Kalleth

Godspeed!

I know how you feel @Valorous. I know how you feel... XD

Godspeed!

Alright! He's ready for appraisal. As soon as I'm approved, I'll get started on my first post, though I have no idea if I can keep up if this pace is continuous.

:)

This Guy Kills Me!

Césure Virgule

Death's Frontman AKA The One-Man Clean-Up Crew

Male

Dᴏᴍᴀɪɴ & Pᴏʀᴛꜰᴏʟɪᴏ

Death (The Mortal Coil)
Césure's domain of Death provides for quite a range of unsightly, ghastly, and tummy-upsetting portfolios. After all, nobody wants to hear that the fun and wonderful party that they've been raving at for their entire lives is coming to a timely end. But that is the sad (or happy, or hilarious, or arousing) truth of existence. Death is, at its core, the fundamental ending of Life. It is a return to form for that which has so miraculously come into its own, so that a continuous cycle of balance and energy and yada yada yada blah blah you've heard all this claptrap before. Point is, Césure's portfolio is that of the fellow who picks up the mortal coils as they slough off of their careworn previous owners. He then takes this essence and gives the best portion of it over the the gods of Life, while keeping a portion for those of Death, and a smaller embezzlement fee for his own good deeds.

Césure can prolong or foreshorten any living being's death, which while not causing or preventing it, is his primary sensation of amusement from existence. His abilities also mean that he has offered up many mortals with some of his more accessible and mundane techniques of toying with the bounds of death, if his whims deemed them worthy. In rare cases, when he Virgule wishes to feel very involved, he can prevent the mortal coil from detaching and cause unDeath. He doesn't tend to do this particularly often, though it isn't difficult, because his zombies are inevitably destined to have their mortal coils torn asunder by the strain which makes them non-cashable tender. Essentially, Césure's undead army of servants would be require him to forego pay on behalf of himself and the other Death gods, would jeopardize the balance and all that boogity woogity, and is just too much of a pain in his ass to warrant doing. He does however grant one fanatical priest unDeath per year, in exchange for favours on Césure's behalf. It's pretty hilarious because most of those favours involve elaborate practical jokes on the servants and attachés of other gods.

Aʟɪɢɴᴍᴇɴᴛ

Neutral Evil

Pᴇʀsᴏnaʟɪᴛʏ

Imagine if one day, you were called up out of whatever backwater non-existent pub you had been lurking in for a few eons, and were given the odious task of dealing with dead, dying, and soon-to-be-dying people, for eternity. Yeah, you'd probably end up the same way as Cés(/keɪs/). Namely, the man is constantly looking for new ways to poke fun at existence itself, and any means he can find of making his job more amusing. He's been at this endlessly, and he tends to go through phases. He'll have to deal with a particularly long war with plenty of prisoners on hand, being tortured, and the amazement on the torturers faces at the seeming endurance of the tormented will be evidence of Cés' hand in things. He's also tried making deaths quick and painless for some, though these are generally people whose story he had been following in the first place and even gave a shit about to begin with.

To describe Cés as arbitrary is to call fire warm, or water damp. The god's only seeming motivator is what will provide the next laugh, chuckle, or bemused observation as he toys with the very mechanics of death itself. He is especially fond of the cults that rise up to worship him, as they seem to do unexpected and surprising things with consistency. As far as inter-god relations are concerned, Cés couldn't care less about them, and tends to view them more than anything with veiled jealousy and bitterness. His duties require his every moment in some capacity, whereas they have so much more freedom. Thus he has a decidedly vindictive streak, especially against the gods of Life, which he mostly can keep hidden when he is forced to deal with them. That being said, Cés' tricks, tasks, and mortal servants are particularly famous for garnering the anger of the gods, usually several at once.

Gᴏᴀʟs

Césure's goals can be summarized as being the amassing of a personal trove of mortal coils to some greater purpose. Every single stolen and scrimped soul is preciously and protectively hoarded somewhere hidden from the eyes of the gods. Whether his actual end is to increase his own power, dominion over the physical world, or gods forbid, some off-brand of undead Disney World, it is unclear that even he himself knows. Much more concrete is Césure's hatred of his obligations and duties, and thus one of his wider goals through whatever means necessary is to break free of his unwilling committal to collect the mortal coils. More than anything, deep within his pale gray consciousness, Césure Virgule wants to be left alone. A sort of soft nihilism sulks behind his every action, and is the prime mover for his actions independent of his godly duties.

Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

On the godly plane, Césure bears an uncanny resemblance to Nathan Fillion, to scale as a matter of fact. It is from this form that he derives his other more general manifestations on his frequent incursions to the mortal plane. A tall handsome man in somber suits, well-groomed but rakish even in middle-age. While he prefers this form, and keeps to it as much as he can, the nature of collecting mortal coils means that Césure makes it a habit of taking on the form of wisp of watery mist that can be mistaken as any number of bodily fluids, as well as his godly beast of choice (a brown rat.) Needless to say, Césure has never been one for big dramatic entrances or exits, and while not trying to be undetectable, prefers to be overlooked when possible.

Mᴜsɪᴄᴀʟ Tʜᴇᴍᴇ

(Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult

Godspeed!

Hi. Really love this concept and I'm super eager to join as long as you're still accepting. I'm hoping you'll like my god when he's finished. Should be done today, though I'm not done just yet.

WIP

This Guy Kills Me!

Césure Virgule

Death's Frontman AKA The One-Man Clean-Up Crew

Male

Dᴏᴍᴀɪɴ & Pᴏʀᴛꜰᴏʟɪᴏ

Death (The Mortal Coil)
Césure's domain of Death provides for quite a range of unsightly, ghastly, and tummy-upsetting portfolios. After all, nobody wants to hear that the fun and wonderful party that they've been raving at for their entire lives is coming to a timely end. But that is the sad (or happy, or hilarious, or arousing) truth of existence. Death is, at its core, the fundamental ending of Life. It is a return to form for that which has so miraculously come into its own, so that a continuous cycle of balance and energy and yada yada yada blah blah you've heard all this claptrap before. Point is, Césure's portfolio is that of the fellow who picks up the mortal coils as they slough off of their careworn previous owners. He then takes this essence and gives the best portion of it over the the gods of Life, while keeping a portion for those of Death, and a smaller embezzlement fee for his own good deeds.

Césure can prolong or foreshorten any living being's death, which while not causing or preventing it, is his primary sensation of amusement from existence. His abilities also mean that he has offered up many mortals with some of his more accessible and mundane techniques of toying with the bounds of death, if his whims deemed them worthy. In rare cases, when he Virgule wishes to feel very involved, he can prevent the mortal coil from detaching and cause unDeath. He doesn't tend to do this particularly often, though it isn't difficult, because his zombies are inevitably destined to have their mortal coils torn asunder by the strain which makes them non-cashable tender. Essentially, Césure's undead army of servants would be require him to forego pay on behalf of himself and the other Death gods, would jeopardize the balance and all that boogity woogity, and is just too much of a pain in his ass to warrant doing. He does however grant one fanatical priest unDeath per year, in exchange for favours on Césure's behalf. It's pretty hilarious because most of those favours involve elaborate practical jokes on the servants and attachés of other gods.

Aʟɪɢɴᴍᴇɴᴛ

Chaotic Neutral

Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

Imagine if one day, you were called up out of whatever backwater non-existent pub you had been lurking in for a few eons, and were given the odious task of dealing with dead, dying, and soon-to-be-dying people, for eternity. Yeah, you'd probably end up the same way as Cés(/keɪs/). Namely, the man is constantly looking for new ways to poke fun at existence itself, and any means he can find of making his job more amusing. He's been at this endlessly, and he tends to go through phases. He'll have to deal with a particularly long war with plenty of prisoners on hand, being tortured, and the amazement on the torturers faces at the seeming endurance of the tormented will be evidence of Cés' hand in things. He's also tried making deaths quick and painless for some, though these are generally people whose story he had been following in the first place and even gave a shit about to begin with.

To describe Cés as arbitrary is to call fire warm, or water damp. The god's only seeming motivator is what will provide the next laugh, chuckle, or bemused observation as he toys with the very mechanics of death itself. He is especially fond of the cults that rise up to worship him, as they seem to do unexpected and surprising things with consistency. As far as inter-god relations are concerned, Cés couldn't care less about them, and tends to view them more than anything with veiled jealousy and bitterness. His duties require his every moment in some capacity, whereas they have so much more freedom. Thus he has a decidedly vindictive streak, especially against the gods of Life, which he mostly can keep hidden when he is forced to deal with them. That being said, Cés' tricks, tasks, and mortal servants are particularly famous for garnering the anger of the gods, usually several at once.

Gᴏᴀʟs

---

Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

blahhh

Mᴜsɪᴄᴀʟ Tʜᴇᴍᴇ

---

Closed

*waves*

Closed

@Zelosse "The aether girl" Should Amelia be offended? Also, she is trying to get through the wall, for clarity.

@Arya10108909

She's also unconscious. So there's nothing to really say until she does something more. Are you tapping her character out? If she won't wake up then a teacher will be by to collect her shortly.

And for the information of; @Baraquiel@Crusader Lord@Raptra@Spriggs27@Stern Algorithm and @Sedjwick,

Please go and read through the responses I've written up. Your characters, unless otherwise specifying a prompt to respond in the response, have made it through the second trial in the gauntlet. Please wait until given further notice, I'm going to get Zel to tell you/me what the next chamber is going to look like.

To be specific, Diana, Kris, and ShiZhen ought to give at least a short reply, explaining how they dealt with the way their situations have developed before moving onward and (generally speaking) upward.

Closed

Jideh Basrah

---

Jideh walked down into the cavern he needed to enter to progress further with the trials. In his fist was clenched a scrap of paper, which Jideh was preoccupied with thinking about. Scrawled messily on the page had been a single phrase; If you can push, then you can pull. Jideh didn't know what to make of it when somebody had thrown it down onto the ground of his pit. He still couldn't understand what that meant now, as his next obstacle was fast approaching. Was it an allusion to his powers? It had to be. But then, how could whoever this person was have understood that Jideh always felt a pushing sensation in his guts when he used his power?

Jideh didn't spend too much more time pondering the implications because at that instant, his nose caught the scent of wisteria and his attention shifted. He could see light pouring through something soft and he walked forward, feeling the plants brush against his face gently. He entered into a bright and warm space bursting with life. Jideh might as well have died and gone to heaven, because he'd never seen so many flowers crammed into one space at one time. He found himself flitting from one bush to another, running his hands along one hanging vine or another velvety lichen. It took him fifteen minutes to pick out every single species dwelling along one side of the corridor.

When he reached the end of the hall, Jideh remembered that he was meant to be treating this as a challenge, and not a vacation. He gathered himself and looked into the next space, a clearing where the wall facing him as he entered was an evil looking gnarl of roots and thorned growths. Even the leaves, Jideh noted, were barbed and razor thin. The boy couldn't help but shudder. Even in his every day gardening activities, he sometimes handled a plant with sharp edges and points. He'd gotten a few bad cuts but usually it was due to his inattention. A bandage and an increased respect for the plant in question were usually the only outcomes. This time, however, Jideh's eyes locked onto the tiny crawlspace which positively bristled with edges and spikes, and felt one thing. Jideh was afraid.

His hands got sweaty, and his breathing hitched. In the deepest silence, a loud crumple crackle noise made Jideh jump. The paper. The advice. If you can push, then you can pull. The beginnings of an idea sparked in Jideh's mind. He drew on his power, his own life-force, and then he could sense all the living things around him through that connection. The sensation was as always, a powerful hunger. He was surrounded by amply starving mouths to feed with his golden vitality, which burned gently in his stomach. If you can push... That was what Jideh had always done. He'd given plants boosts, and little prodding bursts of energy, which always left him tired and hungry. It didn't take a genius to understand what exactly Jideh was doing when he used his elementalism. That connection to Flora, it allowed him to tap into plants in a deeply intimate way, and share more of himself with them than he thought possible. He added himself to the plants. That was what allowed him to mold them to his wishes, granted his vision to their form.

Then you can pull! Jideh felt a fundamental change and then he closed his eyes in a panic. It was too bright! ARGH! He couldn't see! Jideh tried to close his eyes again, and realized that they were closed, and that it was still too bright! He let go of his elemental power and the blinding light faded. Jideh opened his eyes, and everything looked normal. He remembered a book he'd once seen on his parents' bookshelf that he had taken down to look at. It had been a book of optical illusions. There had been dozens upon dozens of pictures that depicted two images at the same time, where the image that the reader saw depended on their perspective. Remembering the softly glowing light that had filled his stomach from before Jideh had changed perspectives, he looked down and drew upon his connection once more. Though he still was left squinting from how bright everything else was, Jideh could stare into the dark abyss where his stomach and own body were. Abyssal only by contrast, Jideh's body actually emitted a glow that he could perceive, though only barely.

Jideh, in this newfound perspective, gingerly reached out to the plants around him. Three things happened in the space of an instant. Firstly, Jideh's surroundings went dark. Second, Jideh felt indescribably full to bursting. Thirdly, his eyes hurt to look at himself now even more than before. So he looked up, and perceived the wall of roots and thorns gleaming gently before him, while everything else was dark. Horrified, Jideh dropped the connection to Flora. It didn't have the intended effect. He was still utterly full. Jideh felt a desperate urge to evacuate his bowels, urinate, vomit, cry, sweat, do anything to rid himself of all the stuff that was suffocating him inwardly. He managed to pay attention to the actual surroundings and was further mortified to see every last plant in the room dead and withered. Even the ground itself seemed greyer somehow. Full of panic, and fear, and whatever it was that filled him with such discomfort, which Jideh knew deep down but didn't want to acknowledge, he ran. Jideh ran straight toward the crawl space, still thick with blades and spikes.

As he barrelled through the space, the pain seemed incredibly distant. Jideh didn't cry out, gasping though he was from the emotions churning inside him. He felt very wet, and things raked at his limbs, his face, and most every inch of his body. The crawlspace seemed to widen and grow larger as he continued until finally he pushed out of the dark and grim domain into a bright semicircular cavern where others appeared to be waiting. Jideh ignored them, collapsing down into a heap on the ground, finally appearing to have mostly expelled the... energy that he had taken.

A succession of gasps from those who were in the cavern gave Jideh cause to actually look at himself, so caught up in his mind had he been. He was covered from head to toe in blood. His own blood. Jideh raised a quivering arm to his face and watched in abject disbelief as the cuts that had been made with the razor tunnel were sealed up without leaving scars, and he noted a corresponding decrease in energy that seemed to encompass him. His entire body was being healed, gradually and measurably, back to a perfect standard of health. Jideh understood the broad strokes, now that he had time to breath and consider. He was a conduit it seemed, for the life energy of plants. He could take in energy of his own, and give it back to the plants themselves, allowing him to shape them as he saw fit, within limits. He could also take energy from plants, at an alarming rate, which he could then use himself. It was a terrible tool, a curse in fact. Jideh knew all too well just how little it took to upset an ecosystem. The smallest overlooked detail could spark a chain reaction which destroyed all semblance of equilibrium for life in an environment. And here was Jideh, the metaphorical "bull" in the "china shop" of the world, with a power that could do far worse than cause a small amount of imbalance.

There was a long and shallow cut, very nasty and raggedly made by a thorned vine, which Jideh could tell would be the next to heal. Jideh stopped it from doing so, gripping the energy in his being, and withholding it from that injury. He was now very tattered and messy, but with only a bleeding arm to show for his troubles. That, and an entire garden of beauty utterly devastated by his incursion, at least. The thought embittered Jideh, and as he wrenched himself into the old perspective, he felt the energy he'd gathered slip through his fingers. It dissipated into the air, in a scent of those selfsame wisterias he had smelled at the beginning of this gauntlet. The ground around him started sprouting in tiny growths, though none got too far, because the Floric energies were too thinly dispersed, and Jideh was in no state to tend to them.

The boy mused, angrily, that even this had proven to be a "learning experience," because he now understood that the energy that he took, was his alone to make use of. Just as he could not recover the energy that he gave to the plants, so too was he incapable of returning to the plants that which he had wrested from them. Even though Jideh had long since digested the last of the food he had rushed to eat that morning, he still found something in his stomach to retch up, bent over the tiny seedlings of grass which were the only remnants of the life he had selfishly taken.

---

@Baraquiel

Freya's ploy worked, but only just. There were numerous heart-stopping instances where he foot could have slipped, or a vine could have held for one second less than it had, not to mention that she had never done any sort of activity of this nature before in her life. She was far from graceful, and failed to make any specific use of her powers, relying solely upon her own physical ability, and sheer recklessness to get her across the cliffside. Truly, she had only made it through unharmed by sheer dumb luck, as though the very gods she was thinking about before she performed her stunt had been watching over her.

---

@Crusader Lord

Diana watched as the long, searing tongues of flame washed over the melting walls of the glacier. As she did so, great clouds of steam began to fill the cavern, rising up through the opening that peeked down into the cavern from high up above. Diana's careful approach was rewarded when her intense flames melted through the last thing layers of ice in that certain section of the glacier to what lay beyond. Diana would however, have to also be quick on her feet because upon weakening the ice sufficiently, it would burst forth with a river's worth of icy water which had been held back and was slowly collecting within the glacier for who knew how many years. The torrent poured down into the crevasse with a thunderous noise, and the glacier produced many more ominous cracks and creaking noises due to the increase in heat. If Diana managed to avoid being crushed underneath the unexpected deluge, she would be able to spot the tunnel that lay much lower down in the glacier, which while slippery and until recently filled with cold water, seemed to lead up towards the chamber where the exit hole lay. Diana, through her clever strategy, had uncovered an alternative exit.

---

@Crusader Lord

Leanne's constructs served her well, bearing her over and around the prickly obstacles that would have given her pause before. Nothing burst forth from the curtain of darkness she set over the crawlspace, though the roots that formed the wall creaked ominously as the dark constructs dug into the bark. Climbing at an easy pace, it would take Leanne at most ten minutes to rise up into the ceiling of the cavern, where the space between the wall and the wood tightened, though not so much that she couldn't continue to make use of her method. However eventually, she would reach a kind of canopied ceiling, where a thicket of vines and leaves, all barbed and thorned, impeded further passage. At this height however, it would be clear that the tree, for it was an gigantic tree, rose into a different cavern. There were several openings and landings from which Leanne could enter the new cave, and press onward.

---

@Raptra

Through a mix of fear-fuelled energy and luck, Vera's leap took her into the bush-covered safety of the outcrop. She had just to recover her breath, and her peace of mind, before she could continue on to what lay ahead. Vera would retain a rather large bruise on her elbow and backside from her leap of faith, as reminders of her inelegant traversal of the cliffside.

---

@Spriggs27

There were several teachers who, when Kris nearly met with disaster, almost intervened. Nonetheless, they watched with apprehension as the Ice Princess made her brutally painful, bloody way up the side of the glacier. Kris' method was costly to her body, putting terrible amounts of pressure and torque on her wrists, not even accounting for the subzero chill. Nevertheless, the Ice Princess could scale the glacier wall effectively, and reach the exit, assuming the took the proper precautions to avoid making the glacier calve.

---

@Stern Algorithm

It would be clear to anybody watching that ShiZhen was a prodigy in the making. Her expert knowledge of chemistry could make up for almost any obstacle she faced in limitations regarding his elementalism. Her method to climb the glacier was almost foolproof, especially since her extra care in displacement of weight all but guaranteed that she would have no worries with calving the glacier by accident. However, there was one overwhelming problem with ShiZhen's plan. It was slow. Working as she did, even with the exertion it took to cling to an almost sheer surface while holding her own body weight wasn't enough. Her frequent pauses to allow the ice to freeze were totally counteracting the warmth her body generated through the exercise. She would need to devise a technique, some new idea, or at the very least speed up her technique or else risk the terrifying eventuality of freezing her own hands off.

The shivers would already have begun to set in as ShiZhen neared the top. The cold would affect her own motor control, and breathing, and ability to focus with clarity of mind. She would be just within arm's reach of the exit when the problems reached critical mass. Short of breath, violently shivering, and blue in the face while deathly white on her hands and feet, ShiZhen would so tantalizingly close, but without some resolution...

She would be doomed to fall.

---

@Sedjwick

Milo's daring strategy took him through the crawlspace readily enough, and his mastery of Aether proved sufficient already for him to do that which a certain young Flora elementalist would have battled to do not long after. Thanks to the buffer afforded him by his connection to Aether, he hadn't actually received or given any of his energies up to the plants he'd desired to move. In fact, it was entirely possible his usage of Flora called upon the natural force in an entirely different manner. Whatever the case, the uniqueness of Milo's elemental connection did not save his calves, or his pants. Full of holes, and also stained with blood, Milo would have no problems standing up in the next chamber to survey his surroundings. He might just feel an uncomfortably draft rising a little too high up his trousers.

---

(Description of next chamber forthcoming.)

Wave Breakers - Fantasy Water World - Signups open

The first post is live! Battle will be met shortly, so establish where you are and what you're going to do. Those of you with an officer ranking, you know who you are I hope, I wanna see your war face.

@Zelosse

Jane's warface is a worried expression of concern, interpersed with reassuring smiles for her fellow crewmen.

Closed

@Zelosse@Sedjwick

Closed

Here at EA, we're big supporters of segregation.

Wave Breakers - Fantasy Water World - Signups open

Keeper of Ships and Hopes

Jane Morrow

---

---

Age: 36

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Appearance:

A slight woman with dark skin, brown curly hair cut short for practicality's sake. Young for her age, and full of energy, quick with a smile and always looking as though she can see the sun behind the clouds. Coming up only to 5'2" (157 cm) and only just weighing in at 100 lb. (45 kg), she doesn't exactly throw her weight around so much as her voice. Commanding, encouraging, sometimes stern but always positive. Her voice rings through the ship's decks night and day, and is a constant reminder of her presence, even if she tends to get underfoot at times.

Job: Boatswain

The Boatswain, or "Bosun," is responsible for supervising the maintenance of the vessel and its supply stores, and checks the ship's sails and rigging every morning. The Boatswain is also in charge of all deck activities, including but not limited to dropping and raising of anchors, the opening and closing of sails, etc. The Boatswain is considered to be a Petty Officer and is therefore answerable to the Vice-Captain, Captain, Quartermaster, and any other Commissioned Officers.

---

Personality

Jane has been described as "too happy," as well as being "the loudest, cheeriest, most annoying alarm clock this side of Laxen." Despite these questionable compliments, she certainly has a disposition fit to rival that of the staunchest of optimists. It can sometimes be unclear why she insists on remaining so adamant in her positivity, but not one of the crew members has found a situation, fair or foul, that Jane couldn't make up to be just one more step on the path to fulfilling their goals and dreams.

It's not that Jane is naive, but rather that she is dedicated to maintaining an attitude of action, effort, and support for her fellow crew. She's seen the ship through numerous crises, none of which could truly be described as fortunate or desirable. Jane however, finds no use in fixating on the negative of any given situation, and instead chooses to draw attention to what can be done to fix things. In addition to this, despite the initial impression of her, Jane is a deeply empathetic and observant woman who knows when somebody needs to be subdued, and quiet, and pensive. She's very high-energy, and loves to jump from one activity to the next, but she also admires those who keep to themselves, if only so long as they still come out every once in a while.

Jane's formidably strong compulsion to look on the bright side of things can be obnoxious, and even unhelpful, though if that has ever occurred to her, she's never admitted it openly. Indeed, if anything the years have only worn her into an increasingly well-defined pattern. If you've got a problem, Jane's your woman, because even if she can't give you a solution, she'll give you a smile.

---

History

Born on the sea, amid sea shanties and unto a particularly prosperous family of traders, Jane's childhood was happy. She learned the trade of seafaring from some of the best, even a few retired Navy sailors who'd joined up with her father for the extra coin. Her education didn't stop at simple knots either, and throughout her childhood, Jane's parents groomed her to become a merchant in her own right. She learned valuations and calculations, and even began to study trade routes. Amidst the education however, an distraction came into Jane's life. While docked in Laxen, she came across a boy who seemed desperately sad. She tried to approach the boy, but he escaped her and she returned to her family's ship, perturbed by the most sorrowful she'd ever laid eyes on.

Several further near-encounters with this boy on subsequent returns to Laxen further intruded on her mind, and though her body of knowledge surrounding the care of a trade ship, and its primary means of economic furtherance had progressed considerably, Jane's parents noted how listless and pondering their daughter had become. They decided to let her stay in Laxen for the next few trading trips, in the company of a merchant friend of the family, under the pretence of having her become familiarized with the way the market operated on dry land. Both of them hoped that the time away would give Jane the space she needed to refocus herself.

Inevitably, she caught up to the boy with the sad expression and finally engaged in conversation with him. Rowan, he was called. Once he finally gave in to her insistence to talk with her, he calmed down and they spent many evenings talking together, getting to know one another. Jane tried to broach the topic which had drawn him to her attention many times, asking after what immense sadness he bore in his heart. Just as many times, Rowan evaded her questions, changed the subject, and avoided opening himself up to her.

Three months on, the two shared a kiss. It was love, Jane knew it for certain. The feeling in her chest blossomed and expanded and she knew that no matter what else happened, when she set out as a merchant that she wanted Rowan by her side. Rowan, with his forlorn eyes which always brightened but by measure also seemed to darken when he met her gaze. Rowan, who always listened when she spoke of her dreams, and her parents' business trips, and of all the many things she wished she could do alongside them. Rowan, whose insightful and beautifully intricate hands crafted such wonderful sculptures for and in Jane's honour. As her parents' latest trade tour was due back, she waited with bated breath expecting a proposal from the young man any day, and held her chest full to bursting with her overwhelming urge to scream "Yes!"

Of course, she still needed to know why he remained so melancholy. And a small part of her, in the back of her love-addled brain was warning that she shouldn't attach herself to a man who held his deepest self at arm's length from his beloved. She ignored that voice for the most part however, and fell deeper and deeper into love. And in the end, she fell too far and too fast to see what was coming.

Her parents had in fact been on their most lucrative trip yet, in what should have been the prime of their careers. And yet while Jane was back at home, in the throes of first love, her parents had faced setback after setback. Despite every effort to maintain the confidentiality of their endeavours, competitors had outdone them again and again. The suspicions that soon arose were of a rat on the inside, leaking information of their plans to greedy buyers. Thus, they thoroughly raked through all of their employers, and chose a new body of mercenaries, entirely secretly to be their guards. The Great Aquarius and its crew were given explicit orders upon their contracting to keep an eye out for suspicious individuals whom might be seen to be leaking information about the Morrow family's business practices.

This development was entirely unknown to Jane herself, which was why she was shocked to find Rowan being dragged roughly aboard her parents' ship bound with rope and between the shoulders of two burly thugs. She found out, not from Rowan himself in the end, but rather from the Captain of the Great Aquarius, that Rowan was an information scout who had been hired by the Morrow family's rivals specifically in order to get close to a member of the Morrow family. Specifically, Jane herself. She was shown, heartbreakingly, a dossier that detailed all of her vulnerabilties, recommended avenues of manipulation, and possible forms of intelligence to be reaped from her.

Her first love had used her for personal gain. If any other person had been dealt that blow, they might have been crippled, but even in the darkness of her loss, she wanted to see Rowan one last time. She never got a chance. Before they could formally turn him over to law enforcement, along with the evidence that the crew had gathered, an assassin struck Rowan down where he stood and fled. With his dying breath, as Jane knelt over him, he gargled desperately, apologizing for what he had done. His last, horribly final words were, "I never..." And then he died.

Jane decided, to move forward, she couldn't continue with her life as a trader. She didn't trust herself. Even though her parents never blamed her for the leaking of information, she decided to take her life in a new direction and offered up her services to the Great Aquarius, and her crew, who had in a sense, liberated her. She decided to take that freedom, and find a way over the horizon, toward tomorrow.

She has been a member of the crew for two years, and Boatswain for just under a year.

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Weapons

Jane has no weapons, as Boatswain, other than the tools she uses to do her job, which are not particularly suited to combat. She also lacks formal combat training, and in situations where combat is most necessary, she takes on a supportive role where she can.

Magic

Jane's own magic is still locked deep within her bosom, untapped and waiting to be discovered. Morrow herself assumes that she has no inherent magical ability, though it is quite possible that she might manifest some ability in the future, given proper prompting.

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Other:

Theme Song: HAPPINESS by NEEDTOBREATHE

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Jane's Post Pic 1.0

i.imgur.com/dcxr1s5.png

Post Code

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[img]i.imgur.com/dcxr1s5.png[/img]
[color=#ffb619][h1]Jane Morrow[/h1][/color][/center]

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[color=#ffb619]

Jane

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