Sonnambula

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

Eduard didn’t pay much heed to the woman ignoring his offer to buy her a drink but instead just sipped on his, savouring the taste each time the whiskey slid past his lips, the ice-cold liquid a refreshing contrast to the heat that filled his mouth from each inhale he took from the cigarette in his other hand.

But though he may have seemed disinterested, given all that, he paid keen attention to what this ‘Mary’ woman had to say, returning her gaze as she looked between him and the bartender while she explained herself. Even when the bookie’s attention was focussed on the bartender, who he was now realising was also important somehow, he kept an eye and an ear open for them, observing closely over his glass as a letter, similar to the one he’d received, was exchanged between them. Taking another drag from his cigarette, he furrowed his brow at Mary slightly. The grin that was spread across her face, verging on being unnerving, intrigued him more as to what made him and this other girl so special. Special compared to anyone else, at least.

He flicked the ash from his straight onto the ashtray in front of him before turning his head to Mary as she addressed him. He paused for thought once she finished talking, taking another long inhale from the cigarette until it had burned right down to the filter, before exhaling and extinguishing the cigarette on the ashtray, rubbing and twisting it idly until all the smoke from and around it had dissipated.

“At this point, any sane person in my position would have packed up and left this city long ago. I guess I’m just one of the few that can’t seem to escape it. In that sense, why I’m taking this offer is a complete mystery to me.” Montag spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, his eyes cast at a downward angle towards the bar as he hunched himself over it, pulling out another somewhat damp cigarette and clasping his lighter, which he’d left resting on the counter, again. He spoke still as he lit it, his words continuing to come out clearly even with the cigarette in his mouth.

“But, amongst other things, as a detective I want to know what exactly goes on in the underground world of this city. From a standpoint of curiosity and a desire to do some good, whether this city deserves it or not. And, well… as I said, other things.” He lit his cigarette again, it having gone out while he’d been talking, and took a drag as he sat up on his stool, looking to the other two. Though she’d talked to him in a fairly personable manner so far, Eduard felt more uncertain about Mary now than he when he only had her description on a piece of paper. Maybe that’s what was driving him forward at this moment though, uncertainty.

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

There was something odd about all this. Being a private detective, Eduard had seen all kinds of unusual and strange things in the years he’d been doing the job, but nothing seemed to match up to this. A mysterious letter about a mysterious woman in, what he’d now discovered was, a mysterious bar. Yeah, mysterious was probably the best way to describe it.

Montag entered the warm refuge of the bar, exhaling deeply and wiping his face, wet from the rain. Not unlike a dog, he shook his head slightly from side to side, his dark hair tossing around as it dried itself into a more natural state, before he finally took in his surroundings. Smoke drifted around the bar from cigarettes, the faint smell of alcohol hiding under each breath he took, the low rumble of voices across various tables and across the bar itself ever-present. It was why the woman with whom he was supposed to meet was so noticeable, apart from her outfit of course, as she sat silently in almost complete isolation towards the end of the bar, quietly smoking a cigarette. Eduard narrowed his eyes slightly, pausing to look her up and down, as well as look at the space around her, before finally approaching. If she had any hidden goons or weapons lying around then she was doing a good job concealing them.

She noticed him shortly before he reached her, giving him this kind of uneasy and sardonic grin. He kept a straight face though, even as she began to speak, taking the seat next to her and closest to the middle and gradually sitting down.

“Don’t take it personally ma’am, I leave most people waiting.” He responded, looking to the woman’s face properly for the first time with a straight-faced but calculating expression. Amongst his thoughts, he did have to admit though, the woman was quite pretty. After a few seconds of silence between them, filled by the never-ending sounds of chatter and glasses clinking around them, he simply turned towards the bartender, calling out to her over the other noise around them.

“Hey barkeep, I’ll have a glass of whiskey with ice, thanks.” As he spoke, Eduard pulled out a slightly damp pack of cigarettes and a silver flip lighter from his pocket. Plucking out a cigarette from the almost-empty pack, he swiftly lit it and took a drag, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the mysterious woman as he did, before exhaling. “And you…?”

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

Eduard Montag

• Appearance: 6’0 ft, averagely built but with a toned figure, pale skin, mid-length black hair, hazel eyes.

• Name: Eduard Montag (Nicknames: “Ed” or “Monty”).

• Occupation: Private Investigator, Unaffiliated.

• Age: 21

• Abilities: Being quite strong for his stature, Eduard is a well-rounded and skilled hand-to-hand fighter, never afraid to get rough, and is generally above average in terms of most things physical. Though he’s no sharpshooter, he knows how to use a gun and he’s fairly good at thinking on the spot- the type of guy that might blow second-hand smoke into your eyes during a fight. Despite this, his general intelligence is far from incredible, and he can be a bit clueless on occasion.

• Bio: Of Hungarian descent from his father’s side and American descent from his mother’s, Eduard was born and raised in New Haven. Living with his mother and father he led a happy, but fairly impoverished, childhood. Unfortunately, one day when he was 16, he returned home to witness the execution of his parents in the name of the Cult of Eris. Why it was his parents he still doesn’t know, whether it was due to some kind of circumstance, a punishment, something more sinister, or just bad luck. It is a case he still investigates to this day though.

Making his way in life after that event was more difficult, but he managed. He joined the police as soon as he turned 18, however left less than a year later, feeling entrapped by rules and protocol. From there he turned to becoming a Private Investigator, the occupation he currently holds. He’s been seen by some, especially those in the police department, as a fool in the jobs he undergoes, trying to fill boots too big for a single man of his calibre. However, many others see him also as one in New Haven that can truly see the wood for the trees, and though he may be sometimes boisterous and devil-may-care, there’s quite often this sense of jadedness from him. On top of this, he doesn't really seem to have any close friends, and even those that could be considered friends are almost completely in the dark about his ambitions, his aim, his end-goal. One thing's for sure though, his office is always open to anyone. Well, almost anyone. Though, fair warning, Eduard's a heavy smoker, so it's a bit stuffy in there.

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

Eduard Montag

• Appearance: 6’0 ft, averagely built but with a toned figure, pale skin, mid-length black hair, hazel eyes.

• Name: Eduard Montag (Nicknames: “Ed” or “Monty”).

• Occupation: Private Investigator, Unaffiliated.

• Age: 21

• Abilities: Being quite strong for his stature, Eduard is a well-rounded and skilled hand-to-hand fighter, never afraid to get rough, and is generally above average in terms of most things physical. Though he’s no sharpshooter, he knows how to use a gun and he’s fairly good at thinking on the spot- the type of guy that might blow second-hand smoke into your eyes during a fight. Despite this, his general intelligence is far from incredible, and he can be a bit clueless on occasion.

• Bio: Of Hungarian descent from his father’s side and American descent from his mother’s, Eduard was born and raised in New Haven. Living with his mother and father he led a happy, but fairly impoverished, childhood. Unfortunately, one day when he was 16, he returned home to witness the execution of his parents in the name of the Cult of Eris. Why it was his parents he still doesn’t know, whether it was due to some kind of circumstance, a punishment, something more sinister, or just bad luck. It is a case he still investigates to this day though.

Making his way in life after that event was more difficult, but he managed. He joined the police as soon as he turned 18, however left less than a year later, feeling entrapped by rules and protocol. From there he turned to becoming a Private Investigator, the occupation he currently holds. He’s been seen by some, especially those in the police department, as a fool in the jobs he undergoes, trying to fill boots too big for a single man of his calibre. However, many others see him also as one in New Haven that can truly see the wood for the trees, and though he may be sometimes boisterous and devil-may-care, there’s quite often this sense of jadedness from him. On top of this, he doesn't really seem to have any close friends, and even those that could be considered friends are almost completely in the dark about his ambitions, his aim, his end-goal. One thing's for sure though, his office is always open to anyone. Well, almost anyone. Though, fair warning, Eduard's a heavy smoker, so it's a bit stuffy in there.

Tower of Fable

With his newly acquired weapon, Thomas felt an abnormal confidence within himself, and he found himself hesitating less as he quickly made his way towards one of the wolves at a quick pace. With every step he took towards the thorny creature, he felt the glaive lighten up in his hands more and more. It felt almost natural to hold it, despite having never even used it before. At this point, he could only assume it was something to do with the Tower. It was a curious place.

However, before he’d even had a chance to engage with the monster, it ceased moving completely, something that caught him off guard. He stopped himself mere feet away from the beast, wondering whether to just go at it anyway, after all it was just standing there. A decision was made very quickly once he realised the new possible threat that had shown itself down the hall, or rather, himself.

The boy backed away towards the others, who at this point seemed to just be tormenting or trying to reason with the bare-chested fellow. He decided to keep quiet for now, and besides it’s not like he had anything to say that hadn’t already been said. They hadn’t stolen anything, at least while he’d been around. So, he just listened to what was being said, looking between his comrades and the man down the hall, eyeing him with an unsure look.

Tower of Fable

Between the multiple slaps on the back and the words of advice imparted to him, some more unusual than others, Thomas felt himself relax a bit more to his surroundings, or was distracted from them at the very least. Enough for him not to freak out or have his mind racing as he got to grips with the broken down area they found themselves in. Emphasis on ‘a bit’ though, he was still coming to grips with being thrust in a group entirely composed of the opposite sex. He’d get used to it though… probably.

That being said, as Clair passed him after giving him a few jolly claps to the back, he figured it would probably be better if they had a name to put to his face, other than them just calling him ‘boy’ the whole time, formalities aside. “Actually, my name’s-” Thomas began to speak up, if a bit tentatively, though it was clear he’d been a bit distracted from what Akiko had been saying, not at all ready for his introduction to be interrupted as they were confronted by a pack of… well, whatever they were supposed to be, the beasts were obviously not friendly.

Thomas simply stood in place, taken aback at the sight of the monsters, eyes wide and heart beginning to beat faster as a tinge of adrenaline indicated what seemed to be, at least on the surface, fear. He seemed to snap out of it slightly though when he felt a sudden light weight pressing onto his shoulder, moving most of his attention to that. His eyes almost got wide again when he saw what, or who, it was. It was…! Well he didn’t know her name yet, but in any case, she was hanging out on his shoulder as though it were a couch, at a size that was tiny in comparison to the seemingly normal person he’d seen before. Was this the result of one of those cards, he wondered, noticing a few people pulling some out themselves in his peripheral vision.

However, in the meantime, he just gave Rose a slightly dumbfounded look as she told him what to do, giving him advice that most people would deem questionable, but there wasn’t really much else to it, once he thought about it. “Uh… sure thing.” He nodded, the pat on the cheek a slight boost of confidence, though one that became almost negligible when he looked back at his foes and allies, all of them seeming fairly dangerous in their own way, in battle-ready positions or indeed already battling. It was at this moment, though, that he realised he didn’t have a weapon. The memory of the sword in his dream still burned brightly and clearly in his mind, but it seemed that the sword, no matter how real it had seemed, hadn’t followed him here, at least that’s what it seemed like.

“But wait… What do I…?” Thomas thought out loud, his words a slight cry for help from his shoulder-riding companion as he looked down at his hands, and then back up to the pack of beasts not far ahead, hoping none of them had sniffed him out yet towards the back. He could feel his nerves returning to him now, his hands shaking as he looked at them. Or was it his head that was shaking? Both? He realised he probably looked a fool at the moment, but he couldn’t help it, his body overreacting and working against him, keeping him practically frozen in place as he tried to do something. His fingers began to feel cold as his mind envisioned a shadow of death looming over him, though whether it was genuine or not, he couldn’t know for sure.

But then, however, it came to him again. The vision of his hand grasping the sword as clear as day, the same light blazing in his mind that he’d seen before, his thoughts becoming almost palpable. His body began to warm up again, calming itself down. But that wasn’t all. A shimmer of light in his hands gave way to a small but sudden flash, forcing him to blink. When he did, his eyes laid upon something very real. His hands grasped a long double-bladed weapon, a glaive, longer than Thomas himself, with a metal hilt coated in a layer of dark leather practically as long as the blades themselves, each one curving in a different direction at the end, made from steel which seemed to fade into a colour similar to the colour of his eyes towards the edge of the blade. He stared at it for a moment, already feeling it naturally relax into his hold, despite its weight.

“Woah…” That was all he could manage at the moment. Finally more at ease, and very pleased with what he saw, Thomas smirked slightly, something that seemed uncharacteristic of him from what the others had seem of him so far, and indeed of what he’d seen of himself. He was still nervous, he knew it, in fact he could begin to feel himself shake again as the rush of getting this new weapon, along with his smirk, faded, but at least now he could try to defend himself. Plus, if he got in trouble, which in all likelihood he probably would, he hoped that Rose in the passenger’s seated would offer him a helping hand, along with the others around him. And, just like that, he went to go catch up with the others, being careful to not accidentally drop the glaive on his foot along the way.

Tower of Fable

Thomas visibly winced, recoiling back slightly as he saw Akiko stab through her own shoulder with an arrow. He didn’t want to look, but couldn’t help but stare on in curiosity as she pulled the bloodstained arrow out and put it away, in a way that seemed pretty casual considering what had just happened. He was tempted to ask just what the hell he’d just watched, when the same woman spoke in reference to him. He was confused: Adventurer? People from down below? Again, he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted again when Akiko spoke again, addressing him directly this time. His eyes widened as he heard her mention ‘this Tower’. Tower? What Tower? His eyes followed Akiko’s gesture to Cait, though that was just instinct. Inside, his mind was searching for an answer to where exactly he was, his violet eyes appearing to be glazed over.

And then it came to him. The more he thought on it, the more obvious it seemed. He was on the Tower. The one he’d seen looming over Miso City not long ago. It made sense; it was the last thing he remembered seeing before he’d ended up here. How he’d managed to get here was a separate issue he’d think about later, but why he was there was becoming clear to him now. It was slight, but he felt a sense of purpose from deep within him now, one that pushed him forward as he began to approach Cait behind the bar.

Before he could reach her though, another voice rang out from nearby, this one sounding more enthusiastic than the last. At least this time he felt that he immediately understood most of what this person was saying, now that he’d figured a few things out for himself. He felt reassured by what she said though, giving her an affirming nod in response to show that he got the general gist of what this all was. However, he was caught off guard by what she said next, as the sudden realisation that he was the odd one out here for more reasons than one suddenly came to him. He felt himself get a bit flustered and overwhelmed, a hint of red lingering on his now-warm cheeks, but he tried to ignore it; thinking on it would only make things worse.

A distraction quickly came in the strangely mesmerising finger gun pointed at him, which set off with a loud bang, dispelling him from his trance. After a second or so of silence as the ‘rabbit-in-headlights’ face began to clear away, he spoke back, realising that he’d hardly said a word at this point.

“Uh, well, it’s nice to meet you, Clair.” Was all he could manage, unable to introduce himself before another voice caught his attention from further away, female as well. He gave Clair one final glance before walking over towards where the voice was coming from, listening carefully to what it was saying – it sounded important, after all.

He finally reached the room the voice was coming from, noting the room’s title, the desk and the girl behind it. He simply looked at her as she continued to speak, the somewhat curious expression returning to his face, especially as the cards came out. He couldn’t make out what was on them really, and in any case, within seconds they were gone with a sudden flash of light. Almost immediately after, however, he felt a slight weight in his pocket. Barely noticeable, but a distinct enough change from complete emptiness for him to realise.

He slipped a hand into his pocket, letting out a very small, but surprised, gasp as his fingers found and rubbed against what felt like cards, three of them after some more feeling around, presumably the ones he’d been shown before. He lowered his eyes down to his pocket, then back up to the girl. “Uh… thanks.” He gave the mysterious girl a final nod before returning to the group in the tavern, momentarily pulling out the cards he’d received to look them over, before putting them back in the same pocket. Of course, he wasn’t sure of what they did, or of their purpose, but he figured that the other members of the group had them too, so he’d probably learn soon enough.

For now though, he simply followed Cait’s pointed finger to the door, moving slowly and carefully, but making sure to keep up with the rest of the group as they entered through it into the unknown, for him at least. It was unusual how little he was questioning and second-guessing himself and his situation, he thought. Perhaps it was that sense of purpose that was driving him on. The purpose that would lead him to the top of the Tower, that would help him find the truth.

Once he was through the door, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, a new shade of red coming over him, though from the outside this time. A chill running down his spine, one that originated from a whole pool of varying emotions, his gaze wandered around, looking around the torn up hallway: its ornate walls, grand decorations and presentation, one that would probably be very well kept usually, but was now fractured, for whatever reason.

Tower of Fable

Light. That was the first word that came to Thomas’ mind as his eyes snapped open, almost like some strange force was dictating his gaze. Surrounded by darkness, before him three glowing items hung suspended in the air: a sword, a shield and a rod, each one almost beckoning him to them, his thoughts becoming a clouded, hazy mess. In his confusion he tried to speak, to question what was going on, but nothing escaped his lips, only silence. He couldn’t even hear the sound of his own breathing. Was he even breathing in the first place? He clutched his shirt, just over where his heart would be, panicking slightly, but to his relief he could feel it. The uneven, yet somehow still rhythmic, beat still coursed through him.

He kept his hand clutched to his chest for reassurance, but he looked up to the three objects before him again, now calmed down. He looked at each one separately for a few seconds, considering his options, letting his thoughts try and clear so he could decide more easily. However, once he looked at the sword, he knew which one he would choose, almost like a primal instinct pushing him towards it. With one hand on his heart, he reached out with the other and took hold of the sword, grasping the hilt tightly. Almost instantly, a blinding light invaded his senses and the darkness he’d found himself in, squinting both eyes almost completely shut as the light got more and more intense, the sword quickly becoming barely visible behind the radiant rays that engulfed him and everything else around him, but he kept grasping it, never letting go. Eventually though, he felt himself slip away, overwhelmed and forced back into unconsciousness. Light. That was the last word that came to Thomas’ mind as he fell back into darkness.

A loud creak forced Thomas out from his slumber, his eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the light as he felt more creaks give way from underneath him as he lifted his back off the floor, laying his palms against it to help hold himself up. It was at that moment that he also realised the sword had vanished from his grip, which surprised him. Even if he did assume that the whole thing had been a dream before, it had felt so genuine, but perhaps he was overthinking things. Blinking himself completely awake, he scanned his surroundings, quickly surmising that he was in some kind of tavern. The wooden floor beneath him had provided the creaking that had pulled him out of sleep, and combined with the lit candles and the general aesthetic of the area, it gave him a sort of warm and cosy feeling. Where exactly was this tavern, though? How had he managed to get here?

Inquisitive to know more, he stood up, a multitude of unusual, and borderline uncomfortable, senses rubbed against him, coursing his whole body. He looked down at himself and was startled when he noticed that he was wearing completely different clothes to what he had been wearing previously. Well, not completely different. Instead of a normal white shirt, he was wearing a white shirt that you might see in a movie about pirates, made from linen and loosely fitted, a small v-neck pulled together slightly by some brown lace. Instead of his usual slim-fit black jeans, he was wearing regular black trousers, slightly looser and lighter than the former. His black high tops had been replaced by more boot-like brown shoes, fitting the theme of everything else he was wearing, except for one thing. The only thing that remained unchanged, was the blue jacket that Thomas was wearing, the same one that he usually wore as well. Given that it was the only thing from his previous wardrobe that he was still wearing, it was slightly idiosyncratic when put against his other clothes, but somehow it still matched. It made him feel like there was still a part of himself, from before whatever had happened, with him.
Getting back to the task at hand though, he began to look around the tavern in more detail from where he stood, noticing a sign from the corner of his eye that caught his attention. It read: ‘Dangenki Café Club’. He raised an eyebrow, reading it over several times in his head to familiarise himself with it. Was that where he was, then?

All of a sudden, he heard voices. Caught off guard, he quickly turned towards them, a surprised and confused look on his face. A group of people, a motley crew for sure, were all sat around the bar. From the angle he stood at he couldn’t make out many faces in great detail, but… was that a catgirl? In any case, how had he not noticed them before? Had he really been so caught up in his own thoughts until now? Mind you, given their lack of reaction to him getting up, he assumed that the same applied vice versa, but if he was going to get anywhere at this point then asking them would probably be his best bet.

With a hint of nervousness, Thomas made his way over to the group, clutching his arms together to make himself feel slightly less vulnerable as he spoke. “Uh… sorry to interrupt, but… where are we?”

Tower of Fable

Thomas Violet

• Appearance:



• Name: Thomas Violet

• Title: N/A

• Age: 18

• Class: Rogue (Sword)

• Aspect of Soul: Double-Edged Glaive – Well, when one blade isn’t enough, why not stick another one on there? Easy to spin and show off with, apart from its deadly capabilities, it’s somewhat a representation of the brash, irrational, but arguably strong, interior to Thomas that he sometimes shows during a battle, contrary to his slightly shy exterior. From the end of one blade to the other it’s roughly 180 centimetres (6 feet) long, a few inches taller than its owner, giving it a fair amount of reach. The two blades are 60 centimetres (2 feet) long themselves and curve in alternating directions at each end, with an equally long hilt between them. It proves an effective weapon, its two blades providing a sometimes overwhelming offence, and its spin, which seems to be aided by its design, giving Thomas a defence that, though risky, can prove useful in a pinch. However, it is the weapon’s unique attribute that makes it truly interesting…

• Abilities: Weapon Morph – Though the form it naturally takes is the double-edged glaive, Thomas’ weapon also has the ability to morph into two other forms on the fly to help make up for certain weaknesses when against different foes, or when the situation calls for it in general. Those two forms are a scimitar, and a bow.
The scimitar has a long, curved blade, around 3 feet long in fact, with sharp and distinguished edges and tapers and a silver hilt. Where the glaive lacks offensively in very close combat, the scimitar shines, though surprisingly its striking speed is practically the same.
Whether it’s a result of the ability, or through sheer luck, the bow seems almost bespoke for him, not too big or small. With violet and silver metal running along each other to form the frame, a thick and strong string runs between the two ends, pulled taut. Some wear and tear on it also seems to indicate previous usage of the bow, though by whom remains a mystery for now. Obviously it shines the most in ranged combat, the curves on the bow allowing arrows to travel a great distance with incredible power and speed, along with all the other utilities of a ranged weapon. Most likely an emergence of Thomas' soul and will itself, it can also form its own arrows by simply pulling the string back. Keen and piercing, the arrows appear to be made from a violet metal similar, if not identical, to the material that mostly makes up the boy's other weapons.

• Background: Thomas was adopted as a baby and, though he can’t remember his biological family, he knew he was adopted almost as soon as he learned the concept of it, given the not so subtle differences between him and his adoptive family- it’s pretty simple to distinguish between black and blond hair, and violet and blue eyes. However, he just assumed that his real family had probably died and left him orphaned as a baby.
Despite this, he had a normal childhood, quite comfortable with his role as the “one shy kid at the back of the class” wherever he went. He had his adoptive siblings to hang out with, to show his more extroverted side, and though to some it seemed almost sad, he was quite happy with just them as his friends. In fact, it was rare that he’d think of the family he’d never had, funnily enough, given that he had a seemingly perfectly good one where he was. He always meant to ask his parents about his true family, though, about where his origins laid, but always seemed to procrastinate actually doing it. It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to ask them later, right? He’d come to eventually regret these thoughts, those decisions.
Just days before his 18th birthday, while Thomas was out buying groceries, a large gas explosion set off in the apartment complex where he lived. Among the 23 fatalities were his adoptive parents, his sister and his brother. Now, Thomas had no friends to turn to, nor family. He was alone, having taken his company for granted. All at once, his life seemed to fall apart before him. He stopped going to school, in fact he practically became a shut-in, only occasionally leaving the temporary accommodation he’d been provided as compensation for food. It was nothing short of a pitiful existence, one that would be simply depressing and painful to watch, but no one was watching. It wasn’t fair.
Weeks passed, but, just before he lost all hope, he caught something out of the corner of his eye: a shadow outside of his window. When he looked out though, it was no shadow, but the Tower, looming over Miso City. What was almost as curious as the Tower itself, however, was the complete lack of attention to it. Nothing on social media, nothing anywhere on the internet as far as he could see, not even people he could see in the street reacted to it. Was he the only one that could see it? Staring at it more, a warm sensation made excited knots in his stomach. It was strange, almost instinctive, but somehow he knew: If he was going to find out about his true family, his roots, his origin, he would have to go there. It was the start of a journey, a journey of epic proportions.

• Inventory:N/A

Tower of Fable

Thomas Violet

• Appearance:



• Name: Thomas Violet

• Title: N/A

• Age: 18

• Class: Rogue (Sword)

• Aspect of Soul: Double-Edged Glaive – Well, when one blade isn’t enough, why not stick another one on there? Easy to spin and show off with, apart from its deadly capabilities, it’s somewhat a representation of the brash, irrational, but arguably strong, interior to Thomas that he sometimes shows during a battle, contrary to his slightly shy exterior. From the end of one blade to the other it’s roughly 180 centimetres (6 feet) long, a few inches taller than its owner, giving it a fair amount of reach. The two blades are 60 centimetres (2 feet) long themselves and curve in alternating directions at each end, with an equally long hilt between them. It proves an effective weapon, its two blades providing a sometimes overwhelming offence, and its spin, which seems to be aided by its design, giving Thomas a defence that, though risky, can prove useful in a pinch. However, it is the weapon’s unique attribute that makes it truly interesting…

• Abilities: Weapon Morph – Though the form it naturally takes is the double-edged glaive, Thomas’ weapon also has the ability to morph into two other forms on the fly to help make up for certain weaknesses when against different foes, or when the situation calls for it in general. Those two forms are a scimitar, and a recurve bow.
The scimitar has a long, curved blade, around 90cm (3 feet) long in fact, with sharp and distinguished edges and tapers but a minimally decorated leather hilt. Where the glaive lacks offensively in very close combat, the scimitar shines, though surprisingly its striking speed is practically the same.
Whether it’s a result of the ability, or through sheer luck, the recurve bow seems almost bespoke for him, not too big or small. It seems to be made from wood and a metal alloy twined together, a thick and strong string running between the two ends, pulled taut. Obviously it shines the most in ranged combat, the curves on the bow allowing arrows to travel a great distance with incredible power and speed, but it has more utility besides that: being able to shoot objects and various other targets from afar to try and retrieve them, or for some other purpose, as well as being useful for stealth operations.
In simple terms, though he may not be able to do much else yet, Thomas has almost all bases covered as far as weaponry goes. However, until his skills improve, he seems to be more of a ‘Jack of All Trades, Master of None’.

• Background: Thomas was adopted as a baby and, though he can’t remember his biological family, he knew he was adopted almost as soon as he learned the concept of it, given the not so subtle differences between him and his adoptive family- it’s pretty simple to distinguish between black and blond hair, and violet and blue eyes. However, he just assumed that his real family had probably died and left him orphaned as a baby.
Despite this, he had a normal childhood, quite comfortable with his role as the “one shy kid at the back of the class” wherever he went. He had his adoptive siblings to hang out with, to show his more extroverted side, and though to some it seemed almost sad, he was quite happy with just them as his friends. In fact, it was rare that he’d think of the family he’d never had, funnily enough, given that he had a seemingly perfectly good one where he was. He always meant to ask his parents about his true family, though, about where his origins laid, but always seemed to procrastinate actually doing it. It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to ask them later, right? He’d come to eventually regret these thoughts, those decisions.
Just days before his 18th birthday, while Thomas was out buying groceries, a large gas explosion set off in the apartment complex where he lived. Among the 23 fatalities were his adoptive parents, his sister and his brother. Now, Thomas had no friends to turn to, nor family. He was alone, having taken his company for granted. All at once, his life seemed to fall apart before him. He stopped going to school, in fact he practically became a shut-in, only occasionally leaving the temporary accommodation he’d been provided as compensation for food. It was nothing short of a pitiful existence, one that would be simply depressing and painful to watch, but no one was watching. It wasn’t fair.
Weeks passed, but, just before he lost all hope, he caught something out of the corner of his eye: a shadow outside of his window. When he looked out though, it was no shadow, but the Tower, looming over Miso City. What was almost as curious as the Tower itself, however, was the complete lack of attention to it. Nothing on social media, nothing anywhere on the internet as far as he could see, not even people he could see in the street reacted to it. Was he the only one that could see it? Staring at it more, a warm sensation made excited knots in his stomach. It was strange, almost instinctive, but somehow he knew: If he was going to find out about his true family, his roots, his origin, he would have to go there. It was the start of a journey, a journey of epic proportions.

• Inventory: Thomas carries a quiver with him for when he uses his bow. It’s a normal leather quiver, with 15 regular arrows inside. He wishes they were magical though, it’s quite a hassle to collect them all.