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Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

@JbcoolEdited it so that the character's from a made up Cadian colony instead. Should fix the problem.

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

Sergeant Steiner

Character Sheet

Name: Franklin Warwick Steiner

Gender: Male

Age: 38

Rank: Sergeant

Former Regiment(s): 4th Squad, 2nd Platoon, 5th Infantry Company, 24th Cadian Regiment

Specialty/Role: Field Medic

Personal Demeanor: The once bright-eyed and bushy tailed junior medic that was Franklin Steiner has long since died, replaced by a cynical shell of a man. War's horrific maw have chewed away at the idealism that caused Steiner to join up with the Imperial Guard in the first place. A devotion to the Emperor, and the desire to protect Cadia's legacy like all those who came before him, feel like a distant, cruel dream instead of the sergeant's past. War is hell. He's seen too many good men die to think otherwise. All the talk of glory, the pomp of service- it was nothing more than a smokescreen to deceive young men into thinking there was some kind of honor in fighting in the Emperor's name. There isn't. Not in reality. Steiner continues to serve because that's the only thing he knows. He'll continue to fight until the day he draws his last breath; because he doesn't know anything else.

Frank is known for a near disturbing ability to remain calm under pressure, unaffected by the horrors of death and violence around him. He can continue patching up wounded men or firing his lasgun into the enemy horde even in the worst conditions. Steiner keeps a surprisingly sharp, dry wit. A healthy dose of sarcasm, even in the midst of a firefight, helps numb the pain that is endless conflict. He treats his men well enough, or tries to, though some are (rightfully) put off by his cynical, distrusting attitude. The sergeant doesn't usually like getting too close to those he fights with. If they're all gonna end up dead anyway, what's the point of making friends with 'em? He'll care less when they're gone, so it hurts just a little bit less than it otherwise would.

Frank despises Chaos. The heretics and the mutants are responsible for the wholesale slaughter of many of his comrades. Daemons, creatures of the warp, hold a particular place in Steiner's dark, hateful heart. Xenos, while still his enemy, are a bit more amiable. Greenskins are nothing but savages to be put down, but...the Eldar and Tau feel like lesser threats. The Eldar in particular are difficult for Frank to fight, given how they were so intricately tied to saving many of Cadia's people during the world's fall. Traitor Guardsmen not beset by the corrupting powers of Chaos have Steiner's pity, for he understands their struggle and empathizes with them- but they are the enemy all the same. At the end of the day, Sergeant Steiner shoots at whatever he's ordered to. Anything less would be grounds for execution.

Description: Sergeant Franklin Warwick Steiner is not a tall man. He stands several inches below the average height for a man of his age in the Imperium. Decades of continuous service have rendered his body strong, and hardened. His skin is scarred and tanned, feeling more like hardened leather than anything else. With arms like tree trunks and a chest shaped like a barrel, Doc can hold his own in a grappling match with anything short of an Ogryn.

Seven of Steiner's fingers have been replaced by bionic augments, and his body is practically a canvas for scar tissue. Burns, cuts and bullet wounds scatter their way across his chest and arms. A deep, ugly scar runs from just above his left eye, down his nose, and ending above his right lip- a Traitor's bayonet nearly finding a new home in his face in the past. His eyes are a deep brown, matching the scruffy stubble upon his chin and the barely regulation locks falling down from his head.

Typically, the sergeant wears the normal uniform of a Cadian infantryman. The only difference between his and the standard fair being the bright red symbol of a member of the medical corps featured prominently on his left shoulder pad, opposite his squad number. In the same vein, his arm holds a medicinal injector around the gauntlet, for quick and easy application of battlefield stimulants.

Service Record (History): Frank was born in the upper echelons of 'Cadian' society, on the cold distant ice ball of Markus Tillian; a tiny colony established on a frozen world by one of Cadia's many surviving regiments. His father was a senator and a leader in this new society, and his mother the daughter of a wealthy rogue trader. Franklin's early life was dominated by luxury and ceremonious pomp. He was raised among the children of aristocrats, learning of fallen Cadia's history through a rosy, tinted lens. Life was good. It was surprisingly easy, all things considered. But that wasn't what Frank wanted. He heard whispers of the Eye of Terror that hung over broken Cadia like a ragged corpse, and of the fallen Gate that once kept the tendrils of Chaos at bay. He heard tales of the mighty Imperial Guard, and the brave men and women of Cadia who stood guard against the Daemons until their final fall during the Black Crusade. Young Steiner wanted to become like those heroes who gave everything. To become like those far off heroes and legendary figures that he'd heard so much about. His parents weren't keen on it; what parent would want their child to grow up into a martyr? They figured their son, raised soft and squishy as the child of a noble, wasn't fit for such a life. Thinking it would disillusion him from these childish fantasies of going to war, his parents admitted him into the colony's version of the Whiteshields.

They were mistaken, however, because Franklin had never loved something as much as being one of the Whiteshields. It was new, exciting, and- for the first time in his young life- challenging. Steiner made a whole host of new, diverse and interesting friends. They twirled their little rifles and paraded around boot camp, singing songs and working hard. It wasn't easy, but young Frank found it incredibly fulfilling. His desire to join the Imperial Guard was made all the more intense. So, when he came of age, Steiner shipped off to join the Planetary Defense Force; the first step on his journey to the Guard. As a member of the Planetary Defense Force, Franklin's duties as a soldier became all the more demanding. His commanding officers shaped himself and his friends from the Whiteshields into the rough and ready Shock Troopers the sons of Cadia are so well known for. In the PDF, Steiner got his first taste of combat against cultists and traitors. He spilled blood for the first time- blood of men. Several of his friends died beside him in that first battle, and some of that luster was lost.

One battle almost immediately led to the next, and then the next. Chaos incursion after Chaos incursion came for the Cadian colony, assaulting the fringe world at every turn. Trooper Steiner was shipped across his home sytem and beyond, fighting back the tendrils of Chaotic madness. Slaughtering traitor, heretic and daemon alike. It was utterly terrifying, and madness inducing. Men died beside him wholesale. More than half of his company was wiped out and replaced by strangers after only a single month. After Steiner held the dying form of his best friend in his arms, struck in the chest by enemy Lasgun fire, Steiner decided he needed to do something about it. So he took up specialization in the medical corps. Franklin was briefly taken off the front line to learn how to operate the equipment, and how to properly deal with any manner of wounds. Then he was thrown right back out into the muck and mud.

Service in the Imperial Guard came five years in. Frank, now a Corporeal, was thrust into a position of leadership over men he didn't know. He tried to maintain some form of camaraderie, but it seemed like every time he got close to someone they'd end up dead in his hands. More battles, more scars, and more dead friends. It was an endless cycle of suffering and death. Days ran together. Months turned into years. Years, finally, into decades. The sands of time wore down any glory or honor Steiner might have thought awaited him in the Guard. There was nothing here but death. Nothing but pain.

He didn't even know the names of the men he was patching up anymore. It didn't matter. They'd be dead in a week's time, if they were lucky. Most didn't survive first contact with the enemy. Somehow, Franklin's detached coldness was mistaken for excellence of service, and he ended up promoted to Sergeant. He continued doing what he was told. Continued to march into battle like a zombie, pointing his Lasgun at whatever foul thing his commanding officers wanted him to. It wasn't until recently that things changed. He received a call from command about a potential new position in a Spec Ops group known as the 'Ordo Nominis Umbra.' It paid well, and would break up the monotony of endless front line work- hell, maybe something would finally come along that could kill Steiner and he could finally know peace.

Equipment and Armament: Typically favors a short pattern Kantrael MG Lasrifle and bayonet, with an Autopistol as a sidearm. Standard medical equipment is included as well: a Diagnosticator, his injector, and a medikit.

Miscellaneous: Sergeant Steiner goes by several nicknames- including Frank, Frankie, Doc, Sarge and 'Jaded old asshole.'

Superboy's Shitty Characters

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CS Template

S H I K U D O

“Outta the way! Doctor, comin' through!”

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NAME

Nara Shikudo

ALIAS

Shikky, or Pretty Boy

GENDER

Male

AGE

12

ORIGIN

Konohagakure

RANK

Genin

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APPEARANCE

Nara Shikudo is built surprisingly strong for a child his age, thanks entirely to his family's disciplined eating habits and rigorous exercise routine. Deviating from his 'health' plan, either by snacking or slacking off, was met with severe punishment; the remnants of said punishments still mar Shikky's back. Shikky stands at 4'11, a few inches taller than the village average. A stout frame and calloused, worked hands form a strange dichotomy with his rounded, flawless features. It's often joked by other students that Shikky's prettier than most of the village girls; a fact that's earned him plenty of flak over the years. His hair is a bright auburn, reaching roughly done to the back of his neck with bangs hovering just above the eyes.

Pretty Boy doesn't deviate often from his usual attire of dark worker's pants and a partially unbuttoned tunic. When the weather's right, Shikudo likes to throw on an old, sleeveless flak jacket his grandfather wore during the Invasion of Iron. It's dark beige hide is worn out, with several stitches running all across it. There's a noticeable hole directly over the heart area, and the material's stained a deep black.

PERSONALITY & MOTIVATIONS

Nara Shikudo

CLAN HISTORY

A rough or detailed recent history of your dynastic clan. For world-building.

PERSONAL HISTORY

Character history, experiences, and life. Their home life and their academy life is a big plus. Detail as much as desired.

INFLUENCE & RELATIONS

Within your clan and the academy/village.

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CHAKRA NATURE

Earth, Wind, Lightning, Fire, Water; genin likely won't know the nature of their chakra for some time though.

SPECIAL TRAITS

General special affinities, talents, and abilities. Include your Kekkei Genkai if you have one.

FOCUS & SKILLS

A brief idea of skills your character leans toward and the like, no need to go into huge detail; needed for understanding of moderation staff for balancing issues. How does your character fight? Do they lean to Taijutsu or Ninjutsu? You get it.

EQUIPMENT & INVENTORY

General equipment used or educated with.

JUTSU

Obvious list is obvious. Link to the Naruto wiki as well.

S Rank

N/A

A Rank

N/A

B Rank

■

C Rank

■
■

D Rank

■
■
■

E Rank

Academy Techniques

CUSTOM JUTSU

Obvious list is obvious.

Justu Name

Name

Text.

Rank

Text.

Range

Text.

Description

Text.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

Character Sheet

Character Sheet

Name: Franklin Warwick Steiner

Gender: Male

Age: 38

Rank: Sergeant

Former Regiment(s): 4th Squad, 2nd Platoon, 5th Infantry Company, 24th Cadian Regiment

Specialty/Role: Field Medic

Personal Demeanor: The once bright-eyed and bushy tailed junior medic that was Franklin Steiner has long since died, replaced by a cynical shell of a man. War's horrific maw have chewed away at the idealism that caused Steiner to join up with the Imperial Guard in the first place. A devotion to the Emperor, and the desire to protect Cadia like all those who came before him, feel like a distant, cruel dream instead of the sergeant's past. War is hell. He's seen too many good men die to think otherwise. All the talk of glory, the pomp of service- it was nothing more than a smokescreen to deceive young men into thinking there was some kind of honor in fighting in the Emperor's name. There isn't. Not in reality. Steiner continues to serve because that's the only thing he knows. He'll continue to fight until the day he draws his last breath; because he doesn't know anything else.

Frank is known for a near disturbing ability to remain calm under pressure, unaffected by the horrors of death and violence around him. He can continue patching up wounded men or firing his lasgun into the enemy horde even in the worst conditions. Steiner keeps a surprisingly sharp, dry wit. A healthy dose of sarcasm, even in the midst of a firefight, helps numb the pain that is endless conflict. He treats his men well enough, or tries to, though some are (rightfully) put off by his cynical, distrusting attitude. The sergeant doesn't usually like getting too close to those he fights with. If they're all gonna end up dead anyway, what's the point of making friends with 'em? He'll care less when they're gone, so it hurts just a little bit less than it otherwise would.

Frank despises Chaos. The heretics and the mutants are responsible for the wholesale slaughter of many of his comrades. Daemons, creatures of the warp, hold a particular place in Steiner's dark, hateful heart. Xenos, while still his enemy, are a bit more amiable. Greenskins are nothing but savages to be put down, but...the Elder and Tau feel like lesser threats. Traitor Guardsmen not beset by the corrupting powers of Chaos have Steiner's pity, for he understands their struggle and empathizes with them- but they are the enemy all the same. At the end of the day, Sergeant Steiner shoots at whatever he's ordered to. Anything less would be grounds for execution.

Description: Sergeant Franklin Warwick Steiner is not a tall man. He stands several inches below the average height for a man of his age in the Imperium. Decades of continuous service have rendered his body strong, and hardened. His skin is scarred and tanned, feeling more like hardened leather than anything else. With arms like tree trunks and a chest shaped like a barrel, Doc can hold his own in a grappling match with anything short of an Ogryn.

Seven of Steiner's fingers have been replaced by bionic augments, and his body is practically a canvas for scar tissue. Burns, cuts and bullet wounds scatter their way across his chest and arms. A deep, ugly scar runs from just above his left eye, down his nose, and ending above his right lip- a Traitor's bayonet nearly finding a new home in his face in the past. His eyes are a deep brown, matching the scruffy stubble upon his chin and the barely regulation locks falling down from his head.

Typically, the sergeant wears the normal uniform of a Cadian infantryman. The only difference between his and the standard fair being the bright red symbol of a member of the medical corps featured prominently on his left shoulder pad, opposite his squad number. In the same vein, his arm holds a medicinal injector around the gauntlet, for quick and easy application of battlefield stimulants.

Service Record (History): Frank was born in the upper echelons of Cadian society, in the cold northern reaches of Cadia Primus. His father was a senator, and his mother the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Franklin's early life was dominated by luxury and ceremonious pomp. He was raised among the children of aristocrats, learning of his planet's history through a rosy, tinted lens. Life was good. It was easy. But that wasn't what Frank wanted. He heard whispers of the Eye of Terror that hung not far from Cadian space, and of the Gate that kept the tendrils of Chaos at bay. He heard tales of the mighty Imperial Guard, and the brave men and women of Cadia who stood guard against the Daemons. Young Steiner wanted to join their ranks. To become like those local heroes and legendary figures that he'd heard so much about. His parents weren't keen on it. They figured their son, raised soft and squishy as the child of a noble, wasn't fit for such a life. Thinking it would disillusion him from these childish fantasies of going to war, his parents admitted him into the Whiteshields.

They were mistaken, however, because Franklin had never loved something as much as being one of the Whiteshields. It was new, exciting, and- for the first time in his young life- challenging. Steiner made a whole host of new, diverse and interesting friends. They twirled their little rifles and paraded around boot camp, singing songs and working hard. It wasn't easy, but young Frank found it incredibly fulfilling. His desire to join the Imperial Guard was made all the more intense. So, when he came of age, Steiner shipped off to join the Planetary Defense Force; the first step on his journey to the Guard. As a member of the Interior Guard, Franklin's duties as a soldier became all the more demanding. His commanding officers shaped himself and his friends from the Whiteshields into the rough and ready Shock Troopers Cadia is so well known for. In the Interior Guard, Steiner got his first taste of combat against cultists and traitors. He spilled blood for the first time- blood of men. Several of his friends died beside him in that first battle, and some of that luster was lost.

One battle almost immediately led to the next, and then the next. Chaos incursion after Chaos incursion came for Cadia, assaulting the Fortress World at every turn. Trooper Steiner was shipped across his home planet and beyond, fighting back the tendrils of Chaotic madness. Slaughtering traitor, heretic and daemon alike. It was utterly terrifying, and madness inducing. Men died beside him wholesale. More than half of his company was wiped out and replaced by strangers after only a single month. After Steiner held the dying form of his best friend in his arms, struck in the chest by enemy Lasgun fire, Steiner decided he needed to do something about it. So he took up specialization in the medical corps. Franklin was briefly taken off the front line to learn how to operate the equipment, and how to properly deal with any manner of wounds. Then he was thrown right back out into the muck and mud.

Service in the Imperial Guard came five years in. Frank, now a Corporeal, was thrust into a position of leadership over men he didn't know. He tried to maintain some form of camaraderie, but it seemed like everytime he got close to someone they'd end up dead in his hands. More battles, more scars, and more dead friends. It was an endless cycle of suffering and death. Days ran together. Months turned into years. Years, finally, into decades. The sands of time wore down any glory or honor Steiner might have thought awaited him in the Guard. There was nothing here but death. Nothing but pain.

He didn't even know the names of the men he was patching up anymore. It didn't matter. They'd be dead in a week's time, if they were lucky. Most didn't survive first contact with the enemy. Somehow, Franklin's detached coldness was mistaken for excellence of service, and he ended up promoted to Sergeant. He continued doing what he was told. Continued to march into battle like a zombie, pointing his Lasgun at whatever foul thing his commanding officers wanted him to. It wasn't until recently that things changed. He received a call from command about a potential new position in a Spec Ops group known as the 'Ordo Nominis Umbra.' It paid well, and would break up the monotony of endless front line work- hell, maybe something would finally come along that could kill Steiner and he could finally know peace.

Equipment and Armament: Typically favors a short pattern Kantrael MG Lasrifle and bayonet, with an Autopistol as a sidearm. Standard medical equipment is included as well: a Diagnosticator, his injector, and a medikit.

Miscellaneous: Sergeant Steiner goes by several nicknames- including Frank, Frankie, Doc, Sarge and 'Jaded old asshole.'

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP (Seeking recruits!)

You've got my interest.

Pariah Online | Season One

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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@Stern Algorithm

Graves turned on his heel and started back down the tight corridor they'd come back to the main room from, a smirk plastered on his face. It may have been at Rael's expense, but the short girl's reaction to his teasing had helped raise his spirits a bit. The Blood Knight was feeling better about the plan to journey deeper into the dungeon in search of escape. Graves would always remember, in the back of his minds, the stakes that hung over their heads- failure meant death. Like actual, real, not-in-the-game death. It still sent a freezing shudder down the man's spine to think about. Still, he was doing better than when they first heard the announcement from the dev team. The rousing speeches from the likes of Tif, Rael and even Sky had turned back the darkness encroaching on his heart. Fear's devouring maw was held at bay for the time being by a cheap laugh at a girl's discomfort. Everyone seemed ready to continue the trek further into the unknowable halls of that damnable labyrinth.

Everyone except one. A loud shout to 'WAIT!' came to Graves's ears from behind him. Curiously, the towering knight of crimson turned to face the source of the yell. It was their control mage; the one he jokingly referred to as '2Chainz' earlier. With a raised brow, Graves turned fully to look down at the shorter woman as she spoke in a hurried, fearful tone. His expression fell. He...understood her concerns. He really, truly did. If Graves had even the slightest clue as to when the issue would be fixed, he would be right with Tessa. Staying still was...easier, even if it wasn't necessarily safer. A defensive position could be held with some difficulty. Enemies coming from above and below was a constant hazard. However, having a wall to their back gave them at least one reliable safety net in a fight. And...really, heading into the dungeon- of their own volition, no less- when death was permanent and real was suicidal at best.

"Listen." Graves let the tip of his halberd drop. He walked up to Altissima, towering over her with his abnormal height. "I know you're scared." A strong, gauntlet-covered hand lifted up and then dropped down on her shoulder. "I understand. I'm...terrified, too. This is way...way beyond me." The voice of the Knight was unlike before. It held no hostility, no presumption of authority or superiority. Graves spoke with a calm reassurance, and a deep understanding of just how Tessa was feeling. "But...We can't stay here. It does seem safer, yeah. But you heard the dev- he said they've been trying to fix the issue for hours. We have no idea how long it'll be before it's fixed. We could be stuck in here all night if we just sit and wait." Graves gave Tessa's shoulder a squeeze, his smile widening. "We're going to be okay. We've all done this a hundred times before. You and Ochre are going to watch each other's backs. And if anything goes wrong, call for us- we're going to keep each other safe, okay? I promise you're going to get out of here. We all are." Graves took a step away from Tessa, his other moving off her shoulder and back onto the shaft of his polearm. "Orchid. You keep her safe, okay? And she'll do the same for you. Now...we can't afford to stand around here too long, or another ambush is bound to come our way. You're going to be alright, Tess, right? You can do this?"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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Graves turned on his heel and started back down the tight corridor they'd come back to the main room from, a smirk plastered on his face. It may have been at Rael's expense, but the short girl's reaction to his teasing had helped raise his spirits a bit. The Blood Knight was feeling better about the plan to journey deeper into the dungeon in search of escape. Graves would always remember, in the back of his minds, the stakes that hung over their heads- failure meant death. Like actual, real, not-in-the-game death. It still sent a freezing shudder down the man's spine to think about. Still, he was doing better than when they first heard the announcement from the dev team. The rousing speeches from the likes of Tif, Rael and even Sky had turned back the darkness encroaching on his heart. Fear's devouring maw was held at bay for the time being by a cheap laugh at a girl's discomfort. Everyone seemed ready to continue the trek further into the unknowable halls of that damnable labyrinth.

Everyone except one. A loud shout to 'WAIT!' came to Graves's ears from behind him. Curiously, the towering knight of crimson turned to face the source of the yell. It was their control mage; the one he jokingly referred to as '2Chainz' earlier. With a raised brow, Graves turned fully to look down at the shorter woman as she spoke in a hurried, fearful tone. His expression fell. He...understood her concerns. He really, truly did. If Graves had even the slightest clue as to when the issue would be fixed, he would be right with Tessa. Staying still was...easier, even if it wasn't necessarily safer. A defensive position could be held with some difficulty. Enemies coming from above and below was a constant hazard. However, having a wall to their back gave them at least one reliable safety net in a fight. And...really, heading into the dungeon- of their own volition, no less- when death was permanent and real was suicidal at best.

"Listen." Graves let the tip of his halberd drop. He walked up to Altissima, towering over her with his abnormal height. "I know you're scared." A strong, gauntlet-covered hand lifted up and then dropped down on her shoulder. "I understand. I'm...terrified, too. This is way...way beyond me." The voice of the Knight was unlike before. It held no hostility, no presumption of authority or superiority. Graves spoke with a calm reassurance, and a deep understanding of just how Tessa was feeling. "But...We can't stay here. It does seem safer, yeah. But you heard the dev- he said they've been trying to fix the issue for hours. We have no idea how long it'll be before it's fixed. We could be stuck in here all night if we just sit and wait." Graves gave Tessa's shoulder a squeeze, his smile widening. "We're going to be okay. We've all done this a hundred times before. You and Ochre are going to watch each other's backs. And if anything goes wrong, call for us- we're going to keep each other safe, okay? I promise you're going to get out of here. We all are." Graves took a step away from Tessa, his other moving off her shoulder and back onto the shaft of his polearm. "Orchid. You keep her safe, okay? And she'll do the same for you. Now...we can't afford to stand around here too long, or another ambush is bound to come our way. You're going to be alright, Tess, right? You can do this?"

Pariah Online | Season One

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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Graves stood in stoic silence, softened eyes cast over the rest of his newfound companions. A number of them stepped forward to say their piece on the matter. With each voice that rang out in those damnable halls, the inner gnawing of doubt and fear began to slowly quiet. Elian's words held a heavy truth to them. No one there was anything special. Not really. They hadn't logged on earlier that day expecting to be shoved into a life or death situation with no hope of escape. If they knew what they were getting into, it was likely none of them would've came. Yet here they were, all the same. Graves understood her fear. Hell, he held it within his heart all the same. The tank let his arms drop from his chest, taking a singular foot forward. He was intent on moving to Elian's side, to make the healer feel better in some respect.

Or, he would have, if not for the intervention of Tiferet. Their resident fiddler was alongside the healer, a confident, reassuring hand upon the woman's shoulder. What Tif said was true, too. The only way their party was getting out of their was through the monsters; sitting back and waiting guaranteed nothing, other than the same fighting that would come for them whether they moved through the dungeon or remained where they were. This wasn't about heroics, like Elian said. This...this was about survival now.

"Elian?" Graves spoke her name in the hopes of getting her attention. "I'm gonna keep you safe. I promise." The Blood Knight spoke with a confidence he didn't have. Faux though his courage may be, Graves meant what he said. He'd keep their healer safe. It was his job, after all. No different from any of the other dozen times the tank and the dancer worked together. Well, mostly. There was one difference: they were playing for keeps this time around.

The bounty hunter's shaky, cold hands returned to cross over his bare chest. The crimson eyes of the bulky warrior turned away from Tif and Elian, moving over to where Sky was...well. Sky looked like she was losing it, to put it lightly. The fire mage was laughing hysterically while hot tears ran down her cheeks. Just looking at her, it felt like someone had punched Graves in the gut. 'Damn..' Once more, the typically prickly man felt...compelled...to move. To speak, at the very least. Protecting people was second nature to the tank. But how could he protect them from this? There wasn't an ogre to fight. No horde of goblin archers to knock down. It was the fear of death that weighed on them all; something no weapon could hope to harm.

Thankfully, Sky was stronger than she looked. She was able to get a handle on her emotions and swallow the pain, at least for the time being. Graves held his gaze upon her. He listened, and he understood, but...Did he agree? The fire mage spoke of a world they all wanted to return to. Of things they missed out on by being stuck in this dreadful place. Yet Graves felt a nagging in the back of his head. A question that would never find it's way to his lips.

'Do I have anything to return to?'

Andrew had a fairly mundane life. He'd always thought the hand fate had dealt him was shitty. His family couldn't care less about him. He had no real friends, if he was honest with himself. Life was a cycle of waking up, going to work, then coming to home to play Pariah until he was too exhausted to continue. Pariah was the only place he had found any real joy. Everything else he did was, in essence, a way to continue to feed into his gaming habits. That didn't...that didn't mean he wanted to be locked up in here, though. He didn't want the threat of death constantly dangled before him every time he logged on; and he definitely wasn't going to let any of these other people be caught up in here because of his inaction.

Burdened by questions he really shouldn't be worrying about at a time like this, Graves's attention was quickly grabbed by the sound of Rael's voice. His eyes flickered over to her, narrowing into daggers as she outright insulted everyone for being afraid. No, that wasn't it. Rael was trying to make them feel better...in her own 'special' way. Graves didn't know how he'd missed it earlier, but the pipsqueak was smiling. She spoke with a confidence befit a warrior. Behind her courage, Rael had a point as well. They'd managed to handle the ambush without serious injury; the same threat of death had hung over them then, too, even if they didn't know about it at the time. If they could adapt to that attack, why couldn't they do the same to everything else that lay ahead?

Graves's hands steadied. The devouring teeth of terror found no purchase in the iron hold of his heart. Everyone had made their decision. They all knew what had to be done. Sitting around here and moping wouldn't help anybody. They had to clear the dungeon to get out; so that's what they were going to do. The Blood Knight found a smile breaking out without his consent. "You're a real bastard, ya know that?" Graves chuckled, his foot slipping underneath the shaft of the halberd upon the floor in front of him. With practiced ease, he kicked the weapon up and caught it in his waiting hand. "Anybody else feel like makin' a speech?" He asked, shifting his gaze around at the others. Orchid and Altissma were quietly huddled together, looking just as afraid as the rest of them. Landon and Mirage were fairly quiet, too. "Then how about we get the hell outta here?"

The bravado that had once characterized Graves's interactions with the rest of the party returned to him. He knew they were all still apprehensive- all but Rael, anyway. Probably afraid, too. But they had collectively decided to move forward, so there was no point in dragging their feet and crying about it anymore.

With a sigh, the tank gave a short nod and raised his voice. "Alright everybody. Back in formation, we're moving. Orchid!" Graves shot a serious look at the man. "You and 2Chainz watch our midsection. Keep your eyes peeled for any ambushed from above or below, got it this time?" Graves didn't know those two well, but he hoped they could be relied upon in a crisis.

Turning his eyes toward their damage dealers, the Blood Knight addressed them as well. "Mirage, Sky, Landon- kill anything before it gets too close. We'll keep you covered, just make sure everything fuckin' dies, got it?" They were the lynch pin to the formation. If the backline ever fell, none of the rest of them had the damage to deal with a horde of monsters descending upon them. It was the job of the tanks and the healer to make sure they stayed alive long enough to make sure the monsters fell.

Graves looked next to the pair of supportive casters. Tiferet was holding up surprisingly well. Probably better than Graves was, if...he was honest with himself. Most of his confidence was a flimsy facade meant to make the rest of them feel better. In all honestly, Graves was probably closer to Sky's reaction- breaking down into tears- than Rael or Tif's. Somehow, however, he kept up the mask. "Fiddler, Dagger-ears. You two stay right behind me, okay? I'll make sure you're safe." Graves looked between the two, but his eyes were mostly on Eli when he said that line. "Just keep us all up. That's all you gotta do. It's just another dungeon, right?"

Finally, Graves looked to Rael. She was the only one who looked like she had her shit together. Whether that was her hiding behind an impressive mask or the fact that she was just impossibly brave, Graves couldn't tell. But her ability to remain calm, or at least fake it, caused Graves to naturally rely on her more than the others. "Pipsqueak," He addressed her with a grin. "I'm counting on you to watch the rear and to fill in any gaps in our defense. If anything gets through, you peel back to deal with it. You can do that, right? 'Course you can." Graves dropped a hand from his halberd, the larger tank quickly went to ruffle the little ball of angst's hair. "Oh, and don't call my party members dummies- that's my job. Now! Let's move, people! We don't got all day."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

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Graves stood in stoic silence, softened eyes cast over the rest of his newfound companions. A number of them stepped forward to say their piece on the matter. With each voice that rang out in those damnable halls, the inner gnawing of doubt and fear began to slowly quiet. Elian's words held a heavy truth to them. No one there was anything special. Not really. They hadn't logged on earlier that day expecting to be shoved into a life or death situation with no hope of escape. If they knew what they were getting into, it was likely none of them would've came. Yet here they were, all the same. Graves understood her fear. Hell, he held it within his heart all the same. The tank let his arms drop from his chest, taking a singular foot forward. He was intent on moving to Elian's side, to make the healer feel better in some respect.

Or, he would have, if not for the intervention of Tiferet. Their resident fiddler was alongside the healer, a confident, reassuring hand upon the woman's shoulder. What Tif said was true, too. The only way their party was getting out of their was through the monsters; sitting back and waiting guaranteed nothing, other than the same fighting that would come for them whether they moved through the dungeon or remained where they were. This wasn't about heroics, like Elian said. This...this was about survival now.

"Elian?" Graves spoke her name in the hopes of getting her attention. "I'm gonna keep you safe. I promise." The Blood Knight spoke with a confidence he didn't have. Faux though his courage may be, Graves meant what he said. He'd keep their healer safe. It was his job, after all. No different from any of the other dozen times the tank and the dancer worked together. Well, mostly. There was one difference: they were playing for keeps this time around.

The bounty hunter's shaky, cold hands returned to cross over his bare chest. The crimson eyes of the bulky warrior turned away from Tif and Elian, moving over to where Sky was...well. Sky looked like she was losing it, to put it lightly. The fire mage was laughing hysterically while hot tears ran down her cheeks. Just looking at her, it felt like someone had punched Graves in the gut. 'Damn..' Once more, the typically prickly man felt...compelled...to move. To speak, at the very least. Protecting people was second nature to the tank. But how could he protect them from this? There wasn't an ogre to fight. No horde of goblin archers to knock down. It was the fear of death that weighed on them all; something no weapon could hope to harm.

Thankfully, Sky was stronger than she looked. She was able to get a handle on her emotions and swallow the pain, at least for the time being. Graves held his gaze upon her. He listened, and he understood, but...Did he agree? The fire mage spoke of a world they all wanted to return to. Of things they missed out on by being stuck in this dreadful place. Yet Graves felt a nagging in the back of his head. A question that would never find it's way to his lips.

'Do I have anything to return to?'

Andrew had a fairly mundane life. He'd always thought the hand fate had dealt him was shitty. His family couldn't care less about him. He had no real friends, if he was honest with himself. Life was a cycle of waking up, going to work, then coming to home to play Pariah until he was too exhausted to continue. Pariah was the only place he had found any real joy. Everything else he did was, in essence, a way to continue to feed into his gaming habits. That didn't...that didn't mean he wanted to be locked up in here, though. He didn't want the threat of death constantly dangled before him every time he logged on; and he definitely wasn't going to let any of these other people be caught up in here because of his inaction.

Burdened by questions he really shouldn't be worrying about at a time like this, Graves's attention was quickly grabbed by the sound of Rael's voice. His eyes flickered over to her, narrowing into daggers as she outright insulted everyone for being afraid. No, that wasn't it. Rael was trying to make them feel better...in her own 'special' way. Graves didn't know how he'd missed it earlier, but the pipsqueak was smiling. She spoke with a confidence befit a warrior. Behind her courage, Rael had a point as well. They'd managed to handle the ambush without serious injury; the same threat of death had hung over them then, too, even if they didn't know about it at the time. If they could adapt to that attack, why couldn't they do the same to everything else that lay ahead?

Graves's hands steadied. The devouring teeth of terror found no purchase in the iron hold of his heart. Everyone had made their decision. They all knew what had to be done. Sitting around here and moping wouldn't help anybody. They had to clear the dungeon to get out; so that's what they were going to do. The Blood Knight found a smile breaking out without his consent. "You're a real bastard, ya know that?" Graves chuckled, his foot slipping underneath the shaft of the halberd upon the floor in front of him. With practiced ease, he kicked the weapon up and caught it in his waiting hand. "Anybody else feel like makin' a speech?" He asked, shifting his gaze around at the others. Orchid and Altissma were quietly huddled together, looking just as afraid as the rest of them. Landon and Mirage were fairly quiet, too. "Then how about we get the hell outta here?"

The bravado that had once characterized Graves's interactions with the rest of the party returned to him. He knew they were all still apprehensive- all but Rael, anyway. Probably afraid, too. But they had collectively decided to move forward, so there was no point in dragging their feet and crying about it anymore.

With a sigh, the tank gave a short nod and raised his voice. "Alright everybody. Back in formation, we're moving. Orchid!" Graves shot a serious look at the man. "You and 2Chainz watch our midsection. Keep your eyes peeled for any ambushed from above or below, got it this time?" Graves didn't know those two well, but he hoped they could be relied upon in a crisis.

Turning his eyes toward their damage dealers, the Blood Knight addressed them as well. "Mirage, Sky, Landon- kill anything before it gets too close. We'll keep you covered, just make sure everything fuckin' dies, got it?" They were the lynch pin to the formation. If the backline ever fell, none of the rest of them had the damage to deal with a horde of monsters descending upon them. It was the job of the tanks and the healer to make sure they stayed alive long enough to make sure the monsters fell.

Graves looked next to the pair of supportive casters. Tiferet was holding up surprisingly well. Probably better than Graves was, if...he was honest with himself. Most of his confidence was a flimsy facade meant to make the rest of them feel better. In all honestly, Graves was probably closer to Sky's reaction- breaking down into tears- than Rael or Tif's. Somehow, however, he kept up the mask. "Fiddler, Dagger-ears. You two stay right behind me, okay? I'll make sure you're safe." Graves looked between the two, but his eyes were mostly on Eli when he said that line. "Just keep us all up. That's all you gotta do. It's just another dungeon, right?"

Finally, Graves looked to Rael. She was the only one who looked like she had her shit together. Whether that was her hiding behind an impressive mask or the fact that she was just impossibly brave, Graves couldn't tell. But her ability to remain calm, or at least fake it, caused Graves to naturally rely on her more than the others. "Pipsqueak," He addressed her with a grin. "I'm counting on you to watch the rear and to fill in any gaps in our defense. If anything gets through, you peel back to deal with it. You can do that, right? 'Course you can." Graves dropped a hand from his halberd, the larger tank quickly went to ruffle the little ball of angst's hair. "Oh, and don't call my party members dummies- that's my job. Now! Let's move, people! We don't got all day."