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Vivid Recollections Season 2: Into The False Light [COMPLETE]

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Vivid Recollections Season 2: Into The False Light [COMPLETE]

Cyrus Cerridwen

╚══════════════╝

"If only I had a different time then"

[ 21) | 6’2'' | Northern-Germanic | He/him | 185 pounds ]

[Remorse.]

APPEARANCE

"That looks colorful. I hate it."

Cyrus stands at a height of six-foot-two-inches tall and weighs in at a meager one-hundred and eighty-five pounds, packed into a slender but lean-muscular frame. His face features a strong jawline, a thick scruff of hair that he likes to pretend is his beard, and a hairline that is kept short and messy; constantly looking like he just woke up. His sense of fashion is absent, and as such his usual clothing bears some semblance to a simple pair of boots underneath some slim cut grey chino’s underneath a simple white V-neck shirt underneath a, once again, grey jacket. While he sometimes adds some frills, such as the multi-colored scarf that he wears during the winter months, he is ever so much the basic dresser in terms of appearance. He wears glasses and his frame is a very simple, brown-like color.

PSYCHOLOGY

"If I can help why shouldn’t I?"

MAIN GOAL ⫻

Currently, Cyrus hopes to hit the restart button on life and begin anew here at the academy. Ever since the injury, and the re-injury months later, he has had to put his dream of being a professional athlete to rest and embrace that he will never compete in sports ever again. He sat back, took a look at the possibilities, and decided he wanted to pursue a career in sports still; on the medicine side of it, however. He is currently a true freshman with a focus on a degree in the sports medicine field, hoping to one day be a team doctor for some professional team.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻

Life is good as long as your living it, or so Cyrus says. Cyrus is an active participant in his own life, and soon hopes to have a group of friends to participate in theirs, and wants to experience all the fun he can now that he is away from his childhood home.

SECRETS ⫻

His injury is very much still present. He will often stumble as his ATFL tendon simply gives out, and will be left with a red sore on the side of his ankle and foot for days after.

He abandoned his brother to suffer the same fate that he had suffered.

Is very much into Pagan music, something his Catholic family would be up in arms to learn.

DESIRES ⫻

To always make the correct decision and to always be the best in whatever field he finds himself in.

SEXUALITY ⫻

Straight as an arrow.

FEARS ⫻

Cyrus is afraid he will never live up to the unrealistic expectations set upon him young in life. He was destined for greatness, and if he does not crest the mountain that is school ahead of him, he might just crumble into nothing.

REPUTATION ⫻

Cyrus is a nobody here. Back home he was a bright star yet here his light whimpers and barely burns.

PET PEEVES ⫻

Not giving one-hundred percent effort in any task. If you have to do something it only makes sense to do it right.

QUIRKS ⫻

Under the breath, he is often humming a tune; recognizable yet no one can seem to name it. He never catches himself doing it, instead has to be reminded of the fact. When asked, he will say it is from one song or another but it never is.

BACKSTORY

"I could have had it all."

Cyrus was born to a former athlete as a father and his college sweetheart of a wife in one of the many small suburbs outside Detroit, Michigan. From as early as he can remember, sports were always a part of his life. Baseball, basketball, football, soccer, and more form the core memory of his youth as he was always playing. His father, a former football player whose promising career was cut short by a bad injury, had an unhealthy obsession with his potential sports career, with the prevailing sense that he was living vicariously through his kid. It didn't take long for anyone to realize that Cyrus was good at one sport in particular; football. Every aspect of the sport seemed to resonate with something primal within Cyrus. Tackling, juking, and every other facet you could think of were areas that Cyrus excelled in. His father, sensing potential greatness, pushed him past his limit with a relentless training regime that forged an Adonis of an athlete. Even before he stepped on the high school field, scouts were filming at his games and taking notes at his practices. His free time was spent hunting with his extended family when the seasons would allow.

Once in high school, Cyrus began destroying records at a pace that was unprecedented. He was a running back that could catch like a receiver, he was a linebacker with the stopping power of a full-sized safety, and he was punt returner with the speed of a sprinter. He led his squad to four straight state championship games and was well on his way to win his fourth when he suffered a catastrophic injury to his right ankle in overtime as he was making his way to the endzone. The pain caused him to lose his grip on the ball on their first possession, resulting in a defeat. He later learned he had a full tear of his ATFL ligament and had to undergo lateral ankle ligament reconstruction as a result. While the surgery went well with expectations being, he could start training again in four months if the physical therapy went well, and with college teams still interested in the speedy player, that timetable did not match his fathers. Instead, two months after the surgery, he was back to practicing in his back yard; and proceeded to damage the same ligament; and was forced under the knife once more. After this second surgery, all scholarship offers were pulled after the doctors informed him the injury was likely to reoccur if he ever played football again.

With his future sidelined, Cyrus’s father instead turned his attention towards his younger brother who had shown signs of being the talent that Cyrus could have. Cyrus clashed with his father about the way he was treating him, forcing him to practice when he should have been resting was the main battleground that the two fought. Eventually, after three years of fighting Cyrus decided he had to get out of the area. He had been attending a local community college with a focus on sports journalism in the years since he graduated yet he felt this primal urge to go into the medical aspect of the sports world. He saw an ad online for a school, far from home and far from the abusive home life. He had saved enough money to cover tuition for at least a semester at a proper school and had assistance from his grandparents for the rest. Registering last semester, he had to buy his time until he could arrive for the new semester. He left, leaving a note explaining where he was going and why.

He is now on his second semester, and he couldn’t have been worse for wear at Grand Ridge Academy. His brother has suffered a bad injury when trying to return from a minor one, and it appears he may never play another second, and might never live a normal life again. Remorse lashed over him like a river lashes against a rock, causing his abstraction to appear on his hands. At first, he thought he was going mad. He asked a friend if anything about his hands looked off, showing the abstractions in plain view, and they responded with a no. As a result, he started wearing gloves. The gloves, however, couldn’t protect him when he accidentally crossed his hands. When his right hand crossed over his left, he experienced everything would happen over the next thirty seconds simultaneously as time went on; and he could pull himself back to any point in that time frame. When his left crossed over his right, his mind felt like it split and he suddenly had three separate perspectives that could move and act as if they were unique. For days, Cyrus played with it and was slowly driven to madness as he thought he had finally snapped and had fallen down the rabbit's hole, unaware of just how far down it goes. In a fit of madness, Cyrus went and bought a bottle of whiskey and drank too much of it before stumbling his way outside with some vague nothing of a plan to prove to the world that he was not crazy, tripping over himself and falling down the stairs before blacking out; or so he thought. He awoke a day later, in a hospital, with a pain in his side and a terrible headache in his head.

He thought nothing of it until he heard a scream.

SKILLS & TALENTS

"I’m fast and I’m accurate"

[Hunting and tracking] ⫻ Spending much of his life in the forest, Cyrus is an accomplished hunter and tracker. Starting at an age much too young, Cyrus was taught how to handle a firearm and how to keep it clean. While he has no weapon with him at the academy, the skill still lingers.

[Speed and jukes] ⫻ Cyrus, despite his injury, has kept his natural speed and athleticism. He still runs to keep himself in shape and this has allowed him to keep the dream alive; at least for one day more.

[Intuition] ⫻ Cyrus always seems to have had a vague notion of how an action will play out. This helped him avoid tackles when he was playing sports and has now led him to figure out what direction to take in life.

ABSTRACTION

"It's hard to explain, but it’s more than just time manipulation. Here let me show you."

SIGIL & LOCATION ⫻ The first sigil is on his right hand and is in the shape of a three-dimensional pyramid. The second sigil is on his left hand and is a three-dimensional representation of a circle. When he activates his abstraction, both sigils combine on his right hand showing the circle spinning in a hundred different ways simultaneously over-top the pyramid.

ABSTRACTION ⫻ Dimensional Manipulation

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ When activated, Cyrus’s abstraction allows his body to enter a higher dimension; in two different forms. In its first form, Cyrus gains the ability to revert himself back anywhere he was in the thirty-seconds after he activates it. Wounds or injuries suffered before he pulls himself back will disappear. He can activate this abstraction by placing his right-hand over-top his left-hand and he can pull himself back simply by picturing the position his body was. The second form, creating this time by a left-hand over his right-hand approach, creates two shades that he can control in addition to himself.

The first ability (named Hike! by Cyrus) is one that's used retroactively after activation. He has a thirty-second window to reactivate it, by mentally picturing where he was along the way and what he was doing. He can grab objects, and potentially people, and bring them back with him as well. The entire time he is moving there is a trail that follows him that shows what movement he was doing along the way. The trail is visible to everyone, and it looks like every second there was a snapshot of where his body was; arms, legs, head and so forth. These snapshots are the points where he can pull himself back to. One potential use is to activate the ability, throw a punch, and then run and grab somebody and pull them back and have the punch hit. He, as he thought he was going crazy, has very little control over this power, however. Sometimes when he activates it with a set purpose in mind, he will go about the task yet the ability will retrigger itself and pull him back to the start point.

The second form of this ability (named Break!) is active in use. Cyrus will spawn forth two "shades" of himself that are incapable of physical interaction with the world. Cyrus will have control over all three, with him seeing in real time what his shades see. They aren't entirely there, and will often phase in and out of view. They are translucent in nature, making it painfully clear who the real Cyrus is. Furthermore, they are more random in their actions than Cyrus. While Cyrus might have one wave, the possible outcomes will often trail behind much alike in his first ability except instead of just showing the wave motion, you will see things like the middle finger, a fist, or a peace sign as opposed to the traditional notion of a wave. The problem using this ability is he has to control both the shades and himself at the same time. Often times he will trip, be painfully unaware of something right in his face as trying to digest the sheer amount of information from three separate entities overwhelms him. He can, however, re-trigger this ability and pull his physical form to one of the shades; causing the illusion to disappear. Again, he has very little control of this ability and will sometimes be pulled to a singular shade by accidentally thinking about it.



IN THE PRESENCE OF THE MOUNTAIN ⫻ Once Cyrus is in the presence of the mountain, his abilities generally become more controllable. In the first form, the presence of the mountain extends his control by another thirty seconds and allows him to reactivate his ability once more. In its second form, he gains a stronger link with the shades that allow them to move and act with less mental input from himself.



LIMITS ⫻ In the first form, he is limited to a thirty-second window and he must have a clear mental picture of where he was before he can pull himself back. He also does not have the ability anywhere close to being mastered and sometimes, after he activates the ability, he will be pulled to a random spot without warning. In addition, while in the second form, he is limited by his mind. He has trouble controlling both shades let alone both shades and himself at the same time. Furthermore, accidentally thinking of a shade has proven to potentially send him to the shade's location; with comical results.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ Cyrus's ability doesn't necessarily have too many weaknesses due to its relatively low-yield nature. Using it a often takes a toll on his body, and excessive use will cause nosebleeds, headaches, and may even knock him unconscious.

OTHER

"I swear, it seems like the world likes to go crazy at the same time I do."

Theme song

What Are You Listening To?

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

@OppositionJ Awesome! I have moved S'venia on over. H Y P E

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

S'venia

Credit for image

[S’venia “The Truth” Skor]

[30] | [F] | [5’11”] | [AB negative]

General Information

NAME:

S’venia Skor

ALIASES // TITLES:

Svei

The Truth

The Purple Streak

SEX:

F

AGE:

30

APPEARANCE:

S'venia stands at a height of five foot, eleven inches tall with a lithe feminine frame. She keeps her hair cut to a medium length bob that is both stylish and functional; with the occasional ponytail when needed. While she is a brunette by nature, she has dyed her hair blue with a single purple streak for the past five years, earning herself the nickname the purple streak in the process. Her natural eye color is a hazel color that often changes to a shade of green. Her left eye sports an eye-spy contact lens that serves as her camera that, while not normally visible, can be seen when recording as an orange ring appears over her eyes. The set of three hexagonal tattoo's to the left of the eye are a set of control panels that are required to be used with the contact camera; a regulation that for once S’venia wishes was dropped. While she is never once to be overly fancy, instead she tends to stick with the tried and tested look of black boots over-top simple jeans underneath a simple t-shirt. She does tend to vary this simple look with any number of jackets; the color and style depend on the day. She tends to focus on a very colorful and over-top style that is all too in fashion right now or very basic leather for her jackets, with very few that fall in the middle.

OCCUPATION: (What did you do before the campaign? Or what do you still do? This can be held prior to the campaign or ongoing.)

News Station 117 *The Reclaimed* network

Prior to the campaign S’venia was an employee at News Channel 117, The Reclaimed Network, as a beat reporter (with a focus on crime) and had been employed there for the better part of seven years; starting out just after finishing school. Her job consisted of meeting contacts to gather information, collaborate it with other sources, write an article that used the information and finally sends the article to her editor for publication; occasionally she would need to argue for its release. She quickly gained the confidence of her editor and the confidence of the station as a whole and they green-lit her request to move from her old boring beat and into crime and politics. Her articles were hard-hitting, brutally honest, and factual when it came to crime. When it came it politics, she was more reserved; only writing articles when it pertained to a candidate she liked. Eventually, this brought her into contact with a councilman running for mayor who said all the right things. When she started working with Dexter Campbell, she began spending less and less time working at the network. She burned through all her accrued vacation time before ultimately stepping down when she was offered the communication directors position. The one thing she has taken with her after she left is a hard-working attitude. She does make appearances on the network when needed to talk about Campbell’s platform.

The Truth

Concurrently with the campaign, she still acts as the voice of The Truth for the virtual reality news blog South City Blues; which she is one of the founders. S’venia, along with a few of her classmates started the project nine years ago as a small-time operation that has steadily grown in popularity and scope. They have kept themselves off the grid, and the radar of their targets, partly by using old tech such as USB data sticks, and clever transportation for most of their information; save for The Truth's message, which is handled by the Agents of the Broker. Nothing hits the Labyrinth until it’s published for the masses. The group takes great care to keep their identity's secret, utilizing state of the art voice encryption and modulation to prevent the mega-corporations present in America from matching them on their equally good matching software. South City Blues does have a physical home, lodged in the slums a few blocks down away from Swathe street. South City Blues is physically located underneath a virtual reality arcade and bar named “The Bar”; the owners were a particular group of former radicals who have grown a little too old to fight the good fight. On the Labyrinth, the South City Blues takes shape in a grid that authorities rarely patrol. The station forms itself in the shape of simple newsstands from the old world with a loudspeaker attached at the top. As people stroll by, they are free to grab an article or listen to one of the many speakers. While they are still a small time operation, it doesn't change the fact that when rumors of a message from “The Truth” hit the webs their small little corner on the web gets crowded fast. As her fans say, "The Truth" will set you free.

As “The Truth”, S’venia wages a war against any and every form of corruption. Her voice shouts at the lack of accountability among the corporations and politicians whose only goal has been to rape and pillage the land more than it can sustain. Her voice rages against the unjust Enforcers and their brutal methods. Her voice soothes and calms the worried masses, and promises a better day is coming; if they’d just fight for it.

CAMPAIGN TEAM POSITION: (Your position under Campbell. What do you do? See the first post for various ideas.)

S'venia acts as an informal communication director for Campbell's team and is formally hired on as a media relations manager. Her day starts at nine in the morning at Campbell's office, where she finds herself secluded and available for any and all calls. Her primary function is to handle requests for press releases for Dexter Campbell; often writing up a response and then bringing it to Dexter for approval. Another facet of her job is improving the public image of Dexter in a variety of ways; to this point, they have done some work in the slums, volunteered in the shelters, and worked alongside the hardworking citizens of the Reclaimed. By far the hardest, and most consistent, part of her job is assessing in real time the public's view of Dexter after smear ads are run and planning a counterattack to combat the negative messages. She also handles the social media accounts of Dexter Campbell's campaign, where she releases carefully crafted statements to the residents of the Reclaimed district.

Psychological Profile

Resourceful | Confident | Restrained | Impartial | Arrogant | Impetuous | Paranoid

PERSONAL GOAL: (Why are you still around? What are you trying to achieve?)

S’venia has lived and worked in The Reclaim district for the past eight years and has seen all the horrors that had been wrought upon the poor and the broken. Drugs, violence, and unrest perpetuated the soul of this district as it adopts the personification of the evil that is South City. S’venia wants to be a part of the turnaround. She sees the potential here. From the quaint and criminally unknown coffee shop Black Sun coffee, tucked down an alley in-between two of the clubs on Swathe street, to the constant sense of hope that exudes from the average citizen when they discuss the future under Campbell. While the gangs, and corporations for that matter, don’t want to see the district rise to its potential, S’venia does.

The Truth’s goal is to bring accountability back to politics and corporations. The world of old was driven by transparency and accountability, and we the people had the power. "The Truth” sees the politicians drive home the point that we the people have become complacent in our actions. They strip our protections, deny us our rights, and bend over backward to take the full thrust of the corporate lobbyist machine. The Truth knows that she can’t move too fast, to do so would invite a vast migration of work and jobs away from South City. Instead, “The Truth” hopes to start a grassroots movement to slowly give the power back to the people; and when they have it, then she will unleash her full fury in getting them to exercise it.

CAMPAIGN GOAL: (Why did you link up with Campbell? What are you trying to do for his platform?)

S’venia joined the Campbell campaign in its infancy. While she knew of the council member and his general platform before he ran for the mayor’s seat, she did not know much else. In order to get more information for the article she was writing, she requested an interview to which Dexter quickly accepted. When she sat down with Campbell, she listened as he outlined his vision for the district; and S’venia saw how his movement had vertical possibilities. Though through her optics, she could sense the man did not have a chance against the machine that is the mayoral election process. He was up against a lot of dark money set to keep the current status quo in the district. His flaws were quickly evident, even in the short time they interviewed together. He had no idea how to put together a statement to the media that outlined his vision without leaving him open for rebuttal, often played his cards too open and easy to see, and it felt like he was out-of-touch with how the media works. She sensed that he needed help. So, on a whim, a few weeks after the interview, she asked to join on and help guide the councilman to become more natural in front of the media but quickly rose up the ranks with her natural skill and journalistic intuition.

Her goal in this campaign is to get an honest and hardworking man elected to a position of power; no matter how small. She wants to use the momentum gained from a potential victory and frame it to allow for upward mobility for Campbell to ascend the political ladder. She also wants her name to become more recognized. S'venia has a political ambition of her own and hopes to use Campbell to springboard herself into the political arena. The better Campbell does now, the better she’ll look in the future. She has a lot of ideas that are subtle enough that the major corporations would easily overlook while powerful enough to curb the rising gang issues as a start. While she knows there will never be a way for the corruption and the violence to end without some drastic change, she at least wants to get her foot in the door so she can begin fighting. At the same time, she wants to start utilizing “The Truth” to help in that regard.

A successful mayoral election is just the first of many baby step in the long road ahead for S'venia.

PERSONAL PHILOSOPHY: (Who are you really? What morally defines you? What drives you?)

S’venia’s philosophy is a simple one if you can help you should. When she is not working with the campaign, or on social media promoting, she will often find herself volunteering at various shelters, usually behind the counter with the food, or donating what she can to the pantries. While she is not from The Reclaim, her family instead hails from the Middle District, she feels the plight and struggle of this district just as much as anyone else.

To S’venia, there is no clear black and white morality scale where you are good or bad. Instead, S’venia believes that there is always a lot of greys when it comes to viewing a person. She will look down on a thief less if he stole for survival, and will look down more harshly on people who do bad things because it is either the norm for them or because they get some form of enjoyment out of it. While crime is still a crime in her books, a criminal is not always defined by it. Yet she isn’t without some darker traits. Because of her morality scale, the ends can justify the means to her. She is willing to cross lines in the pursuit of the greater good if it means that a better day may soon come to pass. She's not afraid to toss someone else under the bus if it means protecting herself because she is "The Truth", and her message needs to be delivered.

Because the end justifies the means, "The Truth" is free to unleash her true voice on the masses.

POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY: (What are your views on the world? While a partisan identity would be nice to include, feel free to define yourself outside of the five parties. This is important as Campbell will eventually have to choose a party to represent.)

The government needs to get the dark money out of the system. S’venia is not very out-spoken when it comes to her own political philosophy, instead, she has simply adopted the platform of Dexter and instead used her voice as “The Truth” to spread her message. In truth, she sees the core issue with the mega-cities is in the lack of accountability among both the politicians and the executives of the big companies. She knows that those who are critical in their words against either of the two don’t last as long as she would like, and has thus adopted the policy of keep quiet, never leave her thoughts in print, and keep saying the things that Dexter would say. She is very much against the status quo and would be very much in favor of blowing the whole system up and replace it with one that better serves the interests of the people, and not the corporations. To get to that end will require a lot of time and a lot of patience. When it comes to Campbell, S'venia wants to help shape his vision and bring him into The Pirate Party.

S'venia herself is not a registered member but is very much in favor of the Pirate Party. As "The Truth", she frequently calls for more people to vote Pirate in upcoming elections to hopefully get some more steam behind the group. She is still wary of throwing her full weight behind the party, as once in power things tend to stay the same; complacency at the top happens when they reach the corruption, after all. S'venia plans to wait and see how they handle power if and when they get it.

SECRETS: (What are you hiding? What would it cost you if someone found out what’s behind the veil?)

For starters, her contacts. A lot of her contacts in the underbelly of society when she was a journalist are not the type of people that S’venia ever wishes to associate with. She knows many of the more unsavory types were murderers, rapists, and drug pushers that have created the mess that she hopes Dexter can now clean.

Additionally, she fears that somehow the corporations or politicians identify her as The Truth. She has read of all the suicides with a single gunshot to the back of the head from those who get too vocal too fast, and The Truth has been very vocal.

While she talks about fighting alongside the poor, her family lived more or less a life of comfort. While she had sleep for dinner a few nights growing up, she never had to face the situations even the "middle-class" residents of this district have had to.

FEARS: (What keeps you up at night? What makes you freeze up in the moment? What do you avoid at all costs?)

S’venia toes the line between confidence and arrogance, and she worries that one day she will cross it at the wrong time. She worries that some of her words will be taken the wrong way by the people in positions of power and that they see it fit to come after her both physically and financially.

She is also afraid of being discovered as “The Truth”. Hard knocks on the door of her apartment always warrant a pistol in hand approach, hooded figures on the street are always suspected, and any and all calls from unknown numbers force her to take a deep breath, close her eyes, and answer. While there are many protections in place from South City Blues, make enough noise and they will find you all the same.

She is also afraid of the enforcers and their methods, more so than most. Growing up in a more approachable district meant that the enforcers were generally better liked; even though they were feared still. Here, they seem to have murderous intent in every action they take.

The Nekrolytes are a constant, but rational fear that inhabits the mind of S’venia. When she was a kid, she accidentally opened a video on the web that showed the creatures in a full-on rage. While it only scarred the mind slightly, S’venia can’t help but tense up anytime their name is brought up; even in casual conversations.

S’venia is also keenly afraid of being consumed by the filth of The Reclaim district that she is trying to clean. When you back an animal into a cage, it tends to fight back. As such, S’venia has recently been looking over her shoulders, spending more time at the firing range, and carrying her pistol on her where ever she can.

S'venia also fears that she will climb the Brokers ladder too fast, and is worried about what her life will be like once she enters the Broker's circle.

Above all else, S’venia is afraid she will succumb to the darkness that inhabits this place and become at home in the filth.

REPUTATION: (How does the world view you? What are you known for? How do your people act around you?)

S’venia is a well-regarded journalist for her age and is seen that she is making a logical move into the political theater. As a journalist, many had come to like the hard-hitting articles that covered a variety of topics that S’venia had brought to the area. While she may have had a blunder or two over the initial few months on the campaign staff as she grew into the roles given to her, she has emerged as competent enough. That hasn’t changed the rhetoric coming from the opposing campaigns. As a communication director, she has ruffled some feathers in the way she schedules interviews.


LIKES: (Feel free to list a few.)

-Classic films- When she has the time, S’venia likes to watch the classic films from before the climate went to hell. Some of her favorite classic films include A Loud Pace, sequel to a close second favorite A Quiet Place, The Death of Mrs. Adler, and Blade Runner – 2055. While some chastise her preference of the older movies, she maintains they have a charm unmatched by the heavily edited movies of today.

-Nicknames- S'venia likes giving her friends nicknames and having nicknames given back. Usually, they are well-meaning yet sometimes they can be conceived as offensive and S’venia might not realize until after someone mentions it.

-Jackets- Out of all the fashion possibilities to develop an obsession over, S’venia had to go with one of the more expensive ones. She has a jacket for every occasion, from colorful vibrant ones when at the bar to simple, boring ones when she needs to be professional.

-Books- S'venia is as much an average reader as much as she is a writer. She, much like her choice in movies, prefers to have her hands on an old, physical copy if an all possible. Some books that she read, such as Manufacturing Consent and Seventeen Contradictions and the End of Capitalism, are not found on the internet and exist with a soft ban; with the physical copies being burned by corporation burn teams.

DISLIKES: (Same as above)

-Being late- S'venia is a woman who loves her schedule, and as such she dislikes it anytime either herself or someone else is late.

-Smokers- The smell of the various different drugs is nauseating to S’venia, and as such avoids it as much as possible.

-Complacency – Just because things have been the same way for years does not mean you should just accept it as fate. You should always fight to be the best version of yourself, even if it means fighting against the system.

-The system- With every fiber in her body, S’venia dislikes the system that keeps the poor down, the powerful strong, and is untouchable; for now.


QUIRKS: (What makes you unique for better or worse?)

Extremely conscious of posture. S’venia is constantly standing or sitting with perfect posture.

S’venia is constantly humming a tune, but not always the same one. It’s very soft and most of the time she doesn't realize she's doing it. If asked, she will say the tune is from a certain song, but anyone who looks up said song will know it’s not the tune at all.

Paces back and forth when deep in thought

Can’t stand even numbers, for some reason they are odd to her.

S’venia often times stumbles over the pronunciation of her name and has thus adopted Svei for informal uses.

Anytime someone asks if S’venia can do something, she will ask for the magic word “please”. If they lead with please, she assumes there might be an ulterior motive

Anytime someone asks for a favor, S’venia always asks what the favor is before accepting/declining

Over-exaggerates past stories of herself

Brand loyal on the surface. If it isn’t Engitech than she does not want it.

Background Information

”Liberty lives and dies at the hands of the commoner, remember that. While they are now starting to love you, never turn your back on them; not even for a second. I think you’ll learn rather quickly that they have a lot of rage built up, and they’re more than willing to share it.”

S’venia was born and raised in the Middle district; known for its middle-class families and middle-class style of life. She spent her time as a kid heavily involved in the real world as many of those her age began to delve into the madness that was virtual reality. From a young age, she saw the signs that highlighted the danger the virtual reality network had and thus steered clear from asking her parents for any and all augmentations that would allow her to access the network; much to her parent's delight and much to the abuse of her classmates. After graduating from the normal education course provided by the government, she sought higher education at the South City College with a focus on journalism. She witnessed a few examples of Enforcer brutality up until this point, yet she chalked it up to the way that life was lived. Stay on the straight and narrow, and never fear the blade that was the Enforcers decision. It was here she met a certain individual that would shape her future; Alexia Consuela. They both shared a class together early on and immediately hit it off as friends. Alexia was a very vocal critic of every institution that held power. She hated the corporations, the politicians, and she was not afraid to share her opinion on those matters. The duo was close, but not “best friends” as Alexia defined it, yet they and their group of friends eked out a sense of normalcy in a sea of dread and despair.

Alexia would later commit suicide by a single gunshot wound to the back of the head.

S’venia was overcome with both grief and fury; as were their mutual friends. And so, on a cold winters' eve, the group decided to take action in the memory of their lost friend and the South City Blues was founded on that very night. You had a hacker, a programmer, and a journalist when they started; but that would prove to be all that they needed. S’venia rose to the occasion and lent her heavily modified voice to the cause, initially speaking about the inability of Enforcers to adequately supervise the investigation in the death of their friend. The message quickly changed, however. The more she spoke, the more S’venia found cracks to push through in the current political landscape. Eventually, the group discovered they had a following and ever since then, The Truth has been a steady flow of Anti-corporation and anti-politician soundbites. Early on, the group was approached by an Agent of the Information Broker. While the rest of the group was weary, S'venia signed herself up for the protection and services offered by the Broker. Ever since then, she has had an Agent near the studio ready to pick up the next message from The Truth.

After graduating, S’venia found work in the Reclaim District as a beat journalist; much to her family's dismay. It was here where S’venia forged a career that focused heavily on a fact-driven approach that spared no details. At first, the editors hated the message that S’venia tried to deliver. Yet the populace always loved a good hit piece, and her editors were forced to allowed to let S’venia to write freely about the issues that plagued the South City and more importantly, the Reclaim district. S’venia was forged from the fire that was Alexia’s passion to become “The Truth” here; as the grime of corruption oozed out of every orifice of the Reclaim district. A fire was snuffed, yet it emerged re-imagined and ever stronger. Every article, every interview, and every media bit she could control S’venia has dedicated her life to bringing the fight to those that fight from the shadows; though she still prefers the covert method. She hungers for the day when the politicians and corporations answer to the people.

She awaits that thought as she works alongside Dexter Campbell. The last eight months have been a roller-coaster of work for the campaign, and she is happy that their car is finally pulling into the station today.

Operative Information

AUGMENTATIONS: (What sort of Cyberware are you equipped with?)

Engitech Eye-Spy Camera and video recording contact.

One of the few pieces of tech she has, the Eye-Spy is a clear contact lens that allows for high-quality photo and videos to be taken right from her perspective. The camera itself is very powerful and surprisingly cheap (with everyone rushing to get the newest implant, older style electronics have dropped in price), with the ability to shoot video at a 16k resolution and take photos at fifty mega-pixels for ultra-clear and easily edited photos. The camera is controlled by a few different methods. The first is a small physical shutter control device that she can covertly click when doing more covert research. The second is the control panel tattooed on the side of her head (a requirement by the government). She can simply press the bottom panel for a photo, the middle right panel for video, and top left for a live stream. The third is for voice control. S’venia can simply say, when she has it programmed for this function, “take a picture”, or “start recording” or something along those lines and have the camera get to work.

EQUIPMENT: (What are you carrying on the job?)

equipment

-Engitech All-in-one computer

The Engintech All-in-one model that S’venia uses is a few years old, yet she can't find it in her heart to replace it yet. With a screen size of 9.7” and a depth of only .25”, the All-in-one is still very portable and very convenient. When not in use, the screen itself appears to be nothing more than a clear glass rectangle. When powered on, the edge to edge screen fills in the void and S’venia is able to select whatever program she wants. She mainly uses the device for photo editing on the go, or to schedule and keeps track of events as it pertains to the campaign. Memory is starting to be an issue with this device, however, with just 2 terabytes remaining of the original 10. She carries this in a briefcase style sleeve that wraps around her shoulder.

Engitech ESCP-101 "Carrier of Justice" - The SCP-101 is a simple, 9mm pistol that is both compact and lightweight in designs. ESCP-101 is billed as the “everyday” type of weapon, meant to go with you and be hidden unless drawn. It has a brown handle and metal finish. It is not the low-end pistol offered by Engitech, nor is it the highest end. Her family purchased it for her when she accepted the job with News Station 117 as they were worried about the worse neighborhood. S’venia goes to the range at least once a week to keep sharp. Her jackets have an “Ever-Secure holster” added on the front left side of her jackets. The holster bonds with the material of the jacket, and the company bills the holster as a “fast, secure, and hidden” way of holstering your weapon. S'venia has it holstered in a way that she can toggle safety and fire from the pocket of her jacket.

Engitech Eye in the Sky drone – A small, round, dimple laden drone that offers a wide-angle lens on its camera that delivers crisp and clear video and still shots. S’venia managed to snag this beast off the “secondary market” for well below its retail value about a year ago and it has become a staple of her interviews, as well as her normal life. Boasting a flight time of four hours, one hour if you take videos, the Eye in the Sky is always on the deck for S’venia when she needs it. The Eye in the Sky also features a current generation repulsorlift technology that is both silent and efficient. S’venia often uses it on her walks to and from her apartment to be the eyes in the back of her head. The done comes programmed with a track and follow mode, live streaming the feed to the special glasses that were included in the purchase. Furthermore, the camera and drone controls can be used through the Engitech Eye-Spy camera lens that she wears already. Directional control is either achieved through voice commands, or with the special glove that was, again, included with purchase.
The Drone itself weighs in at around twenty-five pounds and has a metallic finish.

SKILLS: (Feel free to list a few and elaborate a bit.)

Writing – S'venia being the former journalist that she finds that writing comes naturally to her; as it had for most of her life. Her focus is still on articles, though she refrains from publishing any op-ed's while on the campaign lest they are used against Dexter.

Personable – Thanks to her upbringing and her moral code, S’venia finds it easy to make friends with most people. She is a willing listener to their problems and always will try and answer any questions they ask with an honest, and thought out response.

Photography – S'venia is a fantastic photographer, and would have made it a career if there was one in it; everyone has a camera that can take the pictures it seems. Furthermore, she is versed in photo editing which allows her to make sure every picture she submits anywhere looks like it was done by a professional.

FLAWS: (Aim for three or so. Equal or greater to your number of skills.)

Blunt – While honesty is a virtue along the way to having great character, sometimes it can come off on the wrong tone. S’venia is especially vulnerable to this if she is placed in a situation where she has to speak quickly, and not allowed time to formulate an answer.

Impious – S'venia has seen the darkness that lurks in the hearts of mankind. S’venia has eyes that have seen the scorched earth and desolate surroundings of her city. S’venia has ears that have heard stories of monstrous creatures outside the wall. If there was a god, then it’s not a god S’venia wants to meet.

Naïve - While she is a smart woman, she is often very naïve when it comes to certain challenges she has never encountered. She often thinks with the right attitude, and hard work, one can accomplish anything they set out to. S'venia knows that it is foolish to even suspect that to be a possibility, especially in South City, yet it is as much ingrained in her mind as the corruption that besets the city.

NOTES:
-Has three tattoo's
-Keeps up with technology when possible. Her apartment is very much filled to the brim with the latest tech, including an eight-dimensional audio system for music listening.
-

The Information Broker

The Information Broker is a freedom fighter based somewhere in or underneath South City who wages a war on the corporations by helping others broadcast their message in a safe and secure way with help from fellow freedom-fights who call themselves Agents. The Agents are the foot-presence of the Broker, and they are actively seeking out those who rage against the corporations and politicians, offering them a safe platform for their message. On the Labyrinth, another sect of Agents is responsible for the presentation and streaming of the content; placing it in strategic location for maximum viewership. There exist three tiers of use for those who stream through the Broker. The first is a very basic service where their focus is just protecting the user and not much in terms of presentation. This is the most common of services and involves very little input from the Broker. As they get more followers, however, they are bumped up into the Equidis service, which involves more presentation and placement by the Agents. It also correlates with a change of expectations from the Broker.

Their agents will now seek out and make meetings with their clientele and give them tasks. A speaker will be told what to talk about, an artist will be told who to depict, and the singer will be given the lyrics for their music. This isn’t always the case, however, and those in this class of service can still present what they want when they want. They are expected to comply with the demands from the Broker in a timely fashion, and repeated visits from Agents are warranted if no progress is made. The third, and final known tier is the Broker’s Circle. This level of service involves constant direction from the Agents and often results in a near total loss of personal freedom. Often times, those that get bumped up into this level of service are whisked away never to be seen again. The Agents are taught to view those in this class as assets to the Broker and to protect them at all costs. It’s hard to say no when the Broker knows your darkest secrets. It is rumored that the Information Broker and their Agents are a small portion of a much larger entity that has homes in all the mega-cities.

Relationship Table

[S’venia “The Truth” Skor]	Relationship
[Cass Cantosr]	[[S'venia knows very little about Cass, as it seems like she is only at the headquarters for minutes at the time. From her limited exposure, S'venia believes Cass to be a wolf hiding in sheep's clothes. She seems very much to always want to be in control yet never makes a sound when the group is together; that's suspicious. S'venia makes sure to keep their work professional, as she knows their personalities most likely will not mesh together very well.]
[Mackwell Fordwell Sloane]	[[Gear-head is as much fun on the road as he is off for S'venia. Bubbling personality, high-octane petal to the metal driving, and as much empathy as you could find from an adrenaline junkie, S'venia thoroughly enjoys most of her time whenever Dexter takes her along for a ride. ]
[Emma Chen]	[[Budapest? S'venia is often annoyed by the zen-like nature of this woman. That, combined with her many attempts to enlighten Dexter on the promise offered by the Hyperhuman party has left Emma with the nickname Budapest. Inspiration struck early on for the nickname, with S'venia saying "this Buddha-like-pest" while drinking at The Land of the Dead with friends, and she simplified it from there. Though they have their differences, S'venia will bury the hatchet and work alongside Emma in her full capacity. Despite the fact that she finds the robot annoying, S'venia has a healthy respect for Emma. She sticks to her beliefs, much alike S'venia, and the protection she offers is second to none. Plus, who knew someone could be so graceful while they're hammered? Sign S'venia up.]
[Alton Harris]	[[Dr.Acula has the right outlook on life. He helps those who need his help the most, and he has a good taste in food as well. He will forever be in S'venia graces after the countless times he has brought takoyaki to the group since he joined the campaign. His nickname has no meaning, and is never said aloud and only through messages, S'venia just found it funny.]
[Richter Gamble]	[[Richter Gamble, or as she likes to call him Methuselah, is netiher on her good side nor her bad one. He makes the campaign money, though S'venia can only hope they were through legitimate ways, and has thus far been a bankable asset to the campaign. S'venia has noticed he can finesse his way away from blame all by the use of words and words alone; impressive. S'venia wishes she had that ability. When in a casual situation, S'venia will respond if he ever talks with her. For an old man, S'venia often chuckles that he has any interest working for a more progressive candidate like Dexter.]
[Taryn Weaver]	[[Tinker-bell is an oddball for S'venia. While on one hand her ability to take something and to not only fix it but make it better is something that she admires. S'venia's attempts at in-home repairs has cost her greatly over the years and to see someone so effortlessly do the work that Taryn does is impressive. That being said, S'venia always has had a strange feeling of distrust about her and the way she carriers herself. If S'venia's equipment ever breaks down she knows which shop to choose.]

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

@OppositionJ

H Y P E

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

@The Bork Lazer

I learn something new every time I read that lore page, and if someone does make a Dredd like character I will love them for it. One-liners for days man.

Illusion Illusion, trapped in our confusion...

Welcome and enjoy the ride, it does get a little crazy round 'ere every now and again ;)

Thank you for having me!

Welcome aboard Adonis! I hope to see you in an RP soon enough!

Some Whale's Ocean Treasures

Old fav's

Character sheet
Name: Anora Divinio
Age:22
Gender: F
Race: Teryn
Appearance: Anora stands at a height just shy of five foot six inches tall from foot to the top of her head. Her head is crowned by a short-kept, brown hairstyle. She keeps it short not out of respect nor custom, but because she would rather not keep the long hair of a lady. Her eyes shine a dark brown color, which show signs of hatred and guilt in almost equal measure, often forcing away potential conversations before they even start. Moving down from her eyes, you find a scar running diagonally from her middle left cheek up across her nose and resting just below her right eye. This came not from sword nor bow, but from the claw of her welcoming party in the Elven woods. But besides the scar her face is more or less clear, save for when she takes a mission she wears some face paint that she wears for a numerous reasons. The first is to prevent recognition from those who knew her family and secondly to intimidate those would want to attack those she guards.

Her height of five foot six is combined with a build that has been strengthened not only by her time training in the woods but also by her constant traveling with caravans as well as personal quests. Starting with her legs, if one were to see them without her simple brown pants and dark grey armor over top, one would notice just how strong they are for a woman of her age and birth. While they posses no power for kicks or great leaps they posses a high stamina, able to to keep moving when many other guards would be sitting on a cart complaining that their shins hurt. This is further reinforced when one looks to the rest of her body. Here mid section, while slightly curvy, is one that suggests she has worked hard or walked long to keep herself in shape as the lean muscular frame packs itself in. Over top one might often find the same, red colored button up shirt underneath the same colored dark grey armor. The armor itself is not very durable, an arrow would pierce it without trouble, but the color combined with the spiked gauntlets provide an intimidating look to this young ranger turned caravan guard.

--

Personality: Her history, as well as her experience with fate, has been a relatively short yet cruel experience. Anora. If one were to describe her mind in three words or less it would be an easy task for most. The first word would be guilty, for it is the one she keeps closest to the surface. She feels guilty at those who were lost when she was a child, for the one who gave her life trying to get her out of the city and for not being by her adoptive fathers side when he died. Even though she carries this close to the surface, she keeps it even deeper within her heart. Every time a member of a unit she's guarding dies from an outside force she places the blame on herself, arguing that after so much bad has already happened she should be doing everything possible to get it right every-time. Yet the second trait would be a harder guess, yet many know her full well by it. Vengeful is the word many would use, something she would like to keep buried deep within yet it always has a way of lashing out. Even to this day she wishes nothing more than to track down the man who destroyed her town and make him pay for what he did. And when someone dies when she is on guard she is often found tracking down the party guilty of the crime and enacting her vengeance. She likes to keep this side buried because of what her guardian had told her when she lived in the forest. Yet the third is a hard one for people to guess, but those that come to know her understand this one all two well.

She is a very hopeful person, but not hoping for a better day nor for better pay. She accepts the hard reality of life as is and carries those burdens on her shoulder. No, she hopes for a day for when she will finally find herself at peace with not only her past but her uncertain future. Now one would wonder why she would keep this the most hidden part of her personality. Yet this is something she herself is not fully aware of, and likely will never accept this even if she were. But besides these three traits which people consider core traits, she has a very complex personality. Because of her history she has a hard time trusting those around her, but once they gain her trust she will open up, at least a little, to them. But if they cross her once, or give her any reason to feel they might cross her that trust is removed instantly and she will be even harder to gain the trust. She also finds she has a particular disdain for those who are nobles and or in a position of power, regardless of their intentions. She will often never fully trust those even if they prove time and time again that they deserve it. But on the flip side, Anora will place those who find themselves in servitude in higher regard than most. Often showing compassion and otherwise uncanny friendliness towards those.

If you show her respect, she will show it in return yet if you disrespect her she will follow suit. This is a result of her exposure to the merchant world, where she has developed a habit of looking for the more respectable and skinny of merchants. This is not because she fancies them but because those who have a sizable gut are known among the caravans to cheat people with prices, thus able to afford the food needed to support the weight.

Overall, even though she can best be described by those 3 traits of guilt, vengeance, and hope; it is not the only things that drive her.

--

History: Anora's life started as many would suspect of those born of noble birth, inside the comfort of a warm manor belonging to a wealthy and influential family. The early years of her life are as much a blur to her as they are to everyone, but some images present themselves from the darkness are clear. She remembers playing with other small children one day and weeping in her mothers arm the next but never remembering what was going on or why her emotions were as they were. But if there is any shinning light in this darkness, it was the thought that she had an easy, carefree life. As time progress to a time where her memories are more concrete, she remembers learning all the skills of the trade that went along with being a noblewoman. How to keep herself looking beautiful in front of the noblemen, to walk with grace where ever she went and how to do more meaningless tasks of the sort. She remembers she was just six or so when she attended her first festival, the sites and sounds found within whatever grand hall they were intoxicated the little girl. She felt alive in this setting, feeling as if the musicians were playing an ode to her and her alone. And if history would have turned out any differently, she would have made a fine noblewoman wife to some fine nobleman husband and be having these kinds of experiences on a regular basis.

But the strings of fate pulled her down a more cruel, and dark road.

It was only a week after this ball when the reaper made his visit to her family's estate, though he chose a clever form. Contrary to how death stalked that area, he did not come in the form of a terrible disease nor a nasty cold snap in winter. Rather he came into town as a friend of her father, almost family. Named Floki Caratun this man was, he was a childhood friend of her family and he and his men came to town saying they needed rest on their march back from a battle against a bandit lord. Her father accepted his friend with open arms, while the reaper accepted her father with a blade through the heart. Few memories of what happen next survive with her to this time, either blocked because they were painful or not noticed because she did not understand what was happening at the time. She remembers fire in the town spreading like wildfire from house to house with the screams of those being cut down in the streets are always the first thing which flood her memory. This is always followed by an overwhelming feeling of fear, dread and yet strange reassurance that everything would be alright. Attributing that to her mother, standing right beside, ushering the two to quickly make it to the forest. But her mother never made it more than halfway to the exit when a small band of the enemy troops spotted them. The mother told one of the servant girls to take her to the forest no matter the cost while she led the troops in another direction. This was the last sight of her mother, running back up the hill towards the manor through tear ridden eyes. Though her memory of the servant woman is much more clear, for even as a young girl Anora knew that what she was doing sealed her fate. This young woman, not more than seventeen herself, was risking her life to save someone who's family treated her less than a person. She could have left her there, she could have given up trying to pull this resistant little girl but she did not. This servant girl managed to get her to the forest and a fair way in at that.

And as fate pulled on yet another string, so did a shadow in the darkness draw his bow and fire a shot.

One soldier had caught up with them, weather he thought the servant girl and Anora to be a soldier and his child or what, Anora will never know why she was shot. And as she lay there dying, a single word formed on her lips. “Run” which Anora tried. Anora was a small girl of around six, who has until now lived a pampered life, Anora was quickly caught by the soldier and was being dragged by the back of her dress to the town when another *twang from a bow rang out in the darkness. Anora fell from the soldiers arm as he reached for his throat, muffling the gargled sounds of his futile attempt to prolong his fleeting life, from a arrow wound which poked out the front. Screaming at the sight before her, she almost fainted when a pair of powerful hands clasped themselves. Kicking and screaming as he pulled her for many minutes until eventually she found herself on the floor of a dark house in a strange part of the woods. The man took only a few seconds to explain who he was and why she could trust him. Anorn was still caught up in the moment, and it took a full three months before she felt comfortable with the situation as it was. Though she still did weep for her family as well as the scars of that night still fresh in her mind, she began the process of moving on.

The next ten years passed by without much hassle yet plenty of work and training were to be had. Either it be how to properly hold a bow, build the strength required to draw the string or how to track a deer was some of the early stuff she was taught. This was combined with Anora always asking information about who this guardian was. She learned he was a former ranger for her father, spending the best years of his life scouting and engaging targets that presented a threat to her father and his troops. And he retired to this forest in order to do the same to the creatures which reside within from those who wished them all for themselves. And as time went on she learned yo accept it just at that, it is obvious now he had his demons but to share them was something he never would. But what he did share was his trove of knowledge of the woods, how to use nature to aid you in your en-devour, whatever it may be, and how to defend oneself from those who would wish to bring harm. Indeed, Anorn considers theses years to be the best of her life, so much so she began to refer to this ranger as her father more so than a mentor and guardian.

And on one fateful winter day, when she was in a nearby town selling some things which the forest offered, her Gordian found his end when he was tracking a deer. A trap ,set not by them, snagged his leg and claimed his life. When Anora found him a day later, half way back from the trap and dead. A sense of guilt, one which had lingered from her childhood, crept over her. Everyone who had ever cared for her, her family, the servant girl and now the ranger had all died around her and now she was alone. No family, no one she could call a friend and no idea on what to do next. It took her a couple days to decide this land was not one for her to decide to leave the area in search of a land far more kind than this. First she tried Eridis, following alongside a caravan for the first time ever as an escort archer, where she found the locals to be creatures to be of pure spite, at least to her. She found herself at home in their forest but they did not find it likely that this forest would be her home. From here she traveled back along the road and the rest as they say is history.

She kept traveling, witnessing the many vices of life she had never seen in her forest, while always keeping an ear and a eye for a place where she could finally be at peace with her past. But people are talking, stories are being told about people being killed. Random people showing up dead with a strange amulet on their possession. Everyone knows what this suggests, what ever bad there is in the world pales in comparison by the evil that could be coming. So with a heavy heart and a reluctant attitude, she turns her attention towards this potential threat.

--

Equipment: High quality Dvergar guard bow – Found after the slaying of a small bandit party which had attacked the caracan she worked for. Logic pointed towards this bandit party being involved on a raid she had heard about against the dwarves. Though she and a couple members of the caravan brought the entire stock with them and sold at the market, Anora kept this bow as it was better than her current one. The bow itself is remarkable, plated metal cover a small section of the front and provide a sort of small shield agianst meele attacks. The wood used in construction of the bow was that from the Red Bodi tree, a very durable tree found all over. But this durability comes with a draw back. While it's durability and stopping power are higher than most, its rate of fire is signifigantly lower as she is still not fully strong enough to take advantage of these strong bow.

The quiver for this bow rests off her right hip, her dominat hand is right so she places the arrows in reach of it. The quiver contains two types of arrows but not in equal measure. When she is on guard she carries in her quiver ten Broadhead tipped arrows and seven Bodkin points for armor penetration when needed. Where as when she is hunting she carries only seven broadhead and ten Judo tipped arrows. The Broadhead is used for larger game while the Judo for small rabbits and other game of the sort. In her bag she carries pre-fashioned shafts without the heads attached. These are carried in another part of her travel kit.

Lower quality Iron and leather armor combo – Though she has some gold and could afford with some ease some higher quality armor she sees no reason to. This has served her fine thus far, ever since she was given it as a reward for a completed contract, and she prides herself on keeping herself far enough away from sword strikes. The chest armor is a simple hard leather cuirass dyed to a dark grey color. A few notches from sword slashes can be seen but those were not from her time as wearer. On her arms she wears some more protective armor. Dark grey, spiked gauntlets, reached from the tips of her fingers up until her elbow both giver her moderate protection from sword strikes but also provide to the intimidation factor. If the situation calls for it, she can use this as a make shift weapon if anyone every gets close enough and she loses her sword. Her legs also contain the same style of iron

Medium quality Iron shortsword – Another reward that went along with the armor, this blade is the typical length of a normal shortswrod and is very much a typical shortsword.

Survival pack – Carried over her shoulder when alone or on a cart when traveling with a group, this contains everything and everything she owns besides what she wears. Inside contains the essentials, a small stash of food and a large one of water. She has three flasks inside which take up half the space alone, though the limited food is because she trusts her own ability to track and forrage than waste money on someone elses work. She has a moderate stash of gold with her, not because she never spends but as a just in case situation.

Cloak Anora wears a simple green wool cloak over top everything. While this may have been her first purchase she made with her money, she has not treated it all that well. Holes are common place all over the cloak itself, ranging in size from small arrow size holes to large sections where there is no more fabric. The bottom is flayed and completely discolored due to the constant walking she has done combined with the exposure to the elements.

Other:
- Very good hunter, tracker and marksman.
-While not as quick on her feet as other rangers, she is able to hold her ground a little better than those.
While not the most intelligent of women, she is smart. She has her skills and knows how to work them to perfection.
-Knows little in the way of reading nor can she write.
-Can craft her own arrows, but proper arrowheads she can not forge.
-Because of her lack of knowledge, she can be gullible.
-Rarely gives eye to eye contact when she first meets a person, as her history suggests she has had limited experience socializing with others. While she can talk freely with merchants and drunkards, she feels unconformable when she lets someone look at her eyes if they are not a merchant, drunkard or someone inclined to be like them.
-Good friends with Ardur, has known him for around a year now. His history and his attitude has allowed Anora to place a lot of trust in him.

Character sheet

Name: Ardur Sage
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race: Teryn
Appearance: Ardur is a rather tall individual,sprouting in at a height of five foot eleven inches tall. Though you can't tell exactly what type of person he is when you talk to but you can tell one of the things he enjoys simply by the clothing and armor he wears, and that happens to be he enjoys looking as good as he can. He spends a lot of money on his clothing and armor, both in terms of functionality and practicality. The hood he hears to shield his face from the sun on his travels is a off beige color, and falls from the top of his right shoulder down to just below his left nipple and raps around his back and does the same around the back. This lays over-top his scale-mail plate armor that has been freshly polished in the town a couple days prior to arriving here. He wears this both because it is lighter than full plate armor, and when combined with the almost complete chain-mail coat he wears underneath, provides almost equal protection. The scale-mail covers both his right shoulders and separate pair covers both upper thighs. On his legs he has chain mail down to the knee and his right arm covers down to his elbow. Though his left arm is devoid of almost all chain mail save for the very top. His fire magic never burns his skin, but that same is not applied to metal nor cloth that he finds placed over-top.

His face is kept mostly clean shaven except for a thin of stubble that dots his chin line, and is the same color as his short, yet wild black hair. His eyes are a deep sapphire color, but turn the color of his fire when he uses that magic.

Personality: Ardur is a man who takes to enjoying the finer things in life. Fine food, fine wine,fine clothes, fine weapons and armor but most importantly, fine women. As long as he has the money to do so, he will be out every chance he gets to enjoy the fruit of his labor working as a sell-sword. Though many people would be surprised to hear someone describe Ardur as the type of guy who would relish an opportunity to take part in the crazy debacles he often finds himself apart of. To them, when they meet him during the day, he is a well-mannered and down to earth man. One who is contempt with a proper lifestyle and the status quo. Yet these same people have never seen what happens when he enters a tavern. Once the atmosphere hits him, the smell of the food, the sounds of music and the merry groups of people inside he becomes a different man completely. This is in turn caused by the duality of his life, one which has trod the line between good and criminal one too many times for him to tell which side he truly stands on. He was exposed to the bad, tavern lifestyle as a kid before he was exposed to the proper lifestyle of the wealthy and affluent as a servant. Adding on the celebrations that went on after a major battle and win combined with the dedication and strict code of life inside the barracks and this duality is exposed even further.

These two in turn created the split people see, and he knows this. He knows very well how to adapt to most types of crowds, and the reasons for him doing this are few yet known by even less. Only those he truly trusts will find out.

History: Ardur began his life like many others, he was born and raised in one of the many small town which dot the landscape, a town called Aetrim. He was born to a blacksmith father as well as a innkeeper mother. Though they were not of noble lineage nor were they in the most crowded city, life was easy and his family survived thanks to their villages unique location. This village was located between two major trading cities on the common caravan route, and it was a often used by them as a sort of middle ground rest stop while on their week long trips between the cities. Here they would use his fathers skills to fix any sort of metal that broke in between their trips as well as some would partake in the tavern. Some would simply rent a room, some would indulge in the local food while others liked to partake in less legal activities. To say his parents were crooks would be giving the average crook a bad name. His father was born into the world of being a blacksmith as was his father before and his father before. Yet another trait was always passed down from father to son, the skill of cheating an honest person out of their money. Ardur would often watch him at work, as he often explained how the material he used for his work was far superior to anything in the cities. The customers usually bought it and an extra sum of money was paid for the service. His mother was a whole different kind of crook, a master at slight of hand and distraction, she could steal a coin purse and an expensive hat from a wealthy merchant while he was simply observing one of the few “girls” his mother had in line.

It was in this constant exposure to the rouge element that Ardur began his first ten or eleven years of life, his parents lost track after year two. He observed their motions, watched their speech patterns and even became a small time pawn in their games. He was learning the skills and gaining the experience needed for him to take over this place after his parents had moved on, and he liked it. He liked the party. It wasn't until an angry merchant from one of the major came back, with the Guard Captain and twenty odd soldiers in tow, did things start to change in his life. He remembers being carried out after his parents by an armed guard, he resisted until he saw his parents in chains being loaded into a cart. It was the first time he truly felt what fear was and Ardur remembers this feeling all too well. The guard captain asked what the fate of young Ardur to be and the decision was made between the Capitain and the wealthy merchant that, while he was of no fault here, he still needed to be punished. His sentence was he was to become the servant of the wealthy merchant till he came of age, where he would then join the local lords army. Five years he was a servant, constantly in fear any wrong move by him would be a prison sentence, before his true talent was finally discovered.

On his fifteen or sixteenth birthday, he was sent away to the small training camp outside the city of Trikall. Here he, and every other boy his age, or a year older, would be put through the basics of fighting in the lords army, things such as sword play and fighting in a unit were a daily routine for Ardur. Those with “special gifts”, or able to shoot a bow with precision or who proved to be exceptional sword fighters were pulled from the normal routine. Ardur proved from day one that he had a lot of talent with a sword compared to the others in his age group, often winning every single sparring duel set up to challenge and even finding equal grounds with those older than he was. The trainers all agreed his skills were rough, but held the most potential out of anyone within his class. It was with this in mind that Ardur, and the others who were deemed worthy, were taught the ways of the Ulfheonar, or as called by others, the wall breakers. It was here that each candidate received more focused training in his, or her, weapon of choice. For Ardur, it was training in dual wielding swords while a fellow son-of-convicts preferred a heavy two handed axe. For many months their skills were honed through constant practice and sparring matches, to the point that each and every member of this small unit-in-training was a proper warrior is their own right.

But when he was either seventeen or eighteen, he learned the true meaning behind their wall breakers name. He had long thought this was literal, or to be the one that breaks the defenses on the wall allowing others to flood through the gap. But in truth it was much simpler yet intensely more dangerous than that. As their commander explained their lord cared not for other cities, but small clashes on the field where the shield wall reigned supreme. The job of the Ulfheonar were to, simply put, jump over the enemy's shield wall and wreck havoc from behind. To this his commander said, “Many of you will not jump enough, and fall belly first into a spear. Many will jump enough but get hit with an arrow or a throwing spear mid flight before falling back first into spears. And those who survive all of this, and manage to put your skills to use behind their lines will be paid by our lord a most hansom sum of coin.” And it was with these thoughts that the next year of training began, learning how to coordinate with those who were too slow to fight, but strong enough to aply a boost on your jump, on getting everything perfect.

After this year was up, and all their training finished, the group were added into the small army as professional soldiers, and it was not long after that did Ardur taste battle for the first time. He forgets now what started the conflict between his lord and the lord of a smaller town. All Ardur knows is one morning they were ushered from the barracks, sent on a quick march to a nearby field and set into formations. It took only a few hours for the other lord and his forces to arrive. There was some tense dialogue between the lords before they retreated to their own forces and the calls for the walls to be formed. Arrows and spears rained in for a second before two separate calls, one from both lords, for their forces to charge, to which the soldiers all responded with a loud war cry before the sounds of shields and cry's filled the air. A few moments later the commander of the wall breakers instructed everyone to their positions, the breakers themselves many paces behind the wall and the pair of strong men who would boost them over the wall just a pace behind. Then the call for the jump and Ardur, and the rest of this group took off in a dead sprint. Timing was everything for these jumps, if you did not plant your feet in the waiting hands of the supports then you would run into the back of a wall and bloody your nose, as well if you did not run fast enough you would die. But these thoughts were fleeting as his plant foot found its place right in the waiting hands of the two supports and soon he was “flying high” above the wall heading straight behind the enemy's line. Arrows and spears littered the air around them,some finding home, some cutting it close like an arrow did to his right cheek, while the vast majority missed. Ardur landed hard on the ground behind the enemy line, rolling to avoid hurting his body before he found himself right side up and with swords drawn.

The battle was chaos, attack an archer here before spinning and slashing the back of someone on the rear of their shield wall before engaging another person who broke off to try and kill him. It was not long before he found himself surrounded by three enemy soldiers. Ardur felt a rage grow inside him, a fire that was fueling him on. He did not know what caused this fire, nor why it drove him into a rage but all he knows is it unlocked his latent magical gifts. When he was charged by one of the men, he lost his left hands sword. Blocking another strike with his other sword, he grabbed the first man who charged him by the throat and was prepared to squeeze the life out of him when the rage inside of him came to a boiling point. Out of nowhere, his left hand erupted into flames and with it the mans neck did as well. The fur he was wearing caught fire immediately and the screams of pain filled the air just as fast. Ardur quickly released his grip and backed away from the two others. The man, now engulfed in flames, succumbed to the fires and soon passed. Yet the fire on his left hand did not, nor did it burn his skin. The two other enemys, both with a wild look of fear in their eyes charged in and both fell to fire and steel. The battle was soon over, and his commander upon hearing the stories was delighted to hear that one of his wall breakers was a battle mage.

Ardur served for another four years in this army before striking it out on his own as a sell sword, jumping from caravan guard jobs to bands of mercenaries doing various tasks, some which linger in his mind more than others. It was here he met his friend Anora, whom he had worked with on three caravans now as well they had just finished a job together and now he is waiting for more work to come available as he waits in a tavern, enjoying the finer aspects of life.

Equipment:
-Two standard Steel Short swords.
-Mail-plate and Chain Mail
-Small stash of gold, not enough to last more than a pair of days.
-Pack with food, water and his stash of gold.
-Knicknacks, small trinkets given by his old wall-breakers.
-Very good friends with Anora, given her distaste of those who abuse servants and his time as a servant made them friends quick about a year ago.

Other:
-Friends with Anora
-Good liar
-Still a decent pickpocket
-Can sing very well.
-Life of the party

even older

Name: Mon Skor

Age: 21

Race: Human

Role: Healer, blood mage

Physical Description: Mon Skor, although he is a man with a bounty with a bounty for his head, carries himself like any former healer of the temple of life would. His lean 5 foot 6 inch frame stands tall out of pride , his once pale white skin color has recently tanned to a light brown hue, because of his recent series of events, long had he been kept indoors for study so he had rarely ventured out into the day while he was at the temple. His hair, once the pride of his appearance, has since fallen into a tangled, dirty mess since he has been on the run. His young face shows signs of his current plight, the bags that rest under his eyes hang low suggesting he rarely sleeps enough, his face is starting to show a thick shadow in the form of his beard and the various small cuts and bruises give sign that he has been on the run for quite some time now. The once bright blue eyes have grown dull and closer to Grey-blue color.

His clothes fare no better shape than his face, his long black hooded cape has various cuts throughout with the bottom part torn to shreds from his constant running through the woods. His black shirt has various cuts ranging in all sizes from clashes from the men who are chasing him, neatly fitting over the scars created by the ones that managed to strike. The bottom of his once black trousers now stained to more of a dull brown color from dirt and mud, suggesting that neither he nor his clothes have seen a proper wash in many months. Sporting only light leather armor on his legs and arms, which also has various slashes across, he prefers to travel light and this includes his small brown bag he carries on his back, carrying only a couple days worth of food and water at a time, a kit of medical supplies and what few gold he has at the time. On his waist is perhaps the most intact and clean peace of clothing he has, his belt, seeing as it is also his newest one. It's nothing more than a simple brown belt, weighed down on the left side by his trusty knife. Wrapped around his right hand is a dirtied bandage covering the spot where he draws the blood for use in his blood magic, one that is often kept under a brown glove. The only exception to his light policy is his long, heavy metal staff he always carries with him. It runs almost the full length of his body with the bottom part containing a small steel bulge,which acts as a counter weight for the large gem on top.

Mental: Mon was once one of the youngest and most brightest minds the temple of life had to offer, always passionate about his studies towards healing and later ancient history with a natural curious nature, and ever faithful to the godess of life. He was never found too far from the library during the day and early hours of the night. It is a result of this life long obsession with studying he has become a very competent healer and a somewhat educated scholar even though he is just 21 years of age. When the situation is normal, he is a well mannered, calm and quick thinking man, curious by nature and dedicated once he has found a subject he likes. He has no major fancy for drinks nor drugs, but never passes up a good drink when one is offered to him. Like all people, he has his problems and some are just a minor annoyance, others have been the cause for major concern. His first, and very easily noticed, problem is his social skills. Where a normal 5 year old boy would be playing outside with friends or helping his father in the fields of their village, he threw himself in his studies, it's not that he doesn’t know how to interact with others or hold a conversation, quite the opposite. Get him talking about something he is interested and he is often forced to shut up. His problem with his social skills is because of the fact he has trouble fitting in and relating to people who were raised outside the temple.

The thing about him that has both crafted the way he is today and one that has caused the most trouble is his thirst for knowledge and his inability to completely fight off temptation. It is said in the temples, that “When a mage, who cannot fend off temptation by him or herself, will eventually succumb to the dark arts if it is ever exposed to them.” Once he discovered how to use blood magic as well as when the temple order excommunicated and chased him from their ranks, he became a shell of his former self. Paranoia has become a constant, and a unwelcoming companion for him on his recent travels, every twig snap in the forest is a call for alarm, every shout in a crowded market is a cause for concern and every armored knight is one to be feared. In the back of his mind, the presence of the powerful Demon whom he had called upon still lingers as if it never left, one whom he simply calls Temptation, who is hungering for admittance once more to our plane of existence. Mon was thrust out of the temple, where he had spent almost his entire life, and forced to flee from the order's knights into a life he had no idea how to live. It is a result of this that the temptation's dark call is resounding ever so sweet inside his head with every passing day and every close encounter with death he faces, his resolve to resist it is fading fast.

Even though he has been excommunicated from the order, he still feels the power and presence of the godess of life within him, which is the only thing that has kept him from falling off the cliff into the blackness that is pure dark magic.

History: Mon's life began in a place of no particular interest, to the east of the vast plains sat this small farming village where he was born. From what he was told, both his parent’s were poor farmers who could not take care of their only son, and this was the first reason the priests were to take him in, but once they felt the young boy, they realized he carried in his veins some innate magic ability. This roused the interest of the priests, magic was a rare quality in people from these parts, often they become very powerful healers if trained well, so the decision was made to bring young Mon, just age 3 at this time, to their temple and teach him from this young age. It was from this point on, the Mon we see of today began to take shape. At age 5, his first memories he can remember were of him inside the temple's library being taught the basic's of a simple healing spells, a simple fix for the everyday cut's and scrapes that one could suffer in a journey. It was a painful lesson, the magic felt like it was burning his skin as it closed the cuts he had sustained while running earlier that day. It was with this lesson, the priest teaching Mon told him a saying that would stick with him till now.

“The godess of life has granted you the gift of healing.” he paused “To use this gift on wounds not serious, becomes a waste of your gift.” This was a quote from the Book of healing.

Mon's next few years remained much the same, the temple monks would teach him only a couple of spells each year, each more difficult and required more of his energy to learn and use than the last. But his resolve to keep learning pushed the limits of his own energy, as well as pushing aside the expectations that the temple priests had of him. He, a young lad of 10 now, had learned over half the books of healing spells they had in their library and was using these spells on the sick and injured that visited the temple. The effects of this excessive use of magic from such a weak body were beginning to show , his limbs grew weaker and more tired with every passing week, simple tasks such as opening the books themselves became a chore to him. But this still did not stop him from pursuing this path, it was like a hunger like he had never faced before, one which no matter how much knowledge he fed the hunger it just never went away, he always wanted to know more. It was when he was near his own breaking point physically and mentally did the priests give him the only gift they gave, a healers staff.

It was a big piece of equipment for the young boy to handle, at the time he was only around 4 foot 4 inches tall whereas the staff easily was 5 foot 5. But after he learned how to activate the conduit gem on top, he never stopped carrying it with him. The gem, instead of the bodies energy, gathers and stores energy from the surrounding area and allows the user to use magic and cast spells without draining their energy first. It was with this gift, Mon was able to finish learning the books of healing spells by the time he had just reached the age of 14, with his body still intact. For the next 4 years he remained at the temple, a devoted healer for the priests and the people who came, and he lived these years relatively care free. It wasn't until he reached the age 20 did his mind's hunger for knowledge began to quake once more. So once more did he throw himself into the books and studies that the library had to offer. The subject that caught his interest the most was the tales of the elves, their lore, beliefs and traditions. Mon was fascinated by the old tales of the titan, just unstoppable force they could wield, it was a subject that when free time presented himself he would always venture back into the library to study the many books on this lore. It was only after he had finished the last book on titans and was in the process of putting it back on the top shelf did he find a journal named “The last of my kind – The journal of Derik Freedman, the last of the blood mages in this area.

Finding this in this particular library came as a complete shock to him. The temples of the land a long time ago had sought out and destroyed all books written about or for the use of blood magic, and he could not understand why this book still remained in the library. At first, he wanted to give the book to the priests to destroy, but his curious nature got the better of him once again, so when no one was around, he slipped the book into his bag and headed off to his room.

As soon as the door closed with a thud before him and he had laid down in his bed did the reading of the journal begin.

“I won't know who you are, and you will never meet me while I am alive. Even if this is so, I know we share some common traits. I, for one, know you are a healer as I was once upon a time at this temple. I also know the only reason you are reading this is because you cannot help yourself from doing so, temptation for knowledge is the gift and the curse we both are sharing and its with this temptation I started my study into the use of blood magic. Looking back on things, I can see that both blood magic and healing magic are nothing more than two brothers, one of which uses the essence of life, that of which is the blood our bodies all contain, to heal and the other uses it as a token to unlock great power tha..........”

The journal was not long, only a mere 30 pages in length so it was not long before Mon had reached the last couple of pages

“My secret is out, and I know they will come for me. I accept my fate. Escape is impossible, for I am the last of my kind. Instead I shall hide this journal in the place the priests shall never expect me to, in their own library in plain sight. It is my hope that you, whomever you may be, follow my map and instructions located on the next couple of pages and embark on the greatest journey of your life. Everything will make sense at the end”

Closing the journal shut, Mon's mind was faced at a crossroad, one road was the life he was living now and what the future would bring while the other was an unknown path leading to an uncertain future, and Mon did not know which way he wanted to go. His entire life had been focused on the school of healing and helping others, and he was content with the way things were. But on the other hand, the man was right. Knowledge is one of the few things that he seeks in life, he always thought that it is better to know now and regret later than to not know now and regret not knowing later. He decided, after a long hard thought night, that the next day he would follow the map and follow the instructions laid out to him.

He set out early the next morning, telling the priests that he had a desire to walk through the Forrest on this day, a habit unusual to him but it set off no obvious alarms, the priest thought it good that he not only exercise his mind but finally to exercise his body. Once he was out of the sight of the temple, he opened the journal and flipped to the map. A crudely drawn map it was, one he could tell was out of haste, but it was one he could read none the less. It took only a 2 hour walk through the forest till he came to the maps end, on the side of the mountain lay a doorway with an old wooden door, long since had it entered a state of disrepair hanging off its hinges in a crooked way. Pushing open the door in stride he entered the small, dimly lit cavern. It was here where he flipped to the last page of the book and began reading Deriks final instructions.

“Once you have entered the cave, locate the alter on the far side opposite the door. Once there you will see a small indent in said alter, you need to drain your blood into their and recite the follow phrases, do not pause while speaking.”

Mon quickly stumbled through the room over to the wall opposite where he entered and found the large alter at the edge. Reaching inside his bag, he quickly grabbed his knife and, after a moments pause cut his right hand and let the blood start pouring into the alter.

“As a token for your readmission to our plane of existence, I offer you my blood,” echoed across the walls of the cavern, doubt began to fill his voice “my essence of life so that you, Derik Freedman, may return once more.” As he finished the last word, a strange silence fell over the area. No longer were the birds chirping outside nor the sound of the wind rushing through the trees had seemed to stop. Turing around he could see the wind was indeed still blowing still, but harder than it was before. As he turned back around his sight was greeted by the form of a man standing closely in front of him, pale and clear stood the figure in front of him. As anyone would, this sudden appearance shocked and spooked Mon, and as anyone would also do, he stumbled back away from the form. The only thing he could seem to speak were the words “Derik?” His voice spoke quietly.
“Yes” Answered the form “My time here is short, so I must make this quick. I have but one gift to offer you for your token, and I must know do you wish to receive it?”

“Wha..what sort of gift? Questioned Mon

“Nothing more than the gift of the knowledge you seek, I only have a few moments more before I am forced back, now I need to know, do you wish to receive this knowledge”

Without thinking Mon replied “Yes, yes I do.” As his answer finished, the form quickly moved towards Mon. The forms hand rose to Mon's head, and began chanting a spell, speaking so fast that Mon could not tell if he was speaking the same language anymore. But, the effects of this spell were clear in a moment. Flooding into his head like a wall of water down a stream were the knowledge and experiences of Derik himself. No longer able to hear or see, all he could feel was pain. Pain he did not suffer but the feeling still stinging his mind as if he experienced himself. Words and spells, one's that feel like he learned and mastered himself, and the ability to use suddenly made perfect sense in his head. It was with one last thought did the flood stop. “Use my knowledge well” It was with this thought, he was able to see again as did his thoughts. The knowledge that was given made Mon feel a sort of power he has never been able to feel before. Still standing by the alter, Mon might have stayed in that exact same spot for many hours reflecting over the new knowledge and spells had it not been for a booming voice he heard from behind

“Mon Skor, you have been caught practicing and using the forbidden magic that is blood magic, you are henceforth excommunicated from the order and sentenced to an intimidate death.” Turning around once more Mon could see the form of one of the Holy knights that protect all the temples and root out any black magic user. “Do you have any final words?” He asked from behind his metal helmet.

“I got a few” Mon said, with his hand still dripping blood he stretched it out in front of him and spoke. “I offer my blood as a token, forsaken souls of the blood mages, for you to exact your revenge on he who has ended your life. I call on you to torment his mind and make him remember the pain that his order has brought upon you” He finished.

“Nothing can sav-” The knight started, but stopped suddenly. The knights eyes suddenly grew wide, fear could be easily read off his face and a scream bellowed from the knights lungs that echoed through the cave. The knight fell to the floor and rolled in a desperate attempt to make the torture stop. It was with this Mon made his escape. Looking back for a brief moment, he saw 3 other knights running to the aide of the stricken man, seeing Mon's face in the process. He knew that he could not return to the temple, instead he took off running to the village not more than a hour away, gathered some materials from a man who’s life he had saved recently , and set off on the run. Running from village to village, town to town using what money he earned through simple healing to buy food and supplies and staying for a night or two before he took off on the run again. No matter where he runs, it seems the knights are always on his tail. He has just arrived in a large town which he dose not know the name of, using what money he had left he rented a room in the local tavern to stay for a couple nights and gather some strength before setting off again. It was in this tavern, early in the morning of his last day staying in the town where he heard a group of people discussing hunting titan's over some breakfast. Even if he thought them to be crazy, remembering back to the stories of the unstoppable power they were said to have, if it paid he wanted in.

“Titan's” he though “Wonder what they look like.” Fuel has been added to the fire that is his hunger for knowledge, a fuel long since missing since he has been on the run, makes Mon's curiosity run wild once more “I guess there is only one way to find out” he said under his breath as long since absent smile crept over his face.

(OOC This is my first attempt ever at a magic based character, I am still not familiar with the way the magic in this setting works but I plan to learn as I go. Later history on the run was excluded, I plan for some flashbacks to take place during the RP at various stages, mostly during his sleep whenever the party decides to rest /end OOC)

Arsenal/Possessions:
His biggest item is his healers staff. Its a long dark Grey steel staff at around 5 and a half feet long, at the bottom rests a heavy steel bulge which acts as the counter wait for the conduit gem on top. Holding the gem in place are 3 triangular pieces of steel that the gem fits snugly into. When the gem is activated, if it has stored energy, shines a bright green color. But it's ability to hold energy is limited, and when it begins to run out the green light starts dulling and flickering out till it extinguishes itself and turns to a dull Grey. Can only be used as a source of energy for his healing spells. He also carries a knife,though it is not very useful in combat, more served to be the tool for his blood magic. It is about 6 inches long and curves back towards the top.

Powers:
Mon's healing ability was once his most prized possession, his ability to heal many different kinds of injuries ranging from something as simple as a cut or a sprained ankle to that as complex as a gash from a sword or a broken bone. However, as of late, his ability to heal has been corrupted by his use of blood magic. Before, where he would only feel the power of the magic flowing from him to the wound, a magic that would hurt those who needed the healing in return, now it takes the wound from the one needing healing and places it temporarily upon himself, feeling all the pain that the person was feeling before the magic had healed it. Mon tries to seldom use his power to heal as of late, partly of the pain and more so the fear of the magic not being able to heal the wound fast enough. But that won't stop him from using it when someone is in dire need of healing, or when there is some desperately needed money to be made

His blood magic, though being fairly new to him the gift of knowledge he had received allows him to feel like he has studied this field for as long if not longer than his healing magic. His blood acts as a token to the souls and creatures from another plane of existence, a token that pays for it, an entrance to the plane we reside on. With this magic, he can do things as simple as torment the mind of a person with the dammed souls of his foes or as complex as allowing his body to play host to powerful demons which take control over it, and use their powers as his own. All of this magic, however, is dependent on the token he gives. Frankly put, the more blood he offers the more powerful the spells he can use. And here lays society’s big problem with blood magic, what is their to stop a mage from using all his own blood or that of another in search of greater power.