes widened with excitement, eager as always to earn some well deserved praise. "Yes yes you will be doubtlessly invaluable." he added, the snark lacking any real venom as he gently patted her head, the dragon girl fussing for a moment before leaning into the gesture.

"For now, let's start simply..." he continues, glancing down at the map for a moment while continuing to pet her. "The cafeteria's not far. Lead me there." he commands, the bliss on the dragon girls face hardening instantly to determination as she nodded. Lorcan removes his hand from her head, letting the dragon whip her gaze back and forth as she went through her process of finding the path, something he was still unsure the exact mechanics off. After a moment her eyes lock onto a small side path, grabbing his hand and attempting to drag him forward. Though, in truth the act was fairly ineffective, Penjani looking for all the world like an overly excited puppy at the end of its leash as she lead Lorcan, content to follow but moving at a decidedly slower pace than her.

L'Mordryn Academy

Odhra Bebinn

Name | Odhra Bebinn
Age | 17
Gender | Male
Level/Tier | Virtuso 1 (V1)
House | Bestia
Appearance/Attire |
Odhra is a short thin young man, almost deathly so. Mostly due to the long list of health issues he had growing up, so his figure is far from fit. Still, after much effort, he's at least almost to a healthy weight again. He tends to favor simple styles with bright colors, though inevitably a lot of what he wears just ends up getting covered in blood...mostly not his.

Alignment | Dynamo

Personality/Habits | Odhra is...an enthusiastic young man, to say the least. He loves L'mordryn and is always an eager student and peer, happy to help out whenever anyone asks. He is chipper, optimistic and always ready with a warm smile! Looking at him, you'd assume he's a true shining example of Bestia's spirit and natural lust for life with naught a savage bone in his body.

That pretty much goes out the with the speed of a terrified student body the moment he starts talking about his 'hobbies'. Odhra wishes to become a doctor, so has dedicated a large portion of his time studying the human body and the various magical creatures that can be summoned to help aid in its repair. He also loves to talk about these discoveries with the same energy as everything else he does, sparring no gory detail to his often captive audience.

Its not out of some sadistic pleasure, its more that their discomfort and horror just don't register in his mind until its far too late. For him, watching a live surgery is amazingly fun! And informative! Its silly and frustrating to him that other folks get uncomfortable even thinking about it. Why should they? Its perfectly natural and it helps people. Those are nothing but GOOD things darn it!

It also doesn't help that his preferred beasts to summon are arachnids, the young man often dotting and cuddling even the most horrifying examples one could pull from the realms with a casual joy that even masters would struggle with. He often helps at the school clinic, though he is not allowed to make any treatment decisions.

Background |
Odhra was often sickly during childhood, rarely able to leave his room for more than a few hours at a time well into his early teens. While his parents weren't poor exactly (his father being a butler to a rather well to do, though not prestigious, noblemen and his mother acting as a secretary to a large cotton tycoon) his continuous need for treatment and the cost of schooling out of his home put considerable financial strain all of them. The stress bore down on all of them in different ways, his dad often refusing to acknowledge it in favor of remaining the family's emotional rock and his mom just threw herself into work.

He had few friends...actually scratch that. He had NO friends. Friends required going outside, something he was just incapable of for the most part. Isolated and thoroughly miserable he often let his mind wander across the realms, believing himself to be in possession of a rather active imagination. His parents weren't invokers, so as far as he knew there was no chance he was.

One night, whilst lost in the throws of exploration, he managed upon a vast sea of silk. It felt...odd, but comfortable. Coiling and brushing against his mind and cool to the touch. Like the way mint tea felt on his tongue. It eased the perpetual wheezing in his chest and out of instinct he pulled at it. And promptly passed out.

When he woke up he was in the hospital (which wasn't surprising.) and greeted by a rather amused looking police officer (which definitely WAS surprising). A brief panic attack later the officer informed him he wasn't in trouble and managed to explain to him what the had happened after he'd passed out.

Apparently Odhra had managed to unknowingly open a gate to one of the realms, the effort of which (combined with his weak health) managing to knock him unconscious. The gate had remained open and the residents began to pour out, responding to an unanswerable call with sheer numbers.

Thankfully he'd not managed to summon anything dangerous, just hundreds of tiny spider like creatures which swarmed over him in a protective cocoon of living chitin. When his parents found him in the morning (after they finished screaming) they immediately called the police, pest control, and an old friend of his father who apparently had a warrant out for his arrest for "illegal possession of precision flamethrowers".

Making a long, and frankly hilarious (if the officer was to be believed anyway), the police departments resident invoker managed to shut the gate and shoo the spiders back to their home, keeping a few bonded to himself just to see if they were harmful. They were not, in fact they were rather helpful. Apparently they were just content to feed off the various harmful bacteria, parasites and other maladies present in his body and returned the precised favor with protection (from rescue services in this case) and a considerable boost to his immune system. They'd yet to figure out which realm exactly he'd tapped into or even how its residents functioned.

It was not a preternatural boost mind you, just enough that he was comparable to your average 12 year old. But still, it had awed him that in a few hours (even if not intentionally) those little critters had managed to do what years of medical treatments couldn't. After that Odhra started studying in earnest, fully dedicated to becoming an invoker, finding and paying back those little guys, and making sure they became a house hold name in the medical community.

Favorite Summons |

Snuggles

Snuggles is one of the first summons Odhra ever bonded with. She is a hunter who specializes in filtering toxins from blood...by medium of sucking it from a humans body and pumping it back into them through her fangs. Acting as a sort of living hemo-dialysis machine. This process isn't painful but its definitely not wholly comfortable either. She can process anything, from natural build up of toxins to deadly poisons. She cleans her fangs and mandibles obsessively (so as to not risk her prey getting sick) and is all around a very tidy summon. Once a month Odhra will let her feed from him, as its quite safe and it's a good bonding experience. She's a hugger, you have been warned.

Bubbles~!

Bubbles is Odhra's only combat summon and for good reason. Bubbles is a physical power house, even among the beasts of Bestia. While he's not exactly bright or subtle, he can tear through reinforced metal like its tin foil and can regenerate rapidly. Thanks to this combo of strength and healing factor, he prefers to just tank blows and strikes until he either reduces opponents to red smears on the ground or utterly exhausts them into giving up. The downside is he's a bit exhausting to keep around because of this, so Odhra DOES try and make him fight more sensibly when he thinks it necessary.

Bubbles is also well known for being an immense softy, exceptionally gentle outside of combat and easily won over by strangers. He often forgets his own size and, despite being the size of a truck, would love to be sitting in your lap getting his horns scratched. Thankfully, Odhra is pretty good about reminding him.

Baily

Baily is Odhra's first experiment into creating a summon from his mind. A hybrid of a few varieties of arachnids he's pulled from the realms tied up in a roughly humanoid form at the suggestion of his teachers. Mostly because, despite his feelings, his summons methods of healing people can be absolutely terrifying. She has some weak healing magic, but can only heal minor wounds. A product of Odhra not being as familiar with the mechanics of such things yet. But her silk is anti-septic and can be pulled into strings for use as stitches or produced in large globs for generally disinfecting a wound. Her stinger tail is deceptively dexterous highly precise, allowing her to administer pain killing venom where and whenever necessary.

Personality wise, she is modeled after an ideal bedside nurse. Cheerful and energetic like her master while remaining notably more soft spoken in an (often failed) attempt to keep her patients calm. She is Odhra's current go to partner for first aid response, both for her general versatility and to see how he can improve on her current form and behaviors.

L'Mordryn Academy

Lorcan stirred from the weak attempt at sleep as his carriage rolled over yet another subtle bump in the road, an annoyed sneer smearing across his face as he added it to his ongoing count of sleep depriving detritus experienced over the last few hours. Realms above and below he hated traveling, especially overnight. His carriage was finely made, Brougham style and made from a richly blue-purple wood that he could not name. Gold leaf inlaid into richly detailed filigree carved into its sides and pulled by twined stallions of alabaster white and intimidating physique. All of which was likely to distract from the faint glow of magi-tech plates resting between the passenger car and the wheels.

A more reasonable soul might assume the plates acted as a form of suspension, a magically crafted guarantee of a smooth ride. And had a more reasonable soul commissioned the construction of this vehicle, it probably would have. Sadly, his father was not a reasonable soul, and instead had insisted on the traditional image of a horse drawn carriage be maintained and egregiously decorated. Even the horses were mere affectations, the rich thud of their hooves against the road to their bodies being little more than minor illusory effects. Courtesy of some here to unknown (but doubtlessly expensive) mystical bauble a machina alum was doubtlessly proud of.

No the real ‘horsepower’ of this gilded affront to rationality were the aforementioned plates; Magi-tech engines that thrummed quietly as they pushed the carriage along at an (admittedly) impressive clip. However, by this point Lorcan was far from being impressed. Being trapped inside the damnable thing for two days somewhat robbed one's appreciation of even its finer qualities. The inside was decorated with stiff leather, embossed with gold nailheads that dug into his back after the first hour. It helped little that the thing was packed to the gills with luggage. Only one case of which he personally had deigned to bring. The rest had been ‘helpfully’ provided to him, much of it formal wear, should he have need of it.

The carriage would likely turn heads when he arrived (if anyone was even awake at this hour to see him), but as it stood he was thoroughly miserable inside it. Only his driver having it worse, the open air seating he was given doing little to protect him from the elements. With a swallowed sigh he pushed open the curtains and leaned his head out the window, addressing the man in question.

“Feston.” He said primly but softly, honestly not wanting to agitate the poor man unduly. Last night’s storm had done more than number on the poor man’s spirit thank you very much. “I apologize but how much furt-”

Feston, a balding man of his forties with a normally lush and well groomed moustache, wiped his head back towards Lorcan, voice creaking with an agitation constrained only by years of practice. “A few minutes young master.” He huffed, voice raspy and thick. “Ye can see L’mordyn oncein we crest this hill.”

Lorcan took the brusque response in stride and did not let his instinctual reaction to show on his face. Being angry with Feston wouldn’t help either of them and, by this point, suffering the man’s ire was more than a little deserved. “I see. Thank you Feston. Please, let me know when we are at the gates, I wish to freshen up.” Lorcan chimed pleasantly, the subtle grunt being the only acknowledgement the order was accepted.

Carefully closing and securing the curtain Lorcan grabs a small jug of water and opens a random suitcase, grabbing a freshly pressed shirt to use as a rag. His parents likely would have been aghast at him stripping and washing himself (albeit with some limitations) in such a manner, but they were thankfully not here. And right now, Proprietary could eat a fat dick. He was NOT attending classes smelling like the back end of a wyvern.

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“Young Master.” Feston said a good half hour later, a note of relief ringing heavily in his voice. “We’ve arrived.” Lorcan leans out of the carriage window, looking up towards the vast stairwell that lead into L’mordryn proper. Staring up the stairs (and boy where there a lot of them) up at the main entrance allowing his eyes a moment to roam up the yellow-white brick to the statue of a four winged angel, weapons at ease in their hands as their immense form stood sentinel over the school.

“Very good.” Lorcan says, stepping out quickly and dusting off a fresh uniform, a small bag draped casually across his shoulder. “Please see to my luggage being delivered to my room if you would be so kind...I’m sure the school has some staff who could happily assist you.” He said, watching with some amusement as the man’s deep scowl quickly evaporated the moment he was not expected to do so alone. Like Lorcan could be so cruel.

The sun had only just risen, so classes had likely yet to start, which meant he’d arrived on time at least. As much as he would have liked to settle in today, the school was already being more than generous in taking him in so late in the year (even if he DID study while competing). It would be an intrusion on that kindness to skip the first day in his new home.

“Speaking of intrusions…” He said, pulling a small golden dragon ear piece from his pocket, the metal cold and stinging against his skin in the cold autumn morning. He concentrates for a moment, wondering if (given the sheer size of the campus) if she was even in range. A soft tinny ringing from the dragon banishing the concern from his mind just as quickly as it came.

“Isobel. I hope I did not wake you…” He said, smirking as he began to ascend the steps and knowing full well he did. The day Isobel was an early riser was the day he ate his own hat. “I just wanted to let you know I’ve just arrived safely. How have you been?”