GodOfWar

BLEAK

V E N S E R S I T O L

_HELSTON | _FRIDAY | _{26 OCTOBER}
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Venser glided through the fluster and rush of Helston like a snake through tall grass. The patter of thick boots on pavement, the occasional cock and test-fire of a fire-arm in the distance; it was a potent hum-drum that blanketed the city almost as thickly as the smog. Capable and willing people had been mobilized, tromping like cattle that had just felt the singe of a brand. Venser noticed crowded buses barge ahead of personal vehicles on major roads; little toy soldiers were already being shipped out to those magical coordinates that had lit up everyone's phones only minutes before. The mystery of what was there, however, had visibly bolstered the swarm of civilian militants. That dramatic flare of light attracted everyone like moths.

Through the grunge of that alley way, under the wires and barbed fencing of that street-corner, and Venser had come upon the bunker-like residence of Venito. Stained concrete walls possessed a mouth of solid, varnished wood. It was a simple door that sported a greasy brass knob and basic geometric patterning; almost as stout and oily as the tenant that lived behind it. Venser rapped the door and listened as it responded with the heaving stomps of a man fueled by annoyed curiosity. Not even his wide, heavy door could fully muffle the sound of Venito's own grumblings. Venser took off his face mask, loosened his shoulders, and started counting out his currency. The quick fwish of the door's spotting hole heralded Venito's appearance.

"Who the fuck is knoc- oh, its just you shorty. Why the fuck are you out? Shouldn't you be cooped up in that house of yours?" Venito growled, his eyes bulging out towards Venser as the red-head made eye contact. "Thought I'd take a walk, maybe go down to the circus they're setting up outside of town. Said you need some fire-arms to get in though; tickets won't cut it." The ginger responded, hoisting a handful of silvery coins towards the slit in the door. "Psh. Must be the end times if you're finally getting your ass up to respond to a Gen Alert. All I got is my revolver and shotgun; submachines are for me." Venito stated, his meaty paw scooping the money up and slamming the spotting hole with a casual air of business. After a moment of hearing Venito sort through certain drawers and the likes, the door was unlocked and swung open as the barrel-chested man thrust the weapons and ammunition into the arms of Venser. "Alright, you got your shit, now go on and get yourself killed." The large man retorted, beginning to close his bulky front door before Venser's foot stopped it from meeting the wall.

"You still have my bike back in that garage of yours?"

"Its collateral, pay the part of the debt like we talked about and you get it back."

"I think I'll be able to do that; give me till tonight and I'll pay you that and a little something."

"Fuck off kid. I'm not giving you the bike, just leave an-"

"All the cash I make off working this Gen Alert gets wired to you. You'll get it as it rolls in; Ezi's working the computers anyways."

Venser watched as Venito's face made an inquisitive expression, one half-way between distaste and tantalization. The ginger could feel the weight of quiet thought as the stocky man pondered his proposition. Venito's hand let go of the door knob, plunged into his pocket, and brought out a gold-colored set of motorcycle keys. "Five silver down, right now. Don't fuck me over Ven, I know where you live." Venser chuckled at the threat; it was one of Venito's favorites. The broad man quickly clutched the coins, and the short red-head swiftly swiped the keys.

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Tight alleyways and streets turned into the narrow gaps between cars and buses in congested traffic. Pebble 82 was a mess, a blob of noisy vehicles and regular wrecks that Venser was lucky enough to speed through. Soon the sight of the resistance front come within view; a make-shift camp crawling with excitable civilians and overworked officers. Venser could smell the scents of burning power cells, sweaty adrenaline and smoky gunshots before he even arrived. The wild frontier of Helston.

Venser's motorcycle screeched to a halt outside the camp, musty dust coming up in a flaky plume around him as he hopped of his bike and began checking his weaponry. He breathed in deep through his face-mask; the air was so much cleaner outside of the main city. The ginger wiped off his fire-arms and began inserting stolen power-cells and ammunition into their respective ports, feeding the metal beast just like Venito had shown him the first time he rented a weapon. At ten years old, his stubby fingers were barely able force the shells down into the revolver.

The ginger tied his hair back, smothered it with his beanie, and drew a pair of round sun-glasses over his face. The pump-action shotgun was slung over his zipped-up jacket, the mammoth of a handgun holstered on his belt. He scoffed a bit at the gear that other people surrounded him with; vests and leg-guards and helmets that made the red-head feel under-dressed. He'd have to do with just a thick pair of jeans and three layers. As long as the situation stayed free of union influences and excluded any projectile shots foreign to the resistance, Venser felt this was worth it. Foxtrot 11 would pay big bucks to get front line photos of whatever the hell was going on at Helston. The red-head would have Artemis to guide him through, anyways.

Stalking around the camp looking for his female companion, Venser soon came within ear-shot of a familiar voice and that of a more dignified, nervous character. Their conversation was distant, but Venser's snooping nature did him well to decipher their dialogue. He could have sworn the woman sounded almost like the grocer from the supermarket he had been at before.

“What exactly is this enemy? It doesn’t seem like it’s any of the unions.”

“We don’t know, but they are not human. When the assault begins, we’re packing things up here and going back to Helston. This area will be swarmed and we need to prepare the town’s defenses, and evacuate everyone southwards, to Halos City.”

“So, these people here are more or less charging into their deaths?”

'Heh, fun. I can't integrate into the insensitives without being made cannon fodder.', Venser thought, looking around at all the non-Aeons that would soon become military-mandated meat shields to some inhuman force. But that was exactly what had Venser thrilled as well as somewhat terrified; that alien enemy. A factor that could ensure his photos became valuable leaks on a potential resistance cover-up, as well as seal a gruesome fate for him if he wasn't careful. Venser quickly patted his jacket for his phone, making sure it was still with him. When he felt it, he reassured himself that this was all worth it. If this evolved into what he thought, Venito would be the one getting the short stack of cash tonight. This was all definitely worth it.

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Only about a moment of time passed before Venser received Artemis' text and double-timed himself over to where she was, shoving through crowds and the like as more people and equipment began to fill the camp. Spotting her from a distance, the ginger quickly zig-zagged through the base until he popped out from behind a corner and nearly surprised her. His greeting was equally sudden and brash, almost complimenting his unexpected materialization from the make-shift militant tents.

"To answer your question, their game plan is to start lobbing non-Aeons at the threat so they can leave. And yeah, we have a threat; inhuman and most likely originating from the meteor. We're fucking with aliens and they want to high-tail it back to Halos City. I say, for now, we act like good little resistance pets until we can get our pay-day. But we do it on the Aeon personnel carriers." Venser spouted, dust kicking up around his boots in small whirls of whispy movements. After his initial spiel, however, he shrugged and looked up at Artemis, adding, "But, I'm not the veteran here." He pointed a single finger at the pistol she still held in her hand.

BLEAK

I like that we can move at a slowburn kind of pace with the story and everyone is still interested and not freaking out about the RP dying lol

@Aeolian

Definitely thankful for that too; a chill pace feels good for a change. I wish you all a happy holidays, by the way!

Rip rp?

@DeadDrop

Nah, good rp. 👌

Torchlight

Ruin has come to our roleplay.

BLEAK

Finally posted. Sorry for the wait!

BLEAK

V E N S E R S I T O L

_HELSTON | _FRIDAY | _{26 OCTOBER}
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Brisk night air danced around Venser as he huddled in his jacket, a muggy, wet sense of autumn rising from the cityscape. The wind was saturated with that familiar melancholic tone; a calm that held no storm. Fall had always been his favorite season for this reason, this soft murmur of subtlety and indifference contrasting the constant whir of machines and thoughts and people.

"My mind wanders too much." the ginger said aloud, responding to his own stream of introspective consciousness. It was really more of a brackish river at this point, though, his awareness swelling beyond its banks with an empowering down-pour of insomnia. His eyes had been glazed yet alert all night; Restlessness drove him to grab his thick wool coat and head to this place in the dead twilight. His breath felt warm against his snug face mask; his hair flowed like a waterfall out of his loose beanie. He gave a quick glance to the display on his phone; 3:02 AM. The perfect time for late-night thoughts on the rooftop of a grocery store. At least, it was for Venser. He unlocked the device with a quick, rhythmic sequence of taps on the screen, and pulled up the text he had sent to Ezi. It was more of a habitual, time-wasting check than an actual examination of what he wrote.

______________________

^{1:15 am}
I went out while you were asleep. Taking a break. Keep a watch on the tappers,
focus only on picking up resistance shit pls. Don't mess around while I'm gone.

^{1:16 am}
The gun and extra power cells are in my top bedroom drawer.

______________________

Ezi would see the messages in the morning, their contents secure between him and his guardian; private servers in Dedana and Venser's own make-shift brand of VPNs made sure of that. Careful attention to detail in the process of ensuring anonymity was Venser's work, after all. It was also the reason he couldn't sleep a lot of nights, so many nebulous variables and ongoing projects crowding his mental space. Night terrors, of increasing frequency, didn't help either. They were the reason he sat out there, looking out into a dim and messy skyline of Helston. He stared at those stout buildings to rid himself of that shaky feeling that comes from waking up in a cold sweat. It was like washing your hands after butchering beef; grease and blood scrubbed off of Venser's mind by the fall air. Silence was therapeutic to the red-head.

And in the dead quiet that deep night brings, Venser found himself becoming drowsy. Lost sleep culminated its debts and pushed them upon the ginger, his eyelids becoming heavy as he gazed out into a blurry, tranquil night. He laid down on the cold, course roof and closed his eyes for a few minutes, the minutes soon expanding into a prolonged rest that covered hours.

______________________

A dull, electronic buzzing aroused Venser from his slumber, the overcast sky above casting patchy shadows across his body as he brought himself up to a sitting position. He reached into his baggy pockets, taking out his phone and revealing Ezi to be the one calling him. He answered quickly, greeting his companion with a groggy "Is there a problem?"

"Nah, its good news this time Ven. Not like last time." Ezi chimed, the wheezing of machines and hardware audible in the background. "We finally got some stuff coming from the resistance. Radar information; they're tracking the trajectory of something pretty high up. Or, I assume thats what all these degree signs mean." the boy continued, the typing sounds of a keyboard joining the cacophony of noise originating from Venser's phone. "Alright, download the info as it comes up and," the ginger rubbed his temples as his grogginess began to fade, "and I guess start sending it over to Foxtrot 11. He pays us by the gig, so this should nab us a few credits."

"Did you sleep well Ven?"

"As well as I can. You?"

"Fine. You're getting too good at slipping out without me noticing, though."

"You're 12. Don't keep tabs on me," Venser concluded, quickly ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket. It was around noon now, the sun high in the sky but still soaked up by a thick blanket of whispy, mist-like clouds. Down below, the grocery store had now begun filling with a moderate crowd of customers, the community of Helston waking from its catatonic state to serve the needs of the individual. Posters clung to the establishment's broad, white front wall. Many advertisements were present, but none as recognizable as the ones publicizing both the Lunar Hail and its accompanied Festival of the Quiet. Venser thought that perhaps he should attend these popular, city-wide celebrations this year; at the very least to capitalize on cheap drinks and food. Perhaps Artemis would like to join him, since she's been rather cooped up in that bakery lately. It might do them both some good.

Venser thought of many little things like that as he descended from the roof and blended into the crowd below, his lanky form slowly strolling through into the concrete and metal mass of the supermarket. At around 1:15 Venser had satisfied himself with his idol window-shopping and finally procured all he was interested in; a pack of cells, little enough to power a phone or small radio, and some chewing gum for Ezi. Both were nearly dropped when the building began to shake, an unexpected jostle that rocked shelves and emphasized the sudden, dramatic flare of light seen outside. Hanging lights swayed overhead as small screams and gasps came from those around Venser, the impact fading as quickly as it had come. Regaining his composure, Venser began to stalk towards the front of the store as others around him discussed this curiosity with an air of worried gossip.

“What was that? The unions at it again?”

“I’m not sure. Missiles surely don’t light up the sky like that,”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. But, what do you think? Call to Arms or Gen-Alert?”

Venser's phone buzzed once again, a quick text from Ezi conveying a simple message:

______________________

^{1:30 pm}
Resistance is preparing a Gen-Alert. Active in 10 min. What the fuck was that?

______________________

^{1:33 pm}
I don't know. I'm gonna use the gen-alert to my advantage. Go out and see what it was, maybe bring back some cash. Hold the fort down and keep downloading all the shit you can while the resistance is pumping it out.

______________________

^{1:34 pm}
Alright. Be careful Ven.

______________________

An excited Venser hastily began walking out of the supermarket, his jacket pockets laden with power cells that had been extracted from their now disabled, alarm-triggering packages. He held his phone in his right hand, texting one last person before he visited Venito and asked to borrow his hand-pistol.

______________________

^{1:38 pm}
Hey Artemis, you coming?

______________________

Torchlight

Plenty of empty time, plenty of distractions. I'm still in this though @Paradoxial

Torchlight

A D I L A A L B A K I R A

@The Fated Fallen@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn@rivaan
____________________________

The carriage began its trembling, unstable march towards the town of Ash once everyone was rested in its withered seating. Two more figures had made themselves apparent to Adila; the broad, muscular bulk of a familiarly garbed man, and the elegant, eye-catching form of a pale woman. Though the later soon occupied herself with the futile tribulations of catching sleep, the toned man soon began to converse among the group as each gave their comments. His words soon fell upon the cleric's attentive ears, her candle-flame now whipping around with a healthy vigor.

"For those who walk as mortals, Vul Julda, courage is all that will help those who cross their path with Vul."

"Courage to face The End of Things.", she responded, her tempered voice denoting a nod of acknowledgement to what she and the warrior shared in heritage. It was of some comfort to know that there were others who hailed from that familiar land, though she subtly worried what their intentions for joining her were. Adila place her candle in a small holder affixed to the wall as a long silence began to draw over the party. They were left with their thoughts for some time.

________

The cacophony of life that Adila had sensed before soon faded from the land as they neared the town of ash, that subtle hum of humble life slipping away to reveal poor soil around them and a dwindling trail. The town that started to materialize ahead seemed soulless, the product of the miserable environment it developed from. She peeled her eyes from the hazy horizon, however, to take one more look around at the company that had collected into the carriage. The sly bandit gave her sense of brash companionship, with his almost charismatic, dirtied mug looking towards the wooden floor. The paladin still ate away at something inside her, a sense of inferiority coming upon Adila the longer she looked at that confident figure. The barbarian was a familiar sight that held regrettable memories; she was not warm nor cold to him, but cautious, respectful. Finally the exotic woman exuded an almost... familiar sense. Her pale features and flowing form blended together into the grace of something cold, something Adila had been so closed to one time ago. Such a woman soon muttered something pertaining to the party's experience in dark slaying; though the foes of the paladin were foreign to the cleric, the barbarian's description of the Bala Ban Vul roused familiar memories of dusty, decrepit husks of men hiding underneath the dunes, waiting for wanderers. "Those drinkers I have fought before as well. Their skin has been infused in some of my...", she perused through her bag before drawing forth another one of her long, dark matches. "... Substances."

A sudden rocking of the carriage soon startled Adila, and brought her attention again to the outside world. Ash drew ever closer with every pat of that old horse's hooves. Two thoughts penetrated her mind as she looked on; first, that no one had acquired each other's name, and secondly, that Adila must indeed stretch her legs before she begins her work at this town. With a swift movement of her arm, the carriage door was opened to the cleric, the dirt below crawling by at a sluggish pace under the transport's rickety wheels. Adila rose herself from her seat and began to step down onto solid ground, her body soon straightening out and walking alongside the carriage as she looked back into its seating quarters.

"I, however, am curious of which beasts accompany me as allies; what are your names? Wait, I will entrust you with mine first. I am Adila, child of Vul. My patron may also be known as Shee'l Tor to some," the cleric said, her strides keeping even with the carriage and her voice carrying with that small twist of a desert accent. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance," she slowly added, her eyes beginning to carefully wander from the cart to the twisted tree-line that surrounded around them.

BLEAK

Venser Sitol

V E N S E R S I T O L
_{✧ 20 ▎ MALE ▎ 5' 5" ✧}

P R E S E N C E

_{"H e W a s B o r n U n d e r T h e S i g n S c o r p i o..."}
Venser's body is a scattered array of cremes and reddish browns, resembling the messy palette of an artist that had been busy painting a much more refined person. His frizzy hair erupts from his freckle-coated face with a kind of ambition the rest of his body lacks, his torso and legs skinny and pasty. The fragility and cowardice that his body type denotes, however, is anything but truthful to the observer.

_{"H i s S u n A n d M a r s W e r e F i l l e d W i t h S i m i l a r l y A g g r e s s i v e S i g n s..."}
His speech is imposing; his body language confident out of both habit and necessity. Every tightening of his jaw is followed with sharp glances and vocally blunt observations. It is the tempered will of much older men condensed, years of mental endurance and defensiveness piloted by the body of youth. Yet, the distinctive cautiousness and finesse that comes with those years are absent, replaced by a driving will and fiery bravado indicative of those who work outside of stability. Practiced improv, adaptable rigidness; Venser is the business man with the fury to break the system that he profits from. Conflict characterizes the young man, warping his life's trajectory like his Aeon powers shift reality. Both profit from the existence of risk.

_{"A n d T h o u g h H i s M o o n & N e p t u n e D i d T e m p e r H i m W i t h S o f t e r C o n s t e l l a t i o n s..."}
Yet this shell of channeled impulse protects the vulnerability of a brittle core, one which fears the future it is beginning to inherit, one which doubts the authenticity of others and the reliability of a relationship. Past traumas stunt how far the roots of confidence grow into Venser; the splinters of child-hood trying to reform into an adult, their bonds fated to be weak. A broken man is only as strong as the sum of his intact parts.

_{"S c o r p i o S t i l l R e s t e d I n I t s R u l i n g H o u s e; P l u t o."}
Venser is possessed by the spirit of self reliance; independence and skepticism his implements of subsistence. His ideals are ingrained, cut into the crude granite of his person in choppy, bold letters. But yet, a youthful spark still compels him to dwell on the probability of better times. He is an Icarus unsure of if his wings should be rebuilt.

C H R O N I C L E

Venser jerked himself awake, the maelstrom of sickly familiar images that had penetrated his dreams during sleep causing sweat to roll down his brow. The front door slammed by his mother, her frail form twisted with an anger only she could exude. His father, prostrate on his bed as he always was, helpless as he called out to her. Venser frozen in the hall-way, bandages in hand, watching this all unfold. They were moments and emotions that impressed an insidious weight unto him. The ginger felt his chest become increasingly heavy, and so did his breathing.

"Ven? What's up?", said a timid voice in the corner of the bedroom. Venser gave no response other than the subtle rustling of his bed sheets. His mind's eye dwelled on that constant conversation topic; their child was an Aeon. They couldn't let anyone know, they would induct him into the military. Look what the resistance did to his father. His mother could never live with two cripples; she expressed this over and over for as long as she was present.

"Venser!", Ezi finally cried, his chubby hands rocking his guardian's shoulders back and forth rapidly. Venser finally snapped out of his daze, crude memories retreating from the present and allowing the young man to catch his breath. He looked into the dark, pudgy face of the young Ezi; his brown eyes held an innocent concern that only children could possess. Venser took a series of deep breaths before answering to the kid. "Nightmares", he excused, tossing aside his blanket and standing up to turn on the dim, orange light above. With a swift click, the small area was illuminated, Venser and Ezi's cots revealed to be surrounded by the whirring motors and sagging wires of numerous radio tappers and electronic hackers. "Again? Ven, you need some medication or something if its getting that bad,", chimed the mahogany-skinned child, his round head slipping through a light blue T-shirt as he spoke. "A doctor won't keep this rig running, will it? One problem at a time.", the ginger countered, his long legs stepping into a pair of ragged jeans as he powered up his bulky computer. "Resistance hasn't been sending shit over the radio, so that doesn't help either," Venser continued, beginning to turn on the monitor.

"Heh, I think that's Whiskey 21 out there. Just getting to dawn and he's out here being impatient," Ezi remarked, his eyes glancing through the slits of a drawn shade on the room's only window. Venser pushed past Ezi to look out of the window, soon spotting the recognizable form of a waiting, uniformed resistance fighter. "Those guards are like hungry dogs, always begging for their bribes. Here, take these credits to him, and tell him to fuck off." Venser commanded, slipping the boy a small electronic chip from his rugged wallet. "First radio silence and now these increased watch-shifts. This is fucking absurd. Hey! Don't forget the package for Delta 33." Venser continued to snap, his hands darting from one machine to the next with quick, deliberate motions. Though the surveillance hardware around Venser's house had long since been dismantled, these code names made sure client anonymity was ensured. And it had to be ensured.

The small Ezi darted down the creaking stairs and out of the house, his rotund body becoming briefly illuminated in soft sunlight before he slammed the door behind him. Venser watched the exchange through the blinds; the guard received the payment, nodded, and quickly left. Ezi flipped the uniformed man the bird when his back was finally turned, and used his other hand to pull a dull grey balaclava over his head. Venser tightened the blinds as he turned away from the window.

The red-head whispered a small prayer to Gaia, just like he remembered his father once doing, and then began to work on siphoning the bribe credits back out of Whiskey 21's bank account.

M E M O R I E S

Ezi Useys
An orphaned child that Venser has taken on to raising, the 12 year old returns the favor of the Aeon's protection with his own help in Venser's "business" (namely running packages and keeping up with electronic maintenance). Though Ezi is one of the only individuals aware of Venser's Aeonic nature, he is not knowledgeable of the red-head's past. All he knows is from what he hears Venser murmur in his occasional night terrors.

Jetay Sitol
Venser's absent mother, having left the Aeon and his impaired father for a better life in Eastbourne. Venser's only memories of her come from before he was ten years old, but he has since found her residence in Eastbourne through some net researching. He has not acted on such information, however, finding it satisfying enough to "let the wench be."

Venito Lambardi
A brash man that Venser owes an excessive amount of debt to, mostly due to his family's past of buying expensive medical supplies and, after being orphaned, the red-head's procurement of electronic equipment. Though his temper and pride rivals that of Venser, he is an important asset to the Aeon due to his numerous market contacts. He is also one of the figures that helped to shape Venser's attitude for a life on the streets, preparing him to become committed to illegal activities.

Foxtrot 11
The code name of one of Venser's most influential clients; a high ranking official in Dedana's resistance forces which the Aeon feeds a constant stream of sensitive Helston military information to. In the name of the partnership, neither side has divulged their identity to the other; the relationship is confidential and mutually beneficial.

Artemis Chase
This woman is another one of Venser’s clients, and somewhat of a casual friend. Artemis, after just fleeing into Helston, contacted the red-head to have him aid in her disappearance. Venser has since kept the ex-soldier hidden from Helston surveillance, tapping into cameras and mapping out minimally-watched city paths so that her likeness will be kept undocumented. He knows only the basic bits about her, and thus has not yet connected the dots to her being Devlon’s infamous “Valkyrie”. Nevertheless, she has gained some of his trust, and he has begun to plan debt-paying jobs for her accordingly.

BLEAK

@Prisk Yup. Thank god she’s a ginger; the likeness works really well.

BLEAK

@Prisk Updated the picture, hope its to your liking.

Also, @Lionhearted, I'm really excited to see what you come up with. You're not the only one who got nervous when others started posting their work; I completely revised Venser's chronicle when @Sync dropped Korvo. So don't sweat it! Your character will be great.