Magister

Welcome to Marchand!

Azaziel had settled down into a chair close enough to the general population as not to immediately mark himself as an outsider, but far enough away that actually talking to him would require the amount of effort he doubted anyone would go to talk to him. Like hiding in plain view.

Then, the lights went off. A split second after they did he thought he saw the male teacher who was breaking up the fight, vanish into a shadow. "Ah. A shade stepper" Zaze mused. Talking to ones self seemed like a risky business this early in the school game, but he didn't care to temper every single move he made. That would be ridiculous. Only the socially insane at that much time to regulate every little action they did. 'Just enough to slide by', was Zaze's motto.

Rule one made him instinctively swallow the small tab that had been resting on his tongue for the past ten minutes. Of course that wasn't allowed here. Luckily for him, his narcotic of choice tended to look like a portrait at word, and at best like a piece of paper. Brilliant.

Yeah, the sex thing didn't matter to Azaziel but the room search, coupled with the curfew, and the stuck within limits, and what exactly did they mean by 'reckless use of magic.' "It must be magic that would put others in danger, not..unconventional magic." Surely that was the correct answer. This was a place of learning after all. He thought. One couldn't learn without risk, and risk, was the spearhead of innovation..

Azaziel moved toward the stage to grab the keys for his room. Apparently, his roomie was some dude named 'Malik,' well as long as 'Malik' wasn't a rat, and didn't mind him sleeping in the nude, he'd be tolerable.

Most of these names meant nothing to him. His family put little stock in mage families, and he had learned little about them during his travels. Some were familiar, mainly the council families. Two caught his eye. Both made his breath catch in his throat. Memoli. Schippers.

Both of those names were tied to a particularly interesting, partially traumatizing night. One of them simply carried the name. The other one carried the name. Toby's brother popped into his head. Those cold eyes and that devil-may-care smile. Urg. What an unsettling mortal being.

Thankfully, he was distracted by the sound of heavily accented yelling, directed at was was a essentially scaled down human being compared to the muscular frame of the irate young woman. Zaze found her to be loud, angry, and off-putting. Perfect candidate for a friend. Type of friend who scared everyone else off. Perfect.

Aside from her intimidating physique, she had the most massive pair of breasts Azaziel had ever seen in his entire life. He wasn't looking at them from the perspective of a red-blooded Sterling male, but a perspective of genuine amazement. They were, in essence, the largest body part he had ever seen on a mortal woman. Fascinating.

Perhaps he'd walk over an introduce himself.

Azaziel had crossed the floor with the full intention of introducing himself to Yoko rather than his irrelevant room-mate, when Jason interjected.

Jason Avalon. AVALON. Right. He had to check in his weapons with either Maeve or a Derrick.

Right.

@Mr Allen J

Welcome to Marchand!

That's an interesting concept in regards to real life politics.

Do you feel like there's too little council representation in the east?

If that's the case it might be wise to add some NPC families.

Real life politics would be interesting, but tricky to implement, as the mage families work autonomously from the human world. I'm sure they intervene on certain issues but again, it's tricky to implement.

Welcome to Marchand!

Roderic A.M. Montana

Full Name: Roderic Alder Mayburry Montana

Nicknames/Aliases: Ifirit's Bane. Roderic the Betrayer, The Denier. The Devil Himself.

Age: 47

Gender: Male

Primary: Defense

Professor of Defense & Tracking:

Secondaries: Shadow Step, Tracking.

Description: Montana's face holds the high cheekbones, and overall facial structure of a romanticized Native American brave, coupled with the arrangement of Western Europe. His hair held the same lightless quality his eyes did, both were pit black, save for the streak of stark white that was often tucked behind his ear. His hair, shoulder length in his youth, had grown down to his chest, a fancy he's allowed himself to take since his teaching career began. Bodily, he stood at 5'11, with a toned, muscular frame that didn't sacrifice mobility for mass. It, like his face was surprisingly youthful despite his advanced age, due to various healing therapies undergone at the end of the war. Most of his emotional expression is done with his eyes and eyebrows, leaving his mouth an even line.

Personality: Montana's personality is largely subdued, but perhaps best described as a malevolent or benign eye, submerged in a thick, colorless liquid that one can just make out in the depths. A roiling thing that, on some occasions, breaches the surface to fix its gaze on the looker.

Skills: Montana first and foremost is an accomplished combatant in the traditional aspect of warfare, he is extensively trained and practiced in traditional firearms and melee armaments, and is a genius tier martial artist. Battlefield strategy, and small united management are both large parts is his skill set, with a minor in espionage. In the realm of magic, Montana's Defender skill is often used in an unorthodox fashion, with a heavy emphasis on nullification fields, along with several familial arts passed down on his mothers side. An innovator of the art, he uses it to control fights, and key points on a battlefield. His Shadowstepping ability, while honed, is not as refined as the professor who teaches it, and is usually used as a complimentary measure with his other skills and magic ability. Tracking, another familial art once, and perhaps still considered spiritual in nature, is the secondary skill he excels in. Tracking objects, and people has been tuned to a reflexive ability. Montana looks to expand this ability beyond the purely physical realm. Meeting this desire with varied success, he has yet to dissertain if it his magical ability, or trained ability to read people that has lead to these results.

Weaknesses: Montana's demeanor, and reserved behaviour, could give off an air of mistrust that could be exploited.


Brief History: His Fathers line line traces its origins to North American Indians, Montana, a given name was acquired over time. They were famed trackers, said to call upon the spirits to erect great walls to defend against the fire of civilization. His mothers side, of the Montbard line, were famed Defenders who aided in the rise of the Knights Templar, and eventually vanished into history after the Order's demise. Montana's noteworthy history starts during his career as a mercenary. He fought in various conflicts around the globe, ranging from the larger human wars, to pocket conflicts between powerful Mage groups and families. It was during this time he found employment during the Mage rebellion, where he fought alongside various members of the faculty. It was during this conflict he picked up some of the names that would follow him for the rest of his natural life.

"The Storm twins were at least sensational, am I right? Two hard ass Valkyries who brought air and ice down onto the battlefield. Sensational. This other one they have? Let me tell you something, there's a lot of people who say he wasn't always on the right side of the war, and a lot of those same people are dead. Look him up, go on, try, you know what you're gonna find? Nothing. Riddle me that"- Illidal Aerorash, editor for The Sage Tablet.

Other: Really good at darts. Avoids alcohol.

Zaze Crowley

Full Name: Azaziel Jiao Trois Montague Vivian Crowley

Nicknames/Aliases: Planeswalker (self given) Zaze

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Primary: Necromancy

Student Of: Necromancy, Blood Magic and Familiar Summoning

Secondary of Adequate Mastery: Blood Magic,

Secondary of Some Experience: Familiar summoning.

Description: Azaziel stands at five foot six-seven, with a body type consistent for a person who spends their time roughing the outdoors, studying magic in nature abandoned building, and fleeing the scene of whatever crime he had committed/got involved in. His hair is ashen and usually cropped close on the sides, and left long on top, has recently grown out. The back of his head is kept in a pony tail, leaving the top to deposit itself on whichever side it chooses to at the moment. Azaziel is usually dressed in varying shades of colours, his shirts, button downs more often then not, are vibrant colours, while his waistcoats, gloves, and jeans tend to be midnight blue or black. Azaziel's eyes have a tendency to turn to the onlookers favorite colour, a side effect of his own experimentation, this effect is only triggered by those who posses magic.

Personality: Curiosity, Intensity, carelessness, and odd humor in equal measure, Azaziel has a personality that can rub one the right, or wrong way.

Skills: Azaziel possesses the born magical ability of his well-branched family line, and an astute mind that understands the nuances of magic and its properties. Blood Magic is second nature to Azaziel, and his drive to become more powerful, to learn more, helps to accelerate his learning process. The wandering life he lead, and the activities he conducted while homeless manifested as a well rounded talent pool.

Weaknesses: His curiosity, and reckless behaviour will ultimately lead to his demise.

Brief History: Zaze was born into a Mage family of notoriety, due to their open use of questionable blood magic, and their complete disregard for mage taboos. Inter marriages from discredited, and disgraced mages from other families are commonplace as their practices are less likely to disturb those who have already been shunned by the mainstream Mage families, and communities at large. In essence, they are pariahs, and welcome pariah's into their fold.

While they accept the discredited, their own process of elimination starts at a very early age. Zaze, and others once reaching the age of 12, are forcibly expelled from the family territories, and are expected to survive in the world until the age of 18. While it's not uncommon for these children to simply build camps just outside of their family territories, some choose to go roving instead. The mortality rate for these rovers is exceptionally high, so members of the family are encouraged to have anywhere between four to seven children, in the inevitable event that some will perish.

Zaze's decision to join the mages school was entirely his own. While he thoroughly enjoys his education, the restrictions on his experimentation have been difficult to adjust to.

Other: Probably consorts with demonic entities.

Welcome to Marchand!

Ronnie "Gattlin'" Crier was a shit shot in pool, and had breath that could peel the paint off of a truck, but he was good at one thing.

Having a truck.

Azaziel was a better shot in pool and boasted considerably better breath.

Which meant Ronnie Crier lost himself a bet, and the right to complain about driving some upstart stranger with one too many bags up through some godforsaken woodland following buses and all manner of traffic which were inexplicably all going to the middle of nowhere.

None of which, save the landmarks he made careful note of, mattered to A.J.T.M.V.C, who's full range of initials was emblazoned on each and every piece of luggage he carried.

Some kids were moving rooms. He was moving his entire life. Zaze didn't have anywhere else to go besides the school that awaited him.

"Enough..enough.." He waved Ronnie's spiel about the sinister nature of capes away with his hand. Zaze was far more concerned that the other male's head was out the window of his pickup truck, facing 180 degrees away from the road, bothering him about a discussion he had already given his opinion on.

"I've said, and again, I've said, listen , a robe is benevolent as long as there are clothes beneath it Ronnie, up, no, no no more."

"Hush, shhh, shhh...shh."

Zaze brought his book back up to eye level, and blocked Gattlin's stupidity, and breath from his mind and face respectively for the remainder of the trip.

Time passed, more time passed, and finally the duo parted company with a firm handshake, another firm handshake, and a blot of paper under the tongue each.

"Stay firm brother, keep on with the keeping on."

"Keep on keeping the damned truck still or I'll never get this luggage off." Piece by piece it was lifted, and dragged to the gate, left, and piled, until a veritable mountain sat outside the office.

"I don't think I'll see you again. Goodbye Ron."

Next came?

Sign ins. A form for his familiar, (partial summons excluded he imagined), contraband search, blah blah blah.

"I was informed this was a place of learning, and I assure you each and every one of these," (moldy, waterlogged, questionable, vaguely demonic, and vaguely pornographic pieces of literature) "are an important part of my learning process."

Azaziel gave a small sound of frustration, and began to compulsively tap the counter-top.

"How can I level with you here."

'Leveling' amounted to several of the sketchier looking (and sounding), books being left behind the desk for further review, with a ticket issued for each that he could use to pick them up once 'It is is confirmed that they are up to standard.'

Typical, in his mind. The stout, intimidating woman who checked his bags fit into the 'uninspired' category of living creatures that breathed air on earth. "Understandable for the fainter of disposition Afrit."

Afrit was his familiar, a humanoid being with an unsettling amount of flexibility, void of any features save a large mouth. It had the ability to change the colour and consistency of its skin, much like a chameleon. Currently, it was a midnight black and draped around Azaziel's neck like a loose fitting scarf.

They walked into the cafeteria, initially drawn by the chatter and the smell of food.

The commotion drew his eyes like everyone else, and the conflict between the Norrevinter girl, and the Sterling boy, (info he had gathered from the idle chatter around him) served as a reminder of his broods outcast status among the other Mage families.

Perfect.

Being a pariah should certainly help him navigate through the competitive school environment while building bonds with the more colourful bits and pieces of the student body. The colourful bits were great for getting the bits he needed.

He deftly circled the intrepid madness, moving counterclockwise until he found a table left unblemished by fighting or boorish hands. He picked up a virgin pancake, untouched by the sweetness of syrup, and promptly stuffed it into his pocket, along with an apple, a kiwi, and a banana. For later.

"Maybe not the yogurt in the pocket."

Instead, he crushed it from the bottom and slowly sucked out the contents.

"Mmmmm."

Welcome to Marchand!

The young student Aaron's question hadn't got unheard by Montana, his near accusatory tone was noted, but it didn't draw the older man's ire, or give him reason to reprimand the young man for his tone. The professor was less concerned with vocal cadence, and more concerned with the situation in front of him on the table, amidst the wide range of breakfast choices turned makeshift weapons.

Rather than diverge his attention between the two combatants and the third student, he would simply wait until he had dealt with the problem at hand. One half of the problem had decided to compound the existing issue with yet another piece of spoiled fruit. Kora's face, a picture of stunned resignation, was quickly obscured by the watermelon that entered the immediate vicinity of Montana's face. The absurdity of being pelted by a rogue piece of fruit wasn't what sprung into mind, instead, he was reminded of the Norrevinter penchant for friendly fire, and how that seemed to extended to the new generation.

A shield formed, roughly the size of two hands, with it's wedged edge pointing toward the airborne watermelon. One, became two, and the two met a sudden end as two more hand sized shields prevented what was left of the projectile form hitting two members of the student body.

Juice slowly dripped down the semi-transparent shield, revealing Montana's face, and lack of amusement.

Outwardly unamused. Inwardly he was quite tickled by the entire situation.

He spoke to Aaron first, fixing his gaze on the younger male. "You may refer to me as Lecturer, or Professor Montana, whichever you prefer Mr.Heruscir." The correct pronunciation of a person's name was something Montana took extra care in doing, Aaron was no exception.

"As you are all aware," Montana's voice rose a decibel to include the students, and remaining parents in what he was about to say. [color=slategray]"Combat Instruction is a required part of this schools curriculum. Training, and sparring with your fellow students is an immense responsibility. I will not tolerate it being made light of by chance brawling between students for the capricious reasons I've seen today, am I understood?"/color]

His voice lowered. He addressed Kora next.

"Am I understood Ms.Norrevinter

"Mr.Sterling, your choice of words lacks the tact I expect from our students when around faculty and parents. I expect more from you as time goes on."

As he scanned the crowd a final time, a redheaded face caught his eye for brief moment, then a rather loud sweater.

"Thank you for your collective time, parents and students."

Welcome to Marchand!

I enjoy the family lore, I must say,

Montana- This is the Native American family line, with the name 'Montana' chosen by the state where they reside. They have some representation within the North American continent, but globally I imagine they are unknown. Their defender line has existed for quite some time, but doesn't hold a prestigious title, his mother married into this family.

Crowley: Pariah's accepting any and all who show promising magical ability. They tack their last names onto the existing Crowley line, so many from their family have the multiple name string thing Azaziel has going on. I'd say they are widely disliked by anyone who puts stock into last names and prestige. Likely teeming with former cultists.

Welcome to Marchand!

Full Name: Azaziel Jiao Trois Montague Vivian Crowley

Nicknames/Aliases: Planeswalker (self given) Zaze

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Primary: Necromancy

Student Of: Necromancy, Blood Magic and Familiar Summoning

Secondary of Adequate Mastery: Blood Magic,

Secondary of Some Experience: Familiar summoning.

Description: Azaziel stands at five foot six-seven, with a body type consistent for a person who spends their time roughing the outdoors, studying magic in nature abandoned building, and fleeing the scene of whatever crime he had committed/got involved in. His hair is ashen and usually cropped close on the sides, and left long on top, has recently grown out. The back of his head is kept in a pony tail, leaving the top to deposit itself on whichever side it chooses to at the moment. Azaziel is usually dressed in varying shades of colours, his shirts, button downs more often then not, are vibrant colours, while his waistcoats, gloves, and jeans tend to be midnight blue or black. Azaziel's eyes have a tendency to turn to the onlookers favorite colour, a side effect of his own experimentation, this effect is only triggered by those who posses magic.

Personality: Curiosity, Intensity, carelessness, and odd humor in equal measure, Azaziel has a personality that can rub one the right, or wrong way.

Skills: Azaziel possesses the born magical ability of his well-branched family line, and an astute mind that understands the nuances of magic and its properties. Blood Magic is second nature to Azaziel, and his drive to become more powerful, to learn more, helps to accelerate his learning process. The wandering life he lead, and the activities he conducted while homeless manifested as a well rounded talent pool.

Weaknesses: His curiosity, and reckless behaviour will ultimately lead to his demise.

Brief History: Zaze was born into a Mage family of notoriety, due to their open use of questionable blood magic, and their complete disregard for mage taboos. Inter marriages from discredited, and disgraced mages from other families are commonplace as their practices are less likely to disturb those who have already been shunned by the mainstream Mage families, and communities at large. In essence, they are pariahs, and welcome pariah's into their fold.

While they accept the discredited, their own process of elimination starts at a very early age. Zaze, and others once reaching the age of 12, are forcibly expelled from the family territories, and are expected to survive in the world until the age of 18. While it's not uncommon for these children to simply build camps just outside of their family territories, some choose to go roving instead. The mortality rate for these rovers is exceptionally high, so members of the family are encouraged to have anywhere between four to seven children, in the inevitable event that some will perish.

Zaze's decision to join the mages school was entirely his own. While he thoroughly enjoys his education, the restrictions on his experimentation have been difficult to adjust to.

Other: Probably consorts with demonic entities.

Welcome to Marchand!

It's a bit arbitrary to stick an opinion on what is or isn't offensive in the truth section, and further defend that standpoint, don't you think?

Not to involve myself in a minor difference of opinion, but I thinks it's good to maintain a healthy amount respectful frivolity as we engage eachother in OOC.

Welcome to Marchand!

"This is as to be expected." The tone, much like the man, appeared suddenly, as if he, and it, had been lurking just out of the corners of their collective perception the entire time. The voice belonged to a man, one Mr/Lecturer Montana. His cloth was of a tailored, European cut, three piece suit, complete with a pair of dull blue gloves to match. All was crisp, save for the area where the elbows and knees bent, possibly showcasing how active he was when wearing a suit. His face was near free of creases as well, aside from the early stages of crows feet that lined his eyes.

"Expected, but not tolerated."

His mouth returned to its sculpted line, giving him the resting face of eternal dispassion. His eyes were coal black holes where light did not escape, and they consumed the passion between the two students, swallowing each iota of disobedience with a quiet, but aggressive intensity.

The ambient frequency around Montana hummed with an unnatural energy, it was a subtle change, like ones foot falling asleep from lack of use. Unlike this normal ailment, it grew in intensity, surged into a palpable feeling that one could feel in their extremities, and suddenly, quickly, without warning, it exploded, suffocating the two in a nullification field that left them both, any anyone in their immediate vicinity, temporarily purged of all magical ability.

He didn't forget Kora's physical advantage over Larke, but he wouldn't use a shield to cease her assault, not initially. Such an affirmation would carry heavy consequences. He used himself as a deterrent instead, stepping between them both, and lifting Larke from the mess of food that clung to his hair and clothes.

"Assault is a side effect of people inhabiting the same space for any length of time. Assault in full view of faculty and the student body bespeaks of a brazen arrogance that will not be tolerated within these halls. From anyone. Ill language is no less tolerated. Am I understood?"

Welcome to Marchand!

Full Name: Roderic Alder Mayburry Montana

Nicknames/Aliases: Ifirit's Bane. Roderic the Betrayer, The Denier. The Devil Himself.

Age: 47

Gender: Male

Primary: Defense

Professor of Defense & Tracking:

Secondaries: Shadow Step, Tracking.

Description: Montana's face holds the high cheekbones, and overall facial structure of a romanticized Native American brave, coupled with the arrangement of Western Europe. His hair held the same lightless quality his eyes did, both were pit black, save for the streak of stark white that was often tucked behind his ear. His hair, shoulder length in his youth, had grown down to his chest, a fancy he's allowed himself to take since his teaching career began. Bodily, he stood at 5'11, with a toned, muscular frame that didn't sacrifice mobility for mass. It, like his face was surprisingly youthful despite his advanced age, due to various healing therapies undergone at the end of the war. Most of his emotional expression is done with his eyes and eyebrows, leaving his mouth an even line.

Personality: Montana's personality is largely subdued, but perhaps best described as a malevolent or benign eye, submerged in a thick, colorless liquid that one can just make out in the depths. A roiling thing that, on some occasions, breaches the surface to fix its gaze on the looker.

Skills: Montana first and foremost is an accomplished combatant in the traditional aspect of warfare, he is extensively trained and practiced in traditional firearms and melee armaments, and is a genius tier martial artist. Battlefield strategy, and small united management are both large parts is his skill set, with a minor in espionage. In the realm of magic, Montana's Defender skill is often used in an unorthodox fashion, with a heavy emphasis on nullification fields, along with several familial arts passed down on his mothers side. An innovator of the art, he uses it to control fights, and key points on a battlefield. His Shadowstepping ability, while honed, is not as refined as the professor who teaches it, and is usually used as a complimentary measure with his other skills and magic ability. Tracking, another familial art once, and perhaps still considered spiritual in nature, is the secondary skill he excels in. Tracking objects, and people has been tuned to a reflexive ability. Montana looks to expand this ability beyond the purely physical realm. Meeting this desire with varied success, he has yet to dissertain if it his magical ability, or trained ability to read people that has lead to these results.

Weaknesses: Montana's demeanor, and reserved behaviour, could give off an air of mistrust that could be exploited.


Brief History: His Fathers line line traces its origins to North American Indians, Montana, a given name was acquired over time. They were famed trackers, said to call upon the spirits to erect great walls to defend against the fire of civilization. His mothers side, of the Montbard line, were famed Defenders who aided in the rise of the Knights Templar, and eventually vanished into history after the Order's demise. Montana's noteworthy history starts during his career as a mercenary. He fought in various conflicts around the globe, ranging from the larger human wars, to pocket conflicts between powerful Mage groups and families. It was during this time he found employment during the Mage rebellion, where he fought alongside various members of the faculty. It was during this conflict he picked up some of the names that would follow him for the rest of his natural life.

"The Storm twins were at least sensational, am I right? Two hard ass Valkyries who brought air and ice down onto the battlefield. Sensational. This other one they have? Let me tell you something, there's a lot of people who say he wasn't always on the right side of the war, and a lot of those same people are dead. Look him up, go on, try, you know what you're gonna find? Nothing. Riddle me that"- Illidal Aerorash, editor for The Sage Tablet.

Other: Really good at darts. Avoids alcohol.