Magister

(Dead) The Gifted World

Toby's anxious voice carried a tone of sincerity that seemed to be the prevailing theme of who this young man was. Montana noted that he seemed very honest emotionally. Not to say that he outright believed the closer boy operated dishonestly, but more that the other wore his heart on his sleeve.

"It's an interesting circumstance to meet you both, Spire, and Toby." He nodded to each of them individually, making an equal amount of eye-contact as well. The man stooped down, and retrieved his wide brimmed hat from the innards of the box. When he returned to his full height, he met Spire's handshake. His hand was the mouth, attached to the arm which served as the body to the adder. Like any snake, it moved smooth before it struck.

"In regards to my time of rest spent within the confines of that metal, I have no true way of knowing. Nor have I cared to recall the year for quite some time."

He motioned down to the deceased.

"Perhaps Toby would care to make a guess based on the decay of the corpses that lay around us."

Montana stepped out of the box, and innocuously positioned his body to be parallel to Spire's in a way that gave Toby no clear shot of his midsection or head. Not that he feared being pierced by bullet or blade, but to see which Toby would do first, re-position himself, or answer his question. If he answered at all.

(Dead) The Gifted World

Hey @Framing A Moose, I'd say that regenerators can survive indefinitely without food, water, or oxygen. The way I write regeneration is it being a state of perfect cellular cohesion down to the subatomic level.

This can always be rationalized as them converting ambient atomic matter into energy if it had to be explained, but yah, I'd say regeneration is on the upper tier of healing factors. Personally.

also, I don't want to come off as over familiar, but I'm sure whatever you've written is great, so don't worry too much about it.

(Dead) The Gifted World

Hey @Framing A Moose, I'd say that regenerators can survive indefinitely without food, water, or oxygen. The way I write regeneration is it being a state of perfect cellular cohesion down to the subatomic level.

This can always be rationalized as them converting ambient atomic matter into energy if it had to be explained, but yah, I'd say regeneration is on the upper tier of healing factors. Personally.

(Dead) The Gifted World

The sound of the rusted padlock being dashed to pieces under Spire's piece of mortar pulled Montana from what only could be called a deep meditative state. His consciousness surfaced from the trenches of his unconscious mind, and all at once, he was fully aware.

Montana didn't dwell on the circumstances of his imprisonment for a moment. Not a thought for the Bard, the Knight Commander, or their ill fated alliance. He had mused enough before the lingering stasis set in.

Dwelling on the past would have kept him in the box for longer.

He placed his palm on the rusted metal, and with a small amount of force, he pushed the door open, and outwards, breaching the veil between he, and the choked sun that hung over the Ashland clouds. Montana sat upright immediately, without the assistance of his hands or elbows. His face turned upward toward the sky, and for a few clicks, he just sat there, not saying anything at all.

"You have my thanks." Their intentions at the moment were irrelevant to his gratitude. They did what would have taken the elements months to accomplish.

The boy in the Argyle drew his attention first. His hand was obscured, but obviously nestled on the hilt of some weapon. The position of his arm, and demeanor were clear indicators. He looked well fed. Groomed. A hand on a weapon was a courtesy among ashlanders. It was the reproachful way he held himself that caught the shadow of Montana's interest.

The second one, he who destroyed the lock, was different. He seemed eager.

Montana turned to look at him finally. He had the eyes of a predatory animal. They held the cool confidence of a belief system that held no doubts that the prey would be vanquished.

His own coal blacks were different. He held the look of a great and ancient wurm. One that had watched it's treasure be taken over the decades by clever thieves it no longer cared to stop.

The man stood, ending an inch or two below Spire's height. Slowly, he started to brush himself free of debris.

"With whom have I had the pleasure of thanking?"

(Dead) The Gifted World

The floor finally gave out. The concrete board had grown weak over time, cracking, and finally caving under the weight it once supported. It's creaks of protest had emptied into a resounding crash, pushing its contents out into the broken street.

An iron lockbox, roughly the shape of a man lay amidst the the cloud of ash that had been stirred during it's decent. Around it was a number of bodies, some of which were adorned with Erubescan uniforms that hadn't been used for quite a few years, proud looking things that bore slashes of royal purple.

The rest were a mismatch of jury-rigged defense items typical of an Ashlander, and pieces from what looked like pre-war special forces armour.

Whatever technology, power, or force of will that held them all in that room had finally broken. The lingering effects of their time in the house dissipated with a small hum, and the bodies dried into mummified corpses in a manner of seconds.

The lockbox itself aged tremendously, rust appeared on its joints like a sudden sickness, and the lock aged to a point where it could be easily broken.

It would take only a small amount of effort to open, but who would care to check inside of a box surrounded by the dried dead? The desperate perhaps, or maybe one who's curiosity stayed despite the harshness of wasteland survival.

Something within stirred.

(Dead) The Gifted World

Full Name: Roderic Alder Mayberry Montana

Nicknames/Aliases: Lazarus.

Age: 198

Gender: Male

Gift: Regeneration

Loyalty: His Morals

Description: Montana stands at 5'10, built with compact, functional muscle. His iris is indistinguishable from the pupil. His hair is medium length, black, and always swept behind the ears.

Wears a European cut suit, covered by a grey, form fitting overcoat. Favours a wide brimmed hat.

His face remains youthful despite his advanced age, as does his body, due to the nature of his gift. Perhaps those of a keener eye could discern his age by the look that lingers in his eyes.

Personality: Distant, subdued, with moments of keen interest. Perhaps a bit whimsical in a nostalgic way


Skills: Talented in Martial Arts and Weapons training, with experience that spans over a century.

Experience in a variety of combat, espionage, and tactical situations.

Very perceptive, relying on logic and deduction.

None of this has mattered for quite some time.

Weaknesses: His dispassion can be used to take him by surprise.


Brief History: Montana's history spans nearly two centuries. None of this has mattered for quite some time.

Briefly resurrected his Mercenary company after the Gifted Human War. It is now defunct but some of its members, or children of members may still roam the Ashland.

Other: Most of those who are old enough to remember are long dead, and the few who recall use names he's long abandoned.

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

Montana was in the advanced testing area, checking on his newest commission, a stealth suit. The Modified AD, or MAD for short. While a large portion of their duties involved the subterfuge of espionage, a well placed smile and a keen eye, one could never be too certain of what one might run into.

That aside, some assaults needed a subtler touch then the raw power of Thunder or Wolfs Moon. The suit was multifaceted, like any Agent worth the expensive clothing they slipped into.

The ballistic and strike testing had gone quite well. The thin plating was braced with a gel that solidified to counteract kinetic force. They were spaced to cover the internal organs without sacrificing the mobility of the wearer. It was an advanced bit of technology, all made possible by S.C.I.O.N's R&D teams. Imagination and innovation without the tight grip bureaucracy and politics. Research supplemented by what was for all intents and purposes, a black budget.

Speaking of research, Montana could hear some being conducted from the hallway adjacent to his office. Kora could be high strung, preferring to use bravado and brawn to push her way through life, but he did feel some sympathy for the werewolf he watched grow up.

Sympathy here being a detached, oddly objective emotion for Montana.

His fingers glided over his Hunters Moon issued PADD. The suit was responsive to multiple kinds of electromagnetic stimuli, including your average touch screen.

He was currently playing a "connect the dots" or "clue" styled game of his own design. Montana would take current events, world news, and diplomatic cables, find correlations between them, and ascribe each event with what branch of intelligence was involved, and why.

It was a mental game to pass the time. Later, he'd launch lines of inquiry through his intelligence channels for the predicted answers.

Montana rose from his seat, he felt his muscles flex beneath the fabric of the stealth suit, like memory foam, contorted itself to fit his body.

Nothing about him particularly screamed "Cold War Spook". There was no repetitiveness to his method, no hours spent trying to decipher long abandoned numbers stations. He was a man of the times, as the world of espionage evolved so did he. The abstract objectivity he viewed the world in however, remained the same, and he understood that some methods retained their usefulness no matter the decade.

Which is why he'd transport the more classified documents regarding the last Hunters Moon outing by hand.

Everything he felt the department head, one rank above the leader, needed to know.

The part about the lipstick, cyanid, and his personal conduct with The Fist, And The Femme Fatal was best left redacted. In his opinion.

He stepped out into the hallway, and moved toward the department heads office.

It was no coincidence that he soon passed,

"Good Morning Ms.Kovalenko, Miss Trevon."

S.C.I.O.N - The Supernatural Concealment and Investigation Operations Network

Full Name: Roderic Alder Mayburry Montana
Nicknames/Aliases: The Devil of Bosnia, Lazarus, The Third Man
Age: 60’s
Gender: Male
Species: Human
SCION Team/Rank: Hunters Moon, Senior Member

Description:

Features are a fine mix between European, and Native Amrican, leaning toward European but keeping the defined bone structure as well as a light, natural tan. Montana is 5'11, frame lined by functional, strong muscle. Despite what is advanced age on paper, his body, and face are that of a young man. A 'longevity' gene is suspected here, reminiscent of biblical accounts of the human lifespan. An inherent, but severely weakened healing ability from a magic ancestor is another possibility. He maintains a clean shaven face, and his shoulder length black hair is often kept swept back, but not tied. Tends to dress formally when not in battle or training dress.

Personality:

His personality is subdued through effort and experience, he isn't easily provoked, unsettleled, or startled

Skills:

:Possesses the skill-set consistent with decades of experience in espionage, counter intelligence, and objective oriented warfare. Montana has experience in single operative missions, and squad battlefield engagements. A savant esq martial artist, he excels at hand to hand combat and the fluidity of body movement. Montana possess a sharp intellect, and keen situational awareness. He relies on strategy and ploy as much as his physical prowess. Extensive training in ANTI creature weaponry, as well as traditional weaponry, he's blended the two into a martial technique of his own design. Has also developed a art for engaging opponents that exceed the practitioner in strength and speed. He teaches them both to whomever wishes to be taught

Weaknesses: Montana, despite all things considered, is mortal, and has the same weaknesses any other mortal has. His penchant for brutality can cause issues to arise with his more peace oriented team members.[indent]

Brief History:
:The product of an unlikely union between a Native American father, and London born woman, Montana spent a portion of his youth in the United States, then later his mothers homeland. He returned to the states as a young man, and was part of the last batches of soldiers sent to Vietnam. Baptized in the fires of one of America's most infamous wars, Montana found that he had a unique talent for thriving in conflict. However the conduct of the commanding officers made him dispassionate toward the idea of serving directly beneath the thumb of a nation controlled army, so he took budding skills to the Private Millitary Sectory, and participated in various proxy conflicts during the cold war, branching off into Espionage and Consultation between, and during his deployments. Some of his more memorable efforts were during the Afghani-Russian proxy war, various 'Banana Republic' outings, and finally Europe's many conflicts, which extended into the 90's. Through the decades he earned a reputation as an effective and dangerous individual in various 'need to know' circles. It was around this time he was placed in the warpath of a dangerous Cryptid, who was using the background carnage of the conflict to mask its vicious killings. Montana noticed the pattern, and set about to stop whomever was committing these crimes. Once the Crytpid was discovered, he realized it was a what rather than a who. S.C.I.O.N agents in the area got into contact with him soon after.