Grif of Hearts

Over

Considering regions and primary industries are generally limited in how many bloodlines can be involved in each, what was everyone planning, so we avoid stepping on each other's toes? I was planning on making the Delacour family, the Bloodline I am working on creating, based in North America with French roots (or possibly just basing them in France), and owns a great deal of the textiles and fashion industries.

Over

It's official. I have spent more time working on the costume changes for Alistair and Vail for after the timeskip than I did for the entire original character sheet. They are going to look glorious.

Devils For Hire; Broken Nation

Magpie

“So a real walk in the park, huh?” she responded, her lips curling into a small smirk, although once again the scarf shielded all that from view. “So half an hour, give or take a bit, depending on how much trouble we run into on the way up? No problem.”

Magpie briefly fell out of line of the sight from the group, moving into an area of slightly thicker foliage and moved along the side, still keeping far at the back of the group. She kept her footsteps light and walked on solid ground, keeping what tracks she might make to a minimum, and kept her eyes peeled. Enemies could be anywhere, and Magpie refused to let them get the drop on her team. What kind of rear guard would she be if she let someone sneak up behind them?

Travel was slow, perhaps slower than Magpie had expected it to be, but eventually they paused at a hastily dug out foxhole, void of people, but well stocked with ammunition and hefty bricks of some white substance. Drugs, no doubt. Magpie poked her head in curiously as the group came together, investigating the ammunition and the recoilless rifle that lay there, but found it ultimately underwhelming. Nothing of use for her, sure, but it meant that they were on the right track, and that they should be on their guard now more than ever. This place was far from abandoned, and whoever was manning this spot could be here any moment. She immediately twisted to the sounds of cracking branches, but found that it was only one of her companions taking off ahead of them. She let out a heavy sigh and returned to her position at the back of the group.

“So that means they’re going to be on guard, right?” Magpie asked, looking to Cheeta as she spoke. “If they’re expecting someone to pick them off then we might not have the element of surprise anymore. We should probably move though. We don’t want to be here if- when someone comes back to this spot.”

With the discovery of razor wire littering the forests, Magpie was forced to slow her movements and keep as observant as ever. She watched for the faint shimmer of wire as it caught the sunlight as the walk, keeping an eye for traps and tricks. If they were going to walk into any ambush in this forest, Magpie would catch it.

Tides of Sedition [upstart vampires, political bollocks]

HEY

HEY NOXXI

YEAH

Over

All the things Xodus wrote~

@xodus

Glad you like it! And mmkay, thanks. I was under the impression that there was even more destruction. I'll make a couple quick edits now.

Over

Vail

For nearly a straight fifteen minutes, curses that would make even the saltiest sailor blush with embarrassment echoed down seemingly every hall and into every classroom within the AMRO compound. Each swear was more colourful than the last, and she was loud. Loud enough to make heads rear from around corners to inspect just what was disturbing the peace and quiet so violently. Those curses were followed by heavy, thudding footprints that, in some cases, left visible cracks in the concrete floor. The figure led an obvious trail as she stomped through the halls, determined to make as much of a ruckus as she could. Those that stood in the way of the figure were shot a look that might have caused lesser souls to drop down dead, and they knew immediately that they had best step out of her way if they valued their lives. If only looks could kill, Vail thought, as she clenched both of her fists. Without her gauntlets there was no groan of metal this time; only the unusual, sickening sound of her own bones stressing against her alchemical strength. She felt no pain, and so there was nothing to stop her own bones from shattering when she pushed herself too far. Vail’s alchemy had broken her own body more times than she could count, and it was always when she was in a fit of rage. She was not there yet, but oh boy, she was close.

Thoughts of Joux only made her more frustrated. Vail disliked many people, but there were only a few select individuals that she felt raw, unconditional hatred for. He was one of them, and Alistair’s goody two-shoes act around the old man did not help. Alistair was far from Joux’s lap-dog, even if he acted like it sometimes, but the fact he even attempted to appease the man, let alone try to [i]excuse[i] his worst actions sickened her to her very stomach. Joux was the worst kind of person, and if Vail had anything to say about it she would lock him up and throw away the key.

“You know what?” Vail said to herself. “Fuck him. Fuck both of them. Fuck this whole shitty institution, fuck alchemy.” She heard a book drop just to her right, and a worried student who had bent over to pick it back up looked at her, his legs already shaking in fear. “And fuck you.”

Vail could feel alchemical power well up inside of her as she descended further into her rage. Her alchemy was unconscious, reactionary, and did nothing to help the situation. It made her feel powerful, but never powerful enough to get what she wanted, which only enraged her further. Alchemy seemed to buzz in the air, making it visibly shake in anticipation, radiating from the young woman as she continued to storm down the halls. Every tiny sound she heard away from her made her flinch; she needed somewhere quiet and alone to recompose herself. She found a tiny, relatively empty room some ways away from the other, busier parts of the compound that for a brief moment might grant her some solace and an opportunity to vent. She looked about the small room and knew what she was going to do. She was going to tear it to pieces.

She threw herself at the largest cabinet she could, something almost twice her height, and hurled it across the room with only one arm. She brought both fists down on a desk, shattering it in an instant, and still carrying enough force to crack the stone floor, then grabbed both halves of the desk and threw them across the room as well. The sounds of destruction from the room were almost deafening as the woman tore it apart, reducing everything inside it almost to dust as she tore through it with a flurry of kicks, punches, and alchemical energy that would have frightened even Alistair if he had seen it. Glass shattered, stone cracked, and wood splintered, and such sweet destruction felt all too satisfying.

It was then that her vision went white as light blinded her eyes. Her body was thrown to the ground as an immense force was brought down upon her, and she felt a thousand tons of concrete and metal crash onto her relatively frail mortal form. Her alchemical power exploded, fighting back against the force that tried to push her down. Vail was too consumed by her rage; nothing would stop her now. Nothing would. Even as the very weight of the world pushed down on her, she pushed back, and slammed both fists into the ground to support herself as she forced her form back up, and in her rage she screamed. She screamed to curse Joux, she screamed to curse alchemy, and most importantly she screamed at whatever this was that tried to restrain her. She had no idea what it was; if she had done so much damage that the ceiling had collapsed, if one of the Asylums had finally grown tired of the chaos she caused, or if Alistair was trying to restrain her… but she told it that no matter what it did to her or what it was, it was going to pay.

Alistair

“I need to find Vail,” called out Alistair.

The Vile had torn the entire building they resided in asunder, leaving nothing but rubble and terrified alchemists. Most of those at Innocence had been slain in an instant, consumed by the blast. The only ones who survived were those lucky enough to find shelter under the barriers of more powerful alchemists like Julie, and that number was far, far too small. It made Alistair sick, himself having only just managed to find shelter under the barrier, and he tried his best to assist the Chrono by manifesting his own alchemical barrier to support hers. His assistance was minimal at best, as Alistair knew he could hardly compete with a Chrono, but he hoped that his assistance might have helped save at least one person. Too many had been killed in those few, scant moments.

Alistair thought that he heard someone call out to him, telling him that it was not safe to go out alone, but he hardly had the option. His mind was linked to Vail’s and he felt her rage, her anger, and then he felt it suddenly silence. He had not gone mad, twisted by the severing of the bond between two paired Asylums, which meant that she was still alive, but he could feel that her signal was weak and faultering. She was injured, badly, and would not last for long on her own. The pink figure darted gracefully across the rubble and debris of what was once a building, now reduced to broken fragments, and did his best not to look at the remains of the young alchemists that he passed by. There was nothing he could do to help, and so he pulled himself away, his usual smile completely absent. Who would do such a thing to children?

The link between the Pendulum alchemists was strong, and Alistair could use it as a beacon to pinpoint his companion. She was ahead but out of sight, potentially buried amongst the wreckage, and when he sensed that she was below him he called out telepathically, hoping for some kind of response. “Vail? Vail?! Are you okay?” For a moment his composure faltered, and the tiny glimmer of Vail’s consciousness blipped out of existence.

Then he felt it. The spark; a tiny, glistening spark in the corner of his mind that told him that he was not alone and that his mind was still something he shared with another. It shimmered, vanished for a moment, and then roared back into life with new fury and passion. And rage. So much rage. He heard movement, as stone crashed against stone, and something fierce tore its way closer to him. The very ground below him rumbled.

And then she appeared. In an eruption of alchemical energy Vail burst forth from the ground, sending fragments of rock in all directions. Alistair was thrown backwards, crashing into the ground with about as much grace as one might expect as a hefty rock slammed into his chest, and as he pushed it off of himself he watched the burned figure claw its way up from the ground. Alistair saw burned flesh, torn clothes, and broken limbs, all attached to a feminine form that barely acknowledged its injuries. She yelled and pulled herself out of her stony tomb, steam and smoke pouring off of her body… it was Vail, but her body was twisted and torn.

“Vail, please! Calm down. We need to get to safety! This thing is too dangerous,” Alistair called out.

Vail took a single step forward and then collapsed under her own weight.

Over

<Snipped quote by Grif of Hearts>

*Looks at Vails Gauntlets*

Oh yeah those will give you the edge in the upcoming fight. Just put your Alchemy against the Vile's. See what happens. =D

@Rtron

There's a difference between relying on weaponry and understanding that it's a big help in a fight.

Vail will pound people to dust regardless of whether she's armed or not.

Over

Ha, look at them. Relying on weaponry. It's adorable!

Devils For Hire; Broken Nation

Magpie

Magpie hated flying, ironically enough. It was the lack of control that unsettled her, she told herself; the fact that she had no say in where she went, how quickly she got there, and how she would get there. It seemed to betray some vague sense of freedom that Magpie felt was her right to have, and so she hated it. In truth, the idea of plummeting ten thousand feet into the middle of nowhere made her heart sink, and drawing out that slow, inevitable demise by using a parachute only seemed to scare her further. She grimaced, and had been almost the entire flight, her expression hidden by the thick grey-brown cowl that covered her face and head, and as the Eagle touched down in a clearing in the thick South American jungle terrain she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She gripped her Winchester rifle tightly, stood up from her seat in the vehicle, and when she hopped out of the Eagle and heard her boots land on the dusty earth with a thud and a crunch her expression changed to a slight, comfortable smile, visible only by the slightest crinkle of the corner of her eyes, just about the only part of her visible beneath her clothing and armour. Magpie scanned the surrounding area eagerly, rusty brown eyes taking in the sights of the jungle terrain, and her perceptive senses picking up every sound and smell from around and outside of the group.

Although she had not visited South America before, Magpie knew this kind of terrain well. The trees were thick and obscured their view of anything more than a hundred feet away (and even then only in the best conditions available), which would cover their approach from those who might want to do them harm, but would also make it difficult to spot any kind of ambush or trap laid out before them that might have been organised by those very same people. They would have to be swift, silent, and constantly on their toes. Thankfully, Magpie thought that she was rather good at those things, and walked with an eager spring in her step. She patted the eagle on the side of its metal hull and stepped back as it rose into the sky, stranding them all here in the jungle. That was just rosy.

Claymore barked a few orders at the group, and Magpie was in no position to complain about his decisions. She fancied herself as something of a scout, but her skills put her neatly in the position of spotting and covering fire, the position of which she had been designated. She was the rear guard, and if anyone thought they could sneak up on the group with her there then they had what was coming to them, courtesy of Magpie’s increasingly itchy trigger finger. “Got it, boss,” she replied, a hint of playful sarcasm in her voice when she said the word ‘boss’. Devils had an interesting way of organising their groups and treated them more as messes of individuals rather than structured fire-teams. Because of this leadership could be quite fluid, even if everyone tended to find their niche in the group quite quickly.

Although naturally eager to rebel, Magpie was content to step back and follow the recommendations of her companions, and so with her Winchester rifle primed and ready, held up ever so slightly to fire at a moment’s notice, she followed.

“What’s the ETA to the compound?” Magpie asked, attempting to make ‘Are we there yet?’ sound a little more professional to befit her status as a mercenary as if that actually meant something. “Or are we just as clueless as I think we are?”

Devils For Hire; Broken Nation

Name: Darcy Jeanette Mercier
Sex: Female
Age: Twenty-four
Codename: Magpie
Nation of Birth: South Africa

Appearance: Magpie’s features are soft, although marred with scratches and old wounds from half a dozen years of mercenary work. She stands at five-foot seven with an athletic frame that lacks much in the way of curves but carries a surprise amount of lithe muscle, with once fair skin tanned bronze and decorated with scars across her arms and legs, and freckles on her cheeks and shoulders. Her skin is free of piercings or tattoos, although Magpie is a fan of using dark war paint, typically around her eyes to further disguise her features that are not already shielded by clothing. Her long, wavy blonde hair is lazily tied back behind her head in a loose ponytail, cut shorter along the sides of her head, and a single, unkempt lock of hair falls down from the side. Her face, hair, and shoulders are usually kept hidden by a short, dusty hooded cowl in greys, browns, or greens, chosen to best match the terrain, with only her rusty brown eyes and fringe visible from beneath it.

Favours the unassuming and the practical, Magpie shuns the advanced stealth suits and powered armour many of her companions favour in exchange for simple, light, and comfortable gear that allows her to make full use of her agility and stamina. A loose, lightweight shirt and pants are common, usually in whatever colour would best keep her hidden in the current terrain, and sturdy leather boots are worn on her feet that reach up her shins, just below her knee guards. Further protective gear shields her elbows and forearms, ending in fingerless gloves that provide some protection from the elements while still keeping her fingers free to perform more dexterous acts. A simple, ballistic vest covers her torso, and a belt hangs loosely around her hips. Together these store the bulk of her ammunition and weaponry, kept secure and easy to reach at a moment’s notice.

Personality: Magpie is a feisty individual, as cunning and quick witted as the other Devils, but perhaps more prone to outbursts than her associates and can be fiercely passionate when taken by the moment. A fighter at heart, Magpie is happy to speak her mind and take the first step for better or for worse, and will just as happily solve a dispute with a scrap as she will a civilised discussion, but in the past couple of years she has become more aware of her brasher and bolder habits and has started trying to reign them back, albeit with mixed results.

Those that Magpie is close to will find a fiercely loyal friend in her, but she is a woman who is used to erecting walls around herself. She keeps her allies at a safe distance, and while she is approachable, polite, playful, and sometimes even flirtatious around those who treat her with respect, she knows just how easily it is to lose someone you care about, and tries to ensure that not too many people get close, for her sake and theirs. Life as a mercenary is a short, dangerous life, and Magpie has been burned too many times.

Biography

Darcy Jeanette Mercier, or Magpie as she would later become known, was the eldest daughter of three, the children of second-generation French immigrants living in South Africa. She was an intelligent woman, even in her youth, but often too rebellious for her parents and teachers to handle. Darcy was rowdy and chaotic, a free spirit that seemed determined to break every rule she found. In an attempt to drill some discipline into the young girl, from her early teenage years she was educated at a military boarding school, which tried its best to batter and break her disobedient streak. It did not, but something about the military life clicked with Darcy though and she stuck with it, eventually joining the military upon her graduation.

It was during this time that Darcy met four of her closest friends. The five of them were almost inseparable, and after three years in the army together, they realised they were only still there because of their friendship. They were sick of patrolling borders, getting into rows with the locals, and putting up with bureaucratic bullshit. The government didn’t seem to care that half a dozen new wars broke out every year and thousands were dying because of it. If they were going to make a change in the world they needed the freedom to make their own choices… and so it was decided that the five of them would leave the South African military as deserters, take off into the wilds north, and become independent freedom fighters and protectors of the people who needed help most. Darcy did not feel so strongly about her friends’ decision, but she would have gone to the ends of the Earth with them, and so followed in their footsteps.

To represent their newfound freedom they took inspiration from birds and they called themselves the Corvidae Rangers, and later took up names to further reinforce the theme. Their real names were no longer important; they were now Crow, Raven, Jackdaw, and Jay. Darcy took up the name Magpie, thinking it appropriate as she was the group’s primary spotter, and the Rangers set about their new life. Although Magpie had long been friends with her four fellow mercenaries, she grew to love Crow, the sniper whom she acted as spotter to, over time, and a relationship blossomed between them. It was not glamorous new life, but it was exciting enough to satisfy Magpie, and by the end of their second year they had killed a dozen would-be warlords and drug lords in Central and Eastern Africa, and their troupe became something of local legends. They survived off of the gear they stole from their foes and the gifts given to them from those they had helped, and scraped just enough to get by.

Or so the rest of the Rangers thought. Magpie knew that it was not nearly enough for them to survive on, and every day was a struggle for survival. Lack of food, medicine, and the constant threat of raiders and military forces made life dangerous. The Rangers needed protection and resources, which the Chinese presence in eastern Africa could provide. Magpie offered them a deal; in exchange for information and taking up the occasional job that gave the Chinese zero accountability, the Rangers would receive the resources and protection they needed. Magpie’s friends would never accept if they knew, and so she kept it a secret. It was good for a while, but it did not last. Maybe a mission had gone wrong, of the Rangers had targeted something they should not have. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe the Chinese simply stopped needing their help. The town they were staying at went up in flames and gunfire, beset from all sides by Chinese forces

Magpie had been just outside of town when it happened, but ran as quickly as she could to investigate when she started to see smoke. She reached the top of a tall hill just overlooking the small town, and watched as the town burned. She brought her rifle up and peered down the scope of the gun… she could see her friends. Her Rangers, fighting, surrounded, but still alive. She fired her rifle, bringing down two Chinese soldiers in just as many shots, giving her friends a little more breathing room. There was no time to run and meet them, and so she covered them from where she was most affective; afar.

The fighting was fierce, and while civilians ran and fled or were cut down by gunfire, the local militia fought bravely with the Rangers at the helm… but there were too many of them. Magpie saw Raven fall first. The crazy bastard threw himself on a grenade to shield his twin sister, Jay. He loved her beyond all else, and would have wanted to go out protecting her. Jay screamed for her brother for what seemed like hours, but it was only a second before a Chinese soldier drove a knife throw her spine. Magpie fired a shot through the soldier’s head, killing him in an instant, but it was too late; Jay was dead.

Jackdaw was almost oblivious to this, already overtaken by a battlerage. Hefting his machine gun he stepped out from cover fearlessly, clad in the heavy, expensive armour that he fawned over so much. Magpie tried to cover him, firing round after round at those that shot at him, but it was all too much. Jackdaw was tough, and Magpie had seen the man shot, burned, and skewered, only to get back up and beat his attacker to death with his own fists. He might have survived this too, but when he saw Raven and Jay… Magpie had never seen him freeze up like that. He was gone a moment later, but Magpie never saw it. Tears had long since clouded her vision, and she could barely see down the scope of her rifle.

Crow was the last to die, and was the death that tore at Magpie’s heart the most. She had loved the man, more than she had ever liked to admit, but he made her proud to see how fiercely he fought. He took a bullet to the shoulder, the arm, and the back of his right leg, but it was not until he was shot through the left knee that he was finally brought to the ground. He fired, taking out almost a dozen soldiers before he was finally captured and beaten by them. They picked him up and dragged him away for “questioning”, the common euphemism for relentless, brutal torture. The Rangers knew how dangerous their life was, and knew that that kind of torture was worse than death. There was no way she could save him, and they had a deal. For his sake, she would carry through with her side of that deal.

She fired a single shot into Crow’s chest and saw his body go limp, and then the world fell painfully silent… She wanted to just lie there and waste away, but when she heard the harsh voices of Chinese soldiers who had come to investigate the mysterious gunfire, she pulled herself back, grabbed her things and ran. Her friends had made their sacrifice; the least she could do is survive and honour their memory. She fled Africa, finding no comfort in the familiarity of it all, and eventually came into contact with the Devils for Hire. Her skillset was limited, albeit refined for her age, and she slowly found herself settling into the organisation as a Devil. It was a rough initiation, and while relatively new, she is slowly proving herself as a skilled member.

Skills~
Crackshot (Long-range accuracy/precision): II
Hunter (Stealth, general reconnaissance): II
Hunted (Speed, endurance, and athletics): II
Quick Fire (Reload/manual weapon speed): I
Spotter (Visual perception/observation): III

Equipment~

Winchester Model 70 - Telescopic Sight, Lightweight Parts, Plastic-Tip Ammunition: III
> Sunray brushed finish, hickory stock. Small, simple image of a bird etched into the stock.

Vektor Z88 – Extended Magazine, Converted to Fully Automatic: II
> Silver, matte black grip. Heavily modified to accommodate automatic firing mode.

Combat Knife: I
Laser Rangefinder: I
Ballistic Vest: I
Basic Climbing Gear: I
Smoke Grenades x2: I