Stitches

Tales of Anvellor

Sorry to keep you guys in the lurch but I don't think we can keep up :( thank you for accepting us though!

SPIRITUM

“Shit, piss, hey, uh, hey Sorin. Could I ask a massive favor from you?”

“Mmn?” Sorin looked up. She was listening. The F-word had been brought into play and now Samdihier had piqued her curiosity. She regarded the bloodied mess with a sort of detached bemusement as her fellow squadmate began to talk his way out of it.

“Cause I seem to have gotten glass and whisky, and here’s the crazy part right, its inside my hand.”

[color=8493ca]“I see,” Sorin mused. She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out the dogeared address book. Her Little Black Book, weatherbeaten and torn but always a part of her. It was here that names, addresses, contact details and deals were made. This was Sorin’s most precious possession; one she has fought to protect in the past and would unflinchingly do so in the future.

“I ain’t no Galahad but I’m pretty sure that’s not where those two substances are supposed to be, and would’ja know it, the damn thing hurts worse’n Ray’s handshakes, kinda stings too.”

“How surprising,” Sorin drawled as she took out the pen that always resided near the book in that breast pocket and wrote down Samdhier Zeintler into the yellowed pages. Adjacent to it, the date and time. Underneath, the details of the injury - all in the crisp black lettering of a trained hand that wrote coursework assignments during field exercises. Not even the erratic bumps in the road could unsteady her hand. It was an oft overlooked but very important skill for a medic and a sniper to have.

“Reminds me of that peppery stuff Asa likes, but y’know it hurts here instead of here…”

“I’m sure it does,” Sorin responded gently. She punctuated the entry with her pen and snapped the book shut, putting it away. The pact was made; Samdihier owed Sorin A Favour now.

“Anyway, would you do me a solid and patch it up? I’d really appreciate it.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Sorin used her canteen to bang against the side of the truck bed, raising her voice to something a little underneath a yell as she barked “STOP THE TRUCK! We have our first casualty!” Now her stiff preparatory nature became less of a cheap way to get a jab at her and more of a well-thought out prediction of the inevitable; a gaggle of young wardens gambolling around the countryside were bound to end up in some form of trouble or another. And whilst the alcohol and good vibes were poured out in droves, there wasn’t a drop for the doctor that inevitably had to do her duty and act as damage control on the road trip. “Somebody get Zeitler something strong and hard-hitting. I can’t administer any painkillers,” Sorin sighed as she reached underneath her feet, pushed aside the canvas bag containing her rifle and took out her medkit from the very, very top of her backpack. As if she knew this was going to happen. There was a trace of a smile on her lips as, at last, she had been put into a situation that she was familiar and comfortable with.

SPIRITUM

Everyone had the distinct sensation that Sorin never wanted to be on this vacation in the first place. For one, she had her rifle tucked underneath her legs. She wasn't in uniform but she had packed it, and her fashion sense was eerily reminiscent of formal regalia. She had her typical gear packed up as they would for a training mission, with some added "luxuries" which ultimately came to her phone, her charger and her knitting gear in a tote bag tied to her pack. And unlike the rest of them, she wasn't jeering nor drinking and seemed wholly unaffected by the carefree attitude that had taken over the Barghest Squad.

Not like any of this particularly mattered. There was seldom a moment in all the years they'd known Sorin where she had ever fully "switched off", not even during parties or celebrations. At this particular moment she was quietly watching the horizon slip by from the truck bed, eyes flickering this way and that as she kept watch over the vehicle and its residents. She didn't complain or groan when they hit awful potholes but instead kept her gear steady. For a while she looked down at her knees; it was also common knowledge that her 'indefatigable vigilance' ended up with horrible side effects to her sleeping pattern and she was probably running on a few hours despite being well into the day as is. She only started talking when the radio changed, and even then it was a simple, reproachful "I was listening to that."

Tales of Anvellor

Sorry for the delay; me and dino will try and get a post up next week!

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

Abigail (and Brooks)

It was the burning that worried her.

To Brooks and Billy's knowledge, magic wasn't meant to work that way. It was meant to be taxing and tricky to use, not the opposite. But for Abigail it felt like a second bladder; she kept building up some sort of uncomfortable pressure that had to get released in jets of violet flame or it started to hurt. She didn't want to know what would happen if she didn't. But the scorch marks might've left a trail here and there which terrified the girl into learning quickly and efficiently, so as to avoid leaving any traces of their path for anyone who'd be looking. She needed to burn two, three times a day if she held it in. And she hated every minute of it. It was fetid, satanistic, it was unholy fire and a definitive answer to the question that had been rolling around her head ever since she got a chance to think.

Brooks was the only witness to her unanswered prayers at night. It was the elephant in the room, the slow-bubbling cauldron of existential dread that Abigail was doing a remarkably job at keeping a lid on until she knew she was in a safe enough location to disentangle her beliefs and come to terms with her new life. She was already at the end of her tether as is, periodically alternating between cheery, lost, despairing and pissed off at any given moment. Her teenage hormones didn't help much either, but being outside helped. Being able to walk and run around helped. Blisters be damned; she's run on them before for the hell of it. This was no exception and the stinging felt familiar, especially now that her hands kept cracking and blistering with the heat of her ungodly flames. And during those brief moments when they could catch a rest Abigail stuck to Brooks like glue because she was usually upset and sought after the comforting presence of an adult who pretended to know what they were doing. Billy had the right mindset but alien concepts such as ‘a friendly and open demeanour' weirded Abigail out. Luckily for her, Brooks was far better at reminding her of home; he avoided any sensitive subjects at all costs, never once offered to talk about feelings and when the subject inevitably reared its ugly head he was utterly incapable of resolving it. It was like she never left the campervan at all. All Brooks really had to do right now to help Abigail deal with the complex trauma she underwent was to be an adult and pretend to know what he was doing. It was a lucrative pairing of mutual interests. They barely shared a handful of words between them, though Abigail talked to herself often and kept up meaningless conversation with Billy during the walks as Brooks was too busy grunting and wheezing to be inclined to respond.

By the time they got to Goodnight there was nothing harmless left to talk about and Abigail was staunchly avoiding the obvious. Brooks’ knee was still giving him grief but he stood stoically in the open hall and started taking note of familiar faces that also survived the purges. As the speeches were read out and the responders worked through the crowd, Abigail had her forehead pressed against Brooks' arm. The cumulative sleep debt and fatigue from a few days of hiking was hitting her hard, especially now that she realised her journey was temporarily over. A lady in a parka offered her a small bottle of water and Abigail made a noise and shook her head. Brooks took it from her. Another lady offered her a trail mix bar and Abigail didn't even respond so Brooks held his hand out and took the bar as well, stuffing them into the pockets of his hoodie.

Shortly before speeches were done Abigail muttered something about a bathroom and peeled away from Brooks and the crowd, wandering down unlit corridors on her own. Brooks watched in which direction she was headed, waited until all the speeches were done, stood still for a second or two and then resignatedly plodded after her. As expected, Abigail had inadvertently chosen one of the most out of the way bathrooms lit by only half of its fluorescent bulbs. Brooks lingered outside the ladies' room for a few minutes to help her find her way back, only for a few minutes to turn into a handful more and he looked up and down the corridor and went inside. He could hear sniffling from one of the stalls.

"Girl, are you crying?" he voiced out, internally praying it was enough to snap her out of it.

"N-nuh!" Abigail sobbed.

Brooks let out a deep sigh. "You gotta get yourself together. You can't keep crying." He offered, leaving her the dignity of being unseen while she wept.

"S'just--...it's just-...horseshit!" Abigail kicked the door of the stall a few times, the WHBAMWHBAMWHBAMWHBAM rattling through the bathroom. "Why'd this happen to me?! Why now! I ain't done nothin' wrong! I listened, I followed the Bible! What's Jesus got out on me?!" She tried to compose herself and defaulted into a snotty, snivelling wreck again.

“There’s toilet paper in there, use that to wipe your face.” he interjected amongst her audible woes.

"Wiping my face doesn't fix shit!" Abigail yelled back. "What do I do?!"

“What do you do about what?”

"About-...the thing! The magic! The being hunted! All of it! And-...aaargh!" Abigail stamped some more and yanked on the toilet roll in the dispenser furiously.

“It’s why you’re here, so you don’t do it alone. No one will.”

Abigail fell quiet for a while, aside from some self pitying whimpers now and then. After a very long pause she mustered up enough courage to finally, awkwardly ask "can you…? Get me a lady? With-...a bag? Tell'er I'm in the bathroom and I-...need something she's probably carrying."

SPIRITUM

Sorin Olukani

21 | 5’7 | B+

---

_{A P P E R A N C E}

Sorin takes pride in her appearance when she can, though she tries to pretend that her deliberate beauty routine is a thing of happenstance. She braids her own hair or keeps it in an afro bun. Her demure fashion sense couples with the straight-backed poise which she carries herself with and often gets her mistakenly identified as someone of a higher class than she is. Her left hand is mottled pink with a burn scar and when she is uniform, she takes out all of her removable piercings. She enjoys wearing blue, yellow, white and gold and will incorporate these colours into her makeup.

---

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

The fundamental concept behind Sorin’s behaviour is something along the lines of “I was blessed with two working legs, a sharp mind and a healthy body - I want to use it to its best potential”. Once you understand that, the rest of it makes sense - the daily prayers, early rises, strenuous workout routine, and late nights in the study halls. But it’s not a sustainable mindset and it hasn’t granted her any favours aside from the obvious improvements in her intellect and physique. She’s reserved to the point of coming off as cold, constantly in a state of stress, and awkward in any social situation that isn’t in a professional environment. She’s even developed a case of sleep maintenance insomnia because of it - though the strict routine of the WARDEN programme meant that the effects haven’t really been too pronounced due to the regimented bedtimes and access to medicine.

Most people who meet Sorin subsequently believe she’s an introverted, shy stick-in-the-mud. Whilst she’s pragmatic to a fault and knows when and when not to goof around, the Sorin that’s comfortable around her company has a dry sense of humour, boatloads of self-confidence and likes to annoy her squadmates with her nigh-undetectable sarcasm. She’s a bit of a worrywart too and when you’ve managed to worm your way into her very small list of people she cares about, she won’t stop haranguing you about staying safe and healthy.

---

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

Sorin is a first generation Trolin immigrant in Rassvet, with her parents working full-time. Her childhood, though difficult to recall now, mostly consisted of being looked after by her grandmother and playing with her siblings in the streets. Her mother was a greengrocer and her father worked as a mechanic. She had a pleasant albeit nondescript initial ten years of life and was reared to love Rassvet and respect the people who kept it safe from Vangar forces. It was perhaps this pro-government upbringing that stuck the most in her early days and shaped the course of her future for the next ten years to come. When the aptitude tests came in she was the only one out of her siblings who surpassed the baseline to be transferred into the Citadel, showing particular prowess in her magical capacities.

The transition into life at the Citadel was confusing but not necessarily unpleasant. Sorin held her own against the rowdier children and displayed curiosity as well as a keen ambition. Though she had yet to understand what the WARDEN programme entailed, she knew enough to know that it would involve defending Rassvet and was keen to show her gratitude through hard work and constant self-improvement. She pushed herself harder, trained for longer and studied better than her peers - with detriment to her physical and mental health. She did not make many friends during her initial three years as she also went through all the awkwardness of puberty. She obsessed over self-improvement to the point that she was losing sleep and injuring herself during training. Like many of the other overachievers in the classes, she caught the attention of the instructors and was given sterner guidance. Nevertheless, it was Otto who had managed to cut through her stubbornness and reveal the damage she was inadvertently inflicting upon herself. Though he was her polar opposite in most aspects - boisterous, overly confident and more keen on grabbing all the fame and glory that went with being a WARDEN - he had an infectious charisma that brought the young girl out of her shell a little and rubbed off on her. Whatever she saw in his words was lost on their superiors but she took heed of what he was telling her and adjusted appropriately.

There was, however, one crucial weak point in Sorin’s training. She had an interest in magic that bordered on obsessive and worsened with each passing day. Trolin was a harsher land than Rassvet and religion was a key aspect of her culture. Sorin had extensive theological debates about her right to manipulate the ‘Holy Mists’ as per their concordance with the Gods and that she should use their gift to its fullest extent. She had been in and out of the medical ward for minor cases of mistburn. Her instructors warned her, but her overambition had clashed horribly with her religious views. Not even her best friend could get through to her until she had managed to minorly burn her left hand and impeded her training. During her recovery period, Sorin visited the Cathedral of the Order of Dawn for spiritual guidance and returned with a more moderate approach and a freshly lit curiosity in healing. She turned her practice of faith from spellcraft to field medic training and began to garner an unofficial reputation for being available to patch up any injuries students were too embarrassed to go to the medical ward for - or too worried about getting caught.

During the latter half of Sorin’s training, she bulked up. Now that she realised she couldn’t rely on her magical prowess alone, she was often seen sparring with Otto in the fields and instead poured her combat specialisation into marksmanship. She also took supplementary classes to become an official field medic. When she was grouped into a squad, she began to come out of her shell in increments. She even went to a few parties and festivals (albeit with some cajoling and persuasion from her squadmates). When the group dynamic shrank into a smaller team she was able to flourish and showed leadership capabilities from time to time; ultimately, Sorin graduated as a third class due to lingering anxieties of a relapse into her magic-worshipping early years and the subsequent note put on her record because of it.

_{C O M B A T}

Sorin can best be described as a supporting agent on the field. She specialises in long distance precision shots with a bolt-action sniper rifle as well as close quarters melee and unarmed combat. She uses her surroundings to her advantage whenever possible. Given time and equipment, she’d be a better asset as a sniper tucked away in a corner somewhere to provide cover fire. She particularly excelled in guerilla combat during training. Magic-wise, Sorin specialised as a healer and took extra courses in first-aid in order to be able to qualify as a medic. Her bulky stature lets her carry a little more equipment without detriment to her movement which she uses for medical supplies and her large rifle.

---

_{N O T E S}

Sorin took up knitting within her second year of training in order to offset the mental and physical strain of her ambitious routine. It’s a simple, mindless activity that she can do when she can’t sleep. If she knows your character’s measurements, she’ll gradually make hats, gloves, blankets, small toys and scarves. She will give them to you, regardless of the month and the weather. And she gets despondent when you do not use them in the cold.

Recollections: The Fourth Seal [Mystery/Urban-Fantasy/Horror RP]

A lot of things happened in the space of a few meagre moments and Abigail was barely cognisant for most of them. The events from two days prior were mostly a blur for the girl. She was gripped at the wrist, dragged this way and that amongst shouts and crashes, then thrown into a purple light by the photographer. She stumbled slightly upon crossing the threshold. She watched the bodies get up and reorient themselves in the real world. The photographer approached her.

"Hey, sorry about all the force. Name's David, I work for the local papers. You ever need to uh, talk to somebody about this whole thing, call me. I promise it won't end up on Araminta Daily. No one would believe me anyway." A small business card was placed in her hand. She looked down at it, then back up at David. Clenching her jaw, she took a couple steps backwards and took off in a jog towards home.

It took Tyler a long time to recover from witnessing another disappearance and, as expected, Abigail didn't provide much of a commentary about her experiences in The Outside. "But," Tyler sniffled, "We've got to go to the police. The cops - they'll know what to do. The military…?"

"Mmn," Abigail responded distractedly. She was getting her homework done.

"How can you just sit there and do algebra after all that?! Fuck's sake, Abi, what if that's where Emily is?"

"Then she's probably dead." Abigail turned her gaze back up to Tyler reproachfully, glaring holes at her shining, tear-stained cheeks. "I told you. I'm not getting involved. Whatever it was probably wasn't real anyway, some stupid hoax for a reality TV show...I don't want anything to do with it," she waved her hand dismissively.

"You can't be serious. After everything that's been going on here!" Tyler shouted, slamming her fist on the table. Abigail flinched and froze as the woman slightly lifted her hand, let out a little choked sob and stepped back, rubbing her face.

"... Maybe I should get another transfer," Abigail said at length after a very drawn out and quiet moment in the house.

"N-no. I'm sorry. Don't go, you're right, I'm just-...what if it takes you too?" Tyler asked.

"Then I won't have to worry about getting a job?" Abigail offered up sardonically, watching the grief stricken woman deflate into nervous chuckling. "If it happens again, or I'm gone longer than three days straight, I give you permission to do what you want. But whatever's going on is dangerous. You should just cut your losses and move on."

"I can't," Tyler murmured. "You're still my lil' girl. You're all family to me."

"Mmn. Can I have some of your clothes?"

"...What?"

"They-...make me feel safe. Smells like you."

Two days later and Abigail was getting used to the weight of the backpack with the added gear. Homework, stationery, her charger - but now a full change of clothes, mace, a Swiss army knife. A torch. Matches. Food. A water filter...Joseph brought her to a Mountain Warehouse store to get some extra stuff after the incident and now she was traipsing around in thermals and a windbreaker. It was embarrassing and she could feel everyone's eyes on her, despite just looking uncharacteristically sporty and carrying a full bag with her. The girl had headed to the library that day to finish off her biology assignment and look up some campfire and shelter techniques to make notes about. As she walked in she passed three familiar faces - some overweight Chinese woman, the photographer and the mousy girl that opened the portal - and made brief eye contact. She made her way away from the occult section and sat at a desk, grunting as she took off her backpack and got out her notepad, biology book and pen. Pulling the brim of her baseball cap down a little bit further, Abigail got to work.

Tales of Anvellor

Sheet's done!

Peregrin

Name: Peregrin
Gender: Female
Species: Nereid
Age: Adult
Nationality: Amierre
Appearance: Peregrin’s skin and hair are used for camouflage in the muddy depths of jungle rivers. As such, she has mottled flesh that ranges from green to brown. Her irises are large and brown, similar to a horse’s. Her hair is very dark, long and straight. She’s absolutely packed with muscle and has a mouth of sharp teeth. Her nose is very flat and she’s marred with scars all over. She usually wears a skintight grey bodysuit that extends to her wrists, ankles and neck. On top of this she will be dressed in loose fitting, easy to remove clothes like a robe, or a tunic. The bodysuit’s purpose is to retain as much moisture as possible and it’s not uncommon to see her pour water over the suit.

Equipment:
Bodysuit (to retain moisture)
Hunting Knife
Leather Armour
Rope
Box of Waterproof Matches
Metal Poleaxe
Medicinal Poultice (For disinfection, sealing wounds and numbing pain)
Fishing Net (typically used to carry her gear)

Backstory: Swamp Nereids often travel in pods - large swarms of them that writhe and linger in the deepest, darkest depths of the murky jungle rivers and lakes. They’re bottom feeders and predators that usually rise up to the surface when they feel the vibrations of disturbed water and drag whatever they can grab down with them. As such, they are less accustomed to life on land than the common Nereid. Whilst some of the swamp Nereids were caught to bring into the iron mine, many escaped their fate by swimming deeper into the coursing rivers that interlaced through the jungle. Swamp Nereids have a tendency to grow engorged Mana Hearts due to their smaller gene pool and the lack of organ harvesters so deep in the jungle. Magic, though common amongst Swamp Nereids, is not formally taught and errs towards an instinctive craft that’s loosely taught from generation to generation.

Peregrin is no exception to the rule. Born into a large family that made up the majority of her pod, she was taught the magic of her ancestors from a very early age. The words mean nothing to her - relics of a long lost history - but the spells were an integral part of everyday life. Since none of the mages were formally taught, their culture wrapped around the constant fatigue that came with inefficient use of mana and involved frequent naps and lots of food. Only the elder nereids were able to refine their technique but many of them had been captured or poached when Peregrin was young. She spent an indeterminate amount of time swimming the lengths of the jungle waterways, never really surfacing save for something to eat. Meanwhile, her pod was consistently poached from and hunted down as inhabitants of the mines figured out their affinity for magic. What started as a group of 50 spread across the jungles had dwindled down to 20 during her lifetime.

Peregrin was one of the few who managed to escape through unlucky circumstances when an aspiring explorer known as Samuel Cortez accidentally speared her in the side trying to catch a fish. Wounded and disgruntled, she promised to show the man the way back to the estuary in exchange for medical attention. It took several days, during which the wound had started to become infected. When they arrived Samuel found the relief team harboured by the shore after his failed expedition, ready to take back any survivors. Peregrin was bustled onto the boat alongside him and brought to a small encampment in Umbara where qualified healers were able to nurse her back to health. A long way from home and exposed to the vast benefits of civilised society, Peregrin decided to stick around with her human friend and join the League of Explorers. Her loyalty, however, is solely to Samuel Cortez and his dreams of becoming a trade baron.

Abilities:
Racial Abilities: As a Swamp Nereid, Peregrin has very keen senses that are accentuated for use underwater. Since air is less dense and clearer than the murky depths she grew up in, her eyesight is impeccable and her hearing is very sensitive. This is both a blessing and a curse; bright lights and loud noises can seriously disorient her if used correctly. Her body is used to swimming against strong currents and pinning large creatures to the bottom of the river which makes her quite strong but walking around on land is much more tiring than floating in water, so she tires quickly.

Spells
Scry: Using a reflective surface and a piece of biological matter from the target, Peregrin can provide a glimpse at where they are. The distance of the target and the duration of the glimpse increase the difficulty of the spell. The biological matter is consumed upon casting.
Swamp Song: A channelled spell. When cast, it produces a series of vibrations from Peregrin’s vocal chords that carry the spell to the listener’s ears and produce a weak but persistent urge to get as close to the source of the sound as possible. The closer the proximity to the source, the more powerful the urge. The spell makes Peregrin immediately detectable by any living creature within range and thus leaves her vulnerable to attacks, as she cannot move or defend herself whilst channelling. Blocking one’s ears or inhibiting the transmission of the sound can lessen its potency, disrupting the spell cancels it completely. It is much stronger underwater.
Hibernate: A healing spell. When cast on the self or one other, the target falls into a deep slumber which speeds up natural healing processes but leaves them vulnerable. Consumes mana from the caster until the spell is either cancelled or the mana heart is depleted, at which point the caster will fall unconscious for the respective amount of time it takes to replenish their mana. When cast on the self, the caster is unable to awaken until their mana heart is depleted and they subsequently recover, or if someone else is able to disrupt the spell.

Other: Some of Peregrin’s gear is carried by Samuel, though this is usually restricted to anything that can’t afford to get wet.
Peregrin struggles to speak on land, which often gives the impression that she’s less intelligent than most civilised folk. When underwater, she can speak at length.

SPIRITUM

No problem two graduates is fine. Is there a CS template?

SPIRITUM

Sold, you have two players already

Edit: only question I have is whether we NEED to play as fresh warden graduates or if you're open for other types of character that can have their own reasons to go on the adventure