@psych0pomp You can survive two days. I believe in you!
That makes one of us. I'm kidding. I'm just interested to see if I make it. I was trying to shake up the usual mold of "face" by going "what if their charisma was just arguing with you reddit-style until you quit?" Also, I've been replaying Phoenix Wright for some reason. It's fully infected my brain.
Iunno. Maybe I need to get out and touch some grass... I mean... sleet.
So the deadline for sheets wont be for another few days- I'll just say wednesday and call it at that, however there are enough for me to start making handing out some invitations and whatnot.
Everything ached but in a good way. Ambrose couldn’t say that was usual. The only thing he didn’t care about was the few scratches on the palms of his hands from handling the wood. They’d heal quickly enough, but for someone that had a “moisturizing routine,” it was a nuisance. After Freyja vaulted off, the child in toe, he found himself swallowed by the night of festivities. The goings-on of the day had distracted him from whatever his brain could pry out. Silence was the crowbar of discontent for him.
He wasn’t paying attention to anyone around him or anything that might have been said in his direction as they were abandoned by his car on the outskirts of the festival. He hit the key fob and opened the backseat, peeling off his dirtied and sweated-in shirt. It was then he realized that the guy from earlier was still loitering around. More so, that he was talking to Ambrose.
Ambrose stood there without a shirt on, the coolish air picking at his bare skin. It was without a blemish, scar, or other imperfection, and perfectly crafted like it’d been sculpted out of marble or some other slick, sexy rock. “Uh. Why would I know your mother?” Violet Cheeseman raised no alarm bells in his brain. She sounded like a character out of a children’s book with that name. Then again Brown Cheeseman sounded like a rare brand of some hard cheese served at one of his mother’s wine tastings. He’d gotten blitzed at a young age thinking it was a weird grape juice and scarfing all the cheese his little mouth could hold. He’d been a solid circle of a child.
He pulled his shirt over his head and slid it over his chest, it was form-fitting, allowing the warm light of the festival to leave little to the imagination regarding his musculature underneath. His shirt was a deep blue, and on it was an anime character of some kind. He didn’t know who it was. One of his friends back in New York had mailed it to him for his birthday. He’d tossed it into the back of his car as an “emergency” shirt. It layered with his distressed khakis and sneakers quite well. As if Ambrose could ever wear something unattractive.
“Ambrose,” he said, “Ambrose Hightower. I’m sure you’ve heard of me before, or at least my mom.” He shrugged. “Sure, I can hang out with you. I’m surprised you have friends.” He paused, realizing how that sounded. “Considering I don’t know who you are or your mom for that matter. Are you new to town?” He gestured to himself. “If we don’t find your friend, we can find some of mine. Mi… uh… friends… es… su… friends.”
NAME: Sohsa'no'wyaer "Sawyer" Halycon-Sub-Prime, 24th in line for High Emperor AGE: 34 GENDER: Mono-Gendered (looks like a human male) (they/him) SPECIES: Arkopolis
❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄? ❞
"I'm sorry, did I not give you my business card? Have you not seen my billboards? I get it, you come from one of those backwater planets. Well, let me just introduce myself, I'm Sawyer the Space Lawyer. The only legal representation you need in the galaxy. No. Seriously. Don't get anyone else."
For an Arkopolis, Sawyer rarely wears their mask. They are a species of fully clothed aliens, from the top of their shiny masks to the bottom of their intricately booted feet. It is to help distinguish what caste they belong to. Castes are decided first upon birth and then secondly by one's ability to be charismatic. The game of social parlay is quite deadly for an Arkopolis, hence the masks. They hide their features and even alter their inflection if they can get away with it. Ambassadors, traders, weapon brokers, space bards, and so on--if it involves the gift of gab then they have the market cornered. They are ruled by a High Emperor, which Sawyer is 25th in line for. Well, 24th, as someone down in the line died from a nasty case of being poisoned by a political rival.
In social situations, Sawyer does wear a mask. Black with a fluorescent purple light that bisects the middle of it. On the top are two holes that their deep purple horns push out of, curling forward like a ram but straightening out at the metal-capped tips. Without the mask they have purple skin, an almost atrocious amount of golden jewelry, short but perfectly coiffed dark purple hair, pointed ears, and the aforementioned horns--they were not decorative. They also have liquid gold eyes and a fanged smile that would make a vampire blush. Beyond that, they stay almost decently clothed, preferring golds and fabrics that are the same hue as their homeworld. Another notable feature is the massive segmented tail that juts out of their lower back. It's as long as they are and more in the way if that was possible.
They speak with their whole body--hands, feet, and tail included. As someone in the law profession, they never back down from giving their full opinion about something. If they pass on answering, you don't want to know what they were going to say. They also believe everyone is lying and is on the hunt for the truth at every given turn. Their voice is deep, smooth, and rings in dual tones.
❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴? ❞
"Why did you hand me a gun? I'm more likely to shoot you and then myself with it than anything else. My weapon is my vast and startling intellect, coupled with my roguish handsome looks, and honeyed words. What? Fine, I can use magic. Just take your damn gun back."
First and foremost, Sawyer is a lawyer. Their extensive knowledge of the different laws in the galaxy and how to get by them in an entirely legal way is their bread and butter. They make sure that anything that might be pressed against the Guernica doesn't stick. Late docking fees? Poor signage and lack of a concrete due date in the contract. It contradicts itself numerous times over. Illegal drunken brawl? Actually, in the Trsuskgarian tradition, it's considered a cultural grievance not to. Oh, there were no Trsuskgarian's around? Well, my defendant practices their culture. Are you saying the Free Colony of Santivarius isn't actually free and limits individual expression? My defendant killed that man? Well. "Man" is a weird word for a robot. Do robots have a living and dead state? Or is it a variation of the flux of power that's streamed into them? It looks like my defendant just performed a hard restart on the robotic fellow and there are no laws against that.
They're fabulous at getting themselves and others out of sticky situations. It also doesn't hurt that they have diplomatic immunity for being in the top 1% of Arkopolis's that are in line for the throne. Just 24 more to go!
Sawyer's aura abilities are sonic-based. They can alter their voice, creating a more soothing or anxiety-inducing pitch. More taxing, they can make someone nauseous or lose their balance by messing with vibrations in the air through sound outside one's hearing range. They can also inflict damage with a sonic scream that acts like a blunt shockwave, which is incapable of killing but definitely can clear a room. Unfortunately, they can only do this once before they completely lose their voice. And once they've lost their voice, they cannot use their aura until they get it back. Also, it makes them a piss poor lawyer.
❝ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙼? ❞
"I am unflappable and untouchable. There's nothing in this galaxy that can twist my hide. Well... except... I mean it has to do with the Imperials. It's nothing big though. I wouldn't worry your tiny little brain about it. Awe. Look at that brain. So itty-bitty."
Sawyer pissed off a good handful of Imperial lawmakers to the point that if they try to attend court within Imperial space, they would be fined and held in contempt. They'd still be allowed to represent their client, as long as they knew if they didn't get a favorable verdict, they'd be joining them. It had started with Sawyer winning a fairly decisive trade case involving the containment and shuttling of aura. Things then got worse when they fought a copyright lawsuit and won sheerly through the Imperial's sluggish bureaucracy. Then there was the time that they got a young Imperial woman a "not guilty" verdict for several murders. It then turned out that she was a serial killer, but she hadn't committed all the ones they had tried her for... just most of them. Honestly, that was not one of Sawyer's finest moments.
Yet, the biggest one had to be when they kept the Vangarian Empire from settling a small mining colony that had been abandoned except for one old Formokian that had gotten stuck in a rockslide but was still alive--being mostly rock himself. Sawyer's defense said that the old man wasn't technically a "squatter" since he couldn't technically "squat." He basically couldn't do anything but exist. So, he fell under the "Rights to Land Act." It was created hundreds of years ago for the Vangarian Empire to exploit itself. Throw a "research base" on a possibly inhabitable planet, stay there for a year, and bang the planet was yours.
Apparently, that mining colony would have been a massive resource grab for the Empire. Without it, an important project (Sawyer didn't know what) was stunted until the Vangarians could find another source of materials. Hence the hate... so it's a mutually beneficial relationship for Sawyer to stay on the Guernica. That way, they can't be subpoenaed if they are never in one place.
❝ 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚆. ❞
"Someone is always stepping on my tail, eating my snacks, messing with my work, or petting my cat. How dare they. Bartholomew Von Toe'Beans is my cat. Only I get to pet his entirely metal carapace."
Sawyer thinks they're all idiots, and they're blessing them with their presence. That doesn't mean that they don't interact with the rest of the crew, quite the opposite actually. They're in everyone else's business except their own. The thrill of listening to their unnecessary dramatic lives is absolutely intoxicating. It's like slipping on your favorite slippers and grabbing a warm mug of tea/wine/spacer fuel. They've made a few friends in their years aboard the ship, having taken up residence on it when they offered the captain a handful of cash to get them off an Imperial planet. And... they never left.
"You'll find that death by my blade is a gift as opposed to what awaits you."
T H E S K U L L T H E S K U L L
N A M E ║ Naenia Blackwell A G E ║ 28 (99977 TK) G E N D E R ║ Female (she/her) R A C E ║ Human S U B -R A C E ║ None M A G I C ║ ⬤
T H E S P I N E T H E S P I N E
T O W N ║ Frontier Town R E G I O N ║ Northern White Wasting P O P U L A T I O N ║ 2,214 C E N S U S ║ Humans T R A D E ║ Travel N A M E S A K E ║ Last human town before White Wasting
✦ ✦ ✦
P A R E N T ║ Acantha Blackwell (Deceased) P A R E N T ║ Ryder Blackwell (Deceased) S I S T E R ║ Xanthe Rasc-Blackwell (Missing) B R O T H E R - I N - L A W ║ Ozul Rasc (Alive)
T H E L I M B S T H E L I M B S
W E A P O N ║ Crooked Consecration (Large Rapier) A R M O R ║ Priestly Heavy Armor T R I N K E T ║ Rosary of Dhorbris
P E C K S ║ 1 peck = 1 dollar B A C K P A C K ║ ///✦ Add as many ///✦ As you need ///✦ But no weapons ///✦ or armor
T H E F L E S H & M U S C L E T H E F L E S H & M U S C L E
𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙
S U B L C A S S ║ GRAVE INQUISITOR
The priests of Dhorbris come in all styles. Most tend to funerals and other services for the dead, but all of them make sure that the citizens of Goan eventually find death. The inquisitors enact the rites of nulla immortalitas to make sure that magic is not being used to pervert the cycle of life. While liches and thralls do not fall into their prevue, that doesn't mean they don't hunt those that wish to emulate that lifestyle. Or liches that take it upon themselves to enthrall someone against their will. They are here to snuff out those that do not allow for the cycle of life to complete.
▮▮▮▮▮ ║ ▮▮▮▮▮
PRAYER ║
Once during a day, you evoke your chosen god to come to your aid and help you overcome all challenges. You get one temporary skill point.
✦ ✦ ✦
TWO-HANDED FINESSE ║ RANK 1
COMBAT ║ ATTACK ║ MELEE The heft and dexterity needed to wield the great rapier make it not easy to master, and as such, it is the only weapon the Naenia can wield with any effectiveness. But effective it is. It can cleave through flesh and bone alike. Deals 1 Health Damage
TRANSLATION ║ RANK 1
EXPERTISE ║ EXPLORATION ║ UTILITY Naenia has had to travel Goan and learn different languages to be able to decipher their funerary texts and gravestones. She's made a small notebook of shorthand to reference while translating a different language. Able to translate a known or retired language of Goan
MY SISTER'S BONES ║ RANK 1
MAGIC ║ ATTACK ║ RANGED Naenia can summon a skeletal archer from beyond to aid her in a battle. It's wearing the armor of the Holy Knights and wielding a powerful longbow. Deals 1 Health Damage
Y O U R B R A I N & N E R V E S Y O U R B R A I N & N E R V E S
S T U D Y ║
///✦ FRONTIER TOWN MILITIA ║ Every teenager learns how to fight at a young age considering that the town is up against White Wasting. /// 99989 - 99994
///✦ DHROBRIS SANCTUM - FATHER MARKUS ║ Traveled to Ordai'el, learned the rituals of the God of Death, and took an oath to uphold them. ///999995 - 100000
E X P E R I E N C E ║
///✦ PILGRIMAGE ║ Worked as an inquisitor for the Dhorbris Sanctum and traveled throughout Goan finding those that have evaded the circle of life and death. ///100000 - 100005
Y O U R S O U L & H E A R T Y O U R S O U L & H E A R T
Naenia has seen the best and worst in people. But the irony is that she knows people only show their best when put upon to do so. True altruism is rare in the world. So, she doesn't let anyone rest on their laurels. She will lambast them with her less-than-charitable nature until they show their true colors. If they are actually one of the few good people left in this world, then she'll more than happily show her loyalty to them. Kindness begets kindness and wrath begets things that are far worse than wrath, are the tenants that Naenia follows.
✦ D H O R B R I S ✦ ✦ D H O R B R I S ✦
D E V O T I O N ║
When Frontier Town was destroyed by a plague that seemed to only target the older members of the community, leaving anyone in their teens and under alive--the only priests that came in the aftermath were those of Dhorbris. Many had come before, but when they realized it was a lost cause, they left. When the children were left to tend to the dead, did the priests of Dhorbris show up. They ferried what children wished to leave with them to the various temples around Goan. They aided those that wished to stay until their dead were tended to. It was an act of kindness Naenia never forgot. So, she honors this commitment by helping those through times of death and making sure that no one prospers off of the pains of the living. To see the cycle of life through, and then to aid those left behind is her mission.
M O T I V A T I O N & I M P E T U S M O T I V A T I O N & I M P E T U S
When Ordai'el was invaded by the fog and cut off from the rest of Goan, Naenia was away on pilgrimage. When she returned, she found that no one could enter. Her heart ached for her surrogate father figure, Father Markus. Yet, she knew that the best way to honor him was to continue with her duties and finish her pilgrimage.
Unfortunately, four years later her sister Xanthe would be one of the many that would volunteer to delve into Ordai'el. She said it was because her goddess, Ikphine, told her to come. She'd been summoned to aid the goddess in her quest to save Ordai'el. While Naenia had her doubts, there was no talking her sister down. A year later, Xanthe still hasn't returned. Naenia has decided to go look for her.
T H E T R A P P I N G S T H E T R A P P I N G S
A P P E A R A N C E ║
Naenia stands a little under six feet, with pristine armor with a lot of filagree and design layering her body. She wears a long dress underneath it, but it's less cosmetic and more so hides her armored legs and allows for swifter movements. Her hair is a deep brown and cut below her chin. She'll braid it back if needed but seems to have no problem wearing it down. Her eyes are a deep hazel, but not wide or attractive. Instead, they have an intense stare that can undress even the most clothed of flatteries. Her clothes and weapons are pristine with the exception of the worn rosary around her wrist, which has the symbol of Dhorbris made of a strange metal hanging from the end. She stands needle straight and smells of lavender and incense.
𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 ► Born in London, England to parents that sold him to a childless corpo. Got into the best schools and showed aptitude in netrunning. Got a job in the NetWatch. Five years ago moved to Night City under contract by Militech. Two years ago became a fixer.
𝙈𝙊𝙏𝙄𝙑𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 ► Eddies
𝙂𝙊𝘼𝙇𝙎 ► To move back to London
𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙔 ► Sarcastic and Cold
𝙁𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙉𝘿(𝙎) ► ▘ SPARROW: EZ's bodyguard and accomplished solo. ▘ NETWATCH: He still has some connections there.
𝙀𝙉𝙀𝙈𝙔(𝙄𝙀𝙎) ► ▘ MILITECH: Maybe took some trade secrets with him. ▘ VOODOO BOYS: Encroached on their territory. ▘ THEO MALCOMS: Head of Militech PR & ex-husband.
𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍(𝙎) ►
𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙎 ► Medium
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙁𝙄𝙀𝙍𝙎
𝙊𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙄𝙉 ► European
𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 ► 176.78 cm
𝙒𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 ► 79 kg
𝙃𝘼𝙄𝙍 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙍 ► Black
𝙀𝙔𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙍 ► Blue
𝙇𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙐𝘼𝙂𝙀𝙎 ► English, German, & French
𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀 ► Corpo Shiek
𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎 ► Scissor-Cut Side Part Haircut
𝙂𝙀𝘼𝙍 ► ▘ DECK & CABLES: Pocket sized machine for netrunning ▘ BLACK ICE: A special Netwatch program ▘ PROGRAMS: Software for his deck
𝙒𝙀𝘼𝙋𝙊𝙉(𝙎) ► ▘ MONOWIRE: Glows Purple for aesthetics
Ambrose tried not to look aghast at the thought of a simple raft “keeping the demons at bay.” Though the color drained out of his evenly tanned face. Anyone that knew that young Hightower man would know that he was wildly superstitious. The more supernatural it seemed, the further he wanted to do with it. Someone had witnessed him scoop spilled salt in his hand and throw it over his shoulder once. Mostly because it blew into a woman’s face and screaming commenced as salt in the eyes was not a pleasant sensation. So, he tried to keep his superstitions to a minimum.
He followed her, looking over the boat as they moved towards it. The entire affair reminded him of certain ceremonial displays he had seen in museums or preserved landmarks whenever he and his mother would visit Ambrose Hightower the First. They represented something far away and not at all to be found downtown in the small, rural town he currently called home. He’d lived here for several years, but never really taken part in the festivities. Usually, he was abroad during the summer. This one had been different as his parents had both become too busy to plan or fund such a trip. So, here he was.
There was a sort of a reverence held by the townspeople that made him keep his hands firmly rooted in his pockets and his feet one right in front of the other. As if one foul move would ruin the entire celebration and send demons clattering onto the docks with unbridled fury. He refused to be the bull in the china shop that released the End of Days upon the Earth.
He glanced down at Freyja as she admitted to being the star of the entire song and dance. Ambrose nodded in approval, as if it was warranted or wanted. When the older woman sniped that it wasn’t a silly tradition, the chills returned back to his spine. “I don’t want to think about the fact I’ve been swimming alongside demons,” he said. A wince bubbled up at the edges of his smile.
Ambrose focused on the fisherman with the beam, not wanting to think about the literal hell that was their lake. While he may not have been the sharpest knife in any drawer, he wasn’t stupid enough to throw his back out by refusing help. With a bit of grunting and sleeve rolling, they were able to get it up, and there Ambrose held it still. This is the part he’d show off. He had the stamina to hold something heavy for a while. There were implications there, but the ones that crossed his mind mostly had to do with highlighting his strength and balance. Not that he couldn’t be a horny teenager, but his brain was too busy making sure that he didn’t sweat too hard. He didn’t want to lose grip. His feet bit into the ground below as he became oddly silent with the task at hand.
It was then that an inflatable tube man of a boy came up, floundering about like a fish begging for water on the shore. Ambrose wasn’t too interested in him now, as he seemed to beeline to Freyja. Maybe he had a crush? And speaking of crush… the beam was trying to do that to his spine. Yet, Ambrose’s thoughts ricocheted away from muscle strain when he heard the other remark on his height.
“Dude…” he grunted, “we’re like the same height. “ He exhaled. “You can help if you like, but don’t throw me off balance. The lake demons will eat us, otherwise.”