Syben

The Dust: Begin Again

What time of day are we in? Morning I assume? Gonna be writing another post here soon. Anybody who wants is welcome to join in.

The Dust: Begin Again

@Darcs Also the lore piece stating Motum Diversum's capital.. is kind of gone. It should be deleted, just that one line :)

The Dust: Begin Again

@Monochromatic Rainbow Speaking of map file, if you plan on doing edits can you pen in the Seditio? I would like to pronounce my claim to ownership of the plateau. Perhaps a deep gold? or a tantalizing chocolate.

The Dust: Begin Again

“They're coming again...-”

Alex craned her neck upwards, her vision mildly obscured by the strands of platinum white bangs that dangled and danced before her face. In front of her stood a shadowy form with a wide brimmed rice hat. He was a familiar face, and she was not unhappy to see him, despite the curt frown on her face. She stood, rolling her stiff shoulders back as she pulled away from the paperwork before her–Supply manifests, patrol rosters, and all the other boring settlement stuff she hated doing. In fact, she nearly smiled at the thought of combat, the adrenaline, the intensity of it. She frowned because this was the third attack this week, because it was a risk to the people–Her people. She pursed her lips, her mind formulating the basis of a question considering the attackers number, but Godden knew her too well.

“-A single unit, fifty to seventy of them.” Godden reported, looking at her passively with his muddy, watercolor eyes; a mixture of browns, grays, and blacks, all swirling together like a pool of water.

“That's a handful more than last time, where are they getting all these body's?” Alex questioned, though she didn't really expect an answer.

“They appear to be slave soldiers, probably from the pits or the mines. They're driven by a whip-master and a smaller force of what must be actual Forsaken; a few of them were wearing animal skulls rather than rags and scraps.”

“You never cease to amaze me Godden,” Alex complimented as she neatly straightened her stacks of paperwork and set them aside to be done later–maybe. He was her information officer, and held a standing of Jarl within the Seditian Society, so such was expected. Yet, the compliment was not wasted. He gave her the flicker of a smile, just a tiny fluttering glimmer of white teeth nestled between a thin mustache and a crisp beard that ran along his jawline.

“I want you, Tah'li, Camp B, and this time I'll be joining you,” Alex spoke as she looked up at him, due to her height she could easily see his face and the small tug of a frown at the corner of his lips. He opened his mouth to speak but she laid a gentle hand on his chest.

“It's time Godden, we've waited long enough and many have gathered.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, a suggestive ”Hmm” escaping his throat and still sounding like a direct question. “Bored?” He teased quietly.

“They've move to the footholds of our plateau and they keep intercepting our trade wagons,” She explained, though he continued to give her the same curious look. “...And I'm out of soap.” That brought a soft, genuine laugh out of him, something Alex hardly got to see anymore. She looked up at him, her hand lingering just a little too long and the sadness just a little to evident in her eyes, her face just a little to expressionless. She jerked her hand away and walked outside, Godden silently followed her.

In other life, or another time, she would have loved that man to the fullest, and he would have loved her back. Despite Godden being the grizzled, hardened wasteland veteran only a few years shy of his forties, it was Alex who was too haunted, too broken to put herself in that position again. She could see it in his eyes, nearly everyday, the love that sparkled behind them. There only thing between them were a few nights of passion, albeit usually influenced by alcohol. He never pressed the subject, nor did he read to deeply into her actions or skew his interpretations of her mood and words. He understood her, if not fully, then enough, and somehow that made it worse. Still, the tall, toned man next to her was one of her most loyal subjects. His dedication to her and her cause only rivaled by his deadliness in combat. She snuck a glance at him, easily reading the definition of muscle beneath his well-fit tan shirt. He wore a long black coat which, when button, hid his two kami katana well, which were belted to his opal colored jeans at the waist.

Godden tipped his hat lower as they stepped outside into the glaring sun and Alex joined him in shielding her eyes by pulling her tinted goggles down. She flicked the red hood up to her head just as her feet met the flat, worn dirt track that navigated foot traffic through the small settlement. Outside people milled about, some of whom made it a point to turn and nod at her respectfully. It was Godden who had taught her the basics of a social structure from an old tribe of people, older than Dust and the world that came before it. She wanted to be strong, and Godden taught her how. Now she ran a society where only the strong reigned, but respectfully. She wasn't so savage as the Forsaken, despite the similarities between the two structured governments. She had her honor challenged several times to the position of Konung, King, of the Seditio. She hadn't killed any of her challengers, and neither had she badly wounded them. The duels could technically be fought to the death, but she had instilled a sense of honor and respect into them as they wandered in slowly throughout the year.

To either side of her she could see the watchtowers looming up over a field of bright green tents fluttering in the arid desert breeze. She had never expected so many Immortals to show up, but the standards were doing a good job of driving them to her. Even the territory wars were doing a good job helping to build her ranks, despite the new opportunities for mercenary work. She had nearly a hundred Immortals pledged to her, spread between four camps around the town. Camp B was on the north-eastern edge of town, the direction Godden headed towards. Alex continued to stride down the track through town, the dirt had been churned and mixed with wet clay before being flattened back out. It was almost like a little road in its own right, though not as smooth or nicely textured.

Alex whistled sharply, catching the attention of a woman walking out of the town's bank, also known as The Vault. The place had been set up not to long ago, ran by a pointy eared rat of a man who seemed to know what he was talking about, half from knowledge and the because he wore half-moon spectacles over his crooked, pointy nose. The woman who walked out however, was like flipping a coin when compared to Alex. She was nearly the same height, but Tah'li was tan and had a well toned everything. From her hands to her toes and her bust to her butt, she looked like something Alex had seen in a very old magazine once, just with more clothes on; and that was saying something. A strip of cloth wrapped around her chest, though Tah'li had said it was a tube top or something or other. Alex was pretty sure her underwear were made from more fabric. The legs of her jeans had been cut in half to form shorts, and then cut in half again. If Alex looked hard enough she swore she could make out the beginning curve of Tah'li's ass. The woman was hardly modest, and flaunted her body around usually to manipulate men–and some women too. Godden had snickered when he met her, said she was a walking stereotype, referencing something Alex hadn't understood and didn't care to remember.

Tah'li sauntered over to Alex, popping one hip to the side and resting the matching hand on it. She almost looked like she was striking a pose for a picture, if not for the two glimmering silver pistols poking from the askew gun belt at her waist and a full bandoleer she wore more for style than functionality. The other hand brushed back a flowing waterfall of chestnut brown hair aware from her eyes in a swooping, and slightly dramatic flip. “What's crackin' hun?”

Alex's eye twitched, ever so slightly as she turned to the slightly taller woman, “We're talking 'B' out.”

“Oh my, some more baddies struttin up here huh?”

Alex nodded in reply, and towards the direction of the old road that led into town. “Ah'ite, Ya'll sure know how to treat a lady.” Tah'li said thickly. Alex had never been able to place her accent, though she knew little of the previous world. Godden had merely chuckled when Alex asked him about it.

The two of them had barely gone a few paces down the road when a small mob of people came streaming around the north-eastern end of town. That turned the heads of everyone on the street, and it took only a moment for everybody to catch on. Godden led the herd of people into formation behind the three of them, roughly twenty Immortals fell into stride, each of them grinning widely. Those milling about on the street let out hoots and hollers, before a soft rumble of a chant rose up, quickly turning into a dull roar and accompanied by a percussion of stomping boots and weapons banging loudly against wood. A wild cacophony of wolf-esque calls and howls rose up into the air. Nearly every man and woman in the settlement yearned, thirsted for battle. To die in battle was to obtain the highest glory, and to be excepted into the folds of the warrior kingdom of Valhalla after death. Where they would live on as a fighting spirit forever encompassed within the thrill of battle.

The shrill cries echoed across the flat plateau, spreading for over a mile in every direction, sending chills up the spine of their enemies. Enemies that were not fully aware of them enemy they were to face. Each attack had failed, and there had never been any survivors to report back on the enemy. Even now as they marched the burned, broken, maimed, and partially dissolved bodies of their brethren lied strewn about the field around them. At least fifty men in all, from the previous two attacks. What bothered the whip-master the most, were the larger boulders that were cracked and split, and blasted with a permanent coat of ash. Some of the ash patterns looked like a person screaming, but perhaps that was just his nerves. The whip-master grit his teeth and cracked his tool in the air, driving his soldiers on.

Alex stood on top of a sizable boulder, her warriors crouched behind her. She had been studying, and one of the things she learned was that a dramatic moment could off-put an enemy, giving you a slight advantage that would steadily increase as the shock and awe hit. The forsaken stopped perhaps a hundred yards from her. There was always the chance of a stray arrow hitting her, but another teaching had told her that when facing the unexpected a smart tactician would asses the situation, which is what seemed to be happening now. The forsaken army shifted around in anticipation, waiting for the call to attack, but also the nervousness of the unknown.

Suddenly Alex let out a shrill battle cry, throwing her head back and letting out her wolf call, “Ou-Ou-OOOU!” She screeched, as her small battalion of soldiers spilled out from the rocks and shadows behind her, mimicking her call not will a shrill cry, but with a stampeding roar of battlelust.

Godden charged ahead with the pack, his arm making a grandeur over head sweep as he lifted Alex's boulder into the air with a violent jerk. Alex crouched, keeping her purchase on the rough surface of the rock as it lurched forward into the air, her twin daggers connected into a bladed staff and held out to one side for balance. A moment later the boulder smashed into the front lines of the Forsaken soldiers, their snapping of their bones barely audible over the road of her warriors–A roar so loud and terrible that she could visibly see the Forsaken slave soldiers shaking, driven only by the fear of the way the Forsaken punished cowardice. Each of those elements worked into Alex's favor, a shattered morale and a fear to turn back meant no survivors, no reports of who or what she was, nothing connecting Isolone to the white-eyed demon.
Alex launched herself from the boulder, over the broken bodies of the Forsaken beneath the rock in a graceful spin which landed he behind a pair of soldiers gaping open-mouthed at her as she soared overhead. They were too slow to turn around and Alex's staffed whipped around her, slicing through the air in a blur as she cut deep into the back of their knees, dropping them to the ground with high pitched screams of pain. She used the force of the swing to spin around, her eyes quickly assigning a target. The Forsaken woman feel back as Alex whipped the tail end of her staff across the slave soldier's throat, leaving it in a ruined mess and causing a spray of blood to fan out into the air, blinding an adjacent soldier dressed in rags. The staff reversed direction again, a flash of metal burying itself into the man's chest. A loud cry issued from directly behind her and she turned just in time to see a fist sized rock smash into the Forsaken warrior's skull, a chunky pulp of blood and bone bursting from their skull.

Godden rushed up next to her, a blur of black cloth and tempered steel as his katanas flashed in and out of bodies in a fluid dance of death. The earth split and churned beneath Godden's enemies, and she could see his hands working, Godden had the ability to move earth, but she could already see a fatigue of sweat dotting his brow as he excessively used his power. He was more practice in the blade, but less in his power than Alex. Father down the line of battle a woman of Indian heritage and tanned skin was dodging and weaving through the battle firing chrome plated pistols with more than average skill. Tah'li moved like the unnatural thing she was, one moment she was there and the next she was a loose gust made of smoke snaking between bodies, positioning, and firing. She didn't have exceptional powers, but she could turn herself into a thick black smoke and move rapidly. She wasn't immune to damage in that state, but she was difficult and confusing to attack, with the addition of not exactly being slow either.

A man charged at her with a savage cry of desperation, two crudely made axes raised in the air. The benefit of fighting slave soldiers was that they were poorly trained and didn't have a warrior's spirit. They were broken, and merely fodder for the more able bodied Forsaken warriors to cleave through their enemies. Alex struck out low with her staff and slice up in a control arc, opening the slave's flesh from groin to neck. He stumbled forward before collapsing to the ground with a wail of pain and terror. Alex moved through the fray with vicious intent, there was no honor among the Forsaken, and she did not treat them as such. She struck down every enemy in her path without pause, and even those engaged with somebody else fell to her, stabbed in the back or severed at the knee tendons.

A layer of sweat clung to her body as she drew deep ragged breaths. Her eyes were pure maliciousness beneath her goggles as she spotted the whip-master. He stunned those charging at him with expert use of his whip, the steel tip of his weapon slicing deep gouges in her warriors. She saw one fall and was there before the whip-master could plunge his sword down into the chest of her ally. Her weapon sliced through his whip easily, and she whirled it around her hand in a blow aiming for his neck. He parried and stumbled back with surprise. He quickly regained his wit as Alex came at him again, they dodged and parried but neither of them were able to land a blow. Alex leaped backwards, hefting her staff up over her shoulder and flinging it like a spear. The Forsaken's mouth split in a grin as he saw the fatal, desperate attempt at his life, which he batted away effortlessly. That smile was still on his face as the acrid smoke rose up to meet his nostrils, his body knocked off its feet and rapidly falling towards the earth. The electricity still buzzed beneath Alex's skin as she fired off a second round, the powerful arc smashing into the side of the man and sending him rolling across the ground in a smoking heap.

The echoing crack of her power was loud enough to stun the slave soldier's closest to her, as they gazed at her in confusion and fear they were met only with her wide, toothy grin. Lightning burst from her hands, smashing into the Forsaken and knocking them backwards. None of them were able, or willing, to get close to her as her hands flashed with blast after blast. A woman scream and charged at Alex, a rusty, pitted sword raised high in the air. Alex hit her directly in the mouth with an arc powerful enough to blow out the back of the woman's skull. And just like that, the battle was over.

Alex looked around her, triumphant. Battle always ended so suddenly, so anti-climatically. Godden strode across the field towards her, with Tah'li in tow. The rest of the warriors gathered towards her as well, forming a circle around her. Godden had scooped up her weapon somewhere in between, and handed it to her without pause. She took it, holding still as she looked at the faces around her. Haughty, dignified, mirthful faces. She raised her spear in the air in a triumphant and let out a triumphant scream–Her soldiers howled in unison.

This was only the beginning. They would not stop here.

The Dust: Begin Again

@Monochromatic Rainbow XD Oh my god yes. Where do I sign the petition for this?

The Dust: Begin Again

@RedDusk I think it's fine–more than fine. It is very worthy, and has me interested to know more. You hath delivered well.

The Dust: Begin Again

@Lightning Fast & @Monochromatic Rainbow *dies of laughter* Just finished reading the IC. Oh. My. Talos.

The Dust: Begin Again

@RedDusk You must prove your worth by being the strongest and most cunning of course! Everything goes.

The Dust: Begin Again

@Blubaron45 You are welcome to join me. (Keep Reading)

Greeting and Salutations to those new and old. I am Aeon (the glorious) the creator and proprietor of Dust. Whereas Darcs and Mono, as it stands currently, are your two wonderful GM's, I am more of a spiritual guide. I understand my vision, but they may have their own. I'm currently in the process of being brought up to speed, but I am not here to assume control of Dust. I think they are doing a fine job, and whereas I will have a hand in the happenings, I am not here to reinstate myself as overlord GM of Dust.

So, onto the roleplay then. I have my character up, same as ever. She will be heading a faction called "The Seditio", a viking style social class group composed of only Immortals (planning to be numbered between 30-70 Immortals tops, though not set on anything specific quite yet.) Any and All are welcome, and if interested in a certain social position, whether it be Shaman, Advisor, Right or Left Hands, a Leg, A Jarl, A Karl (kaaaaaaarrrrrrrl, you can't do that kaaarl), or etc. Just PM me, there's always something. Though probably not Shaman, maybe a spiritual advisor hehe. Concerning the time skip, Isolone would have remained mostly quiet, excluding the few trade caravans every now again for supplies as the town is rebuild.

Current standing the town is moderate, functional, and defensible. There will be a description of the faction and the town soon-ish, and will be making a play at something soon.

Always Lurking.
-Aeon

P.s (edit) The Seditio were born from normals discreminating against Immortals.

The Dust: Begin Again

Name: Alexandria Svet-Yulia
Aliases: Konung ("King") of the Seditio, The White-eyed Demon, The Red Bitch (derogatory).
Age: 21
Appeared Age: Early Twenties
Height: 5'2
Weight: 115lbs est.
Eye Color: Completely White
Hair Color: Platinum White
Physical Identifiers:

• Two parallel scars encircling her neck, about 2 ¹/₂ inches in width.
• Multiple scars crisscrossing her back, varying between 1-2 inches in width.

Appearance: Alexandria isn't the kind of girl one would usually look twice at; unless concerned about her overall general size. A petite oval face, framed by long and haphazardly placed platinum white hair giving her kind of an eccentric look about her as she always hides her eyes behind goggles. Goggles that are usually reflective, or host to a one-way lens, which sit atop a proportionate bulb nose. Small, pert lips which are often set in a pressed line of determination, or puckered, and slightly askew in concentration.

Alexandria, herself, doesn't figure she's very attractive; despite having an average bust; the rest of her completes the picture of her miniatureness which narrow hips, a slender frame, and an almost non existent rump. Though there is evidence of some toned muscle wrapped about her body, she is hardly the picture of the ferocity that lies behind her goggles. She is apt at seeming menacing when she needs to be as of late, and has a shadowy, harder look about her when she does so.

Background

Residence: The village of Isolone.
Profession: Konung ("King") of the Seditio
Aligned Faction: Neutral (Unfavorable towards Standards, aka non-Immortals.)
Relatives: Unknown

Backstory

Life for Alexandria was a hard one, but that's nothing special here in the wasteland. Everybody's life is hard. Yet, these experiences, as tragic as they may or may not be, helped mold her into the rabid little creature she is today. Ironically, she was often referred to as charged and ready to explode at any moment, though this irony is only in hindsight. Let's start at the beginning.

2361A.F, a baby girl was born to the coupling of a man from old world, Russian descent, and a mixed race wife. They named her Alexandria Svet-Yulia, the combined last names of both of her parents, though Yulia translates into "Young", her mother's last name. Matvei Svet-Mikah, her father, finally settled down with his wife Grace Young, where he would lead the dangerous life of a scavenger. Where best to do this? The bustling, crowded, Russel City, where any man could make a life for himself. He spent long weeks in the wastes, fighting innumerable dangers so that his wife and child could have a life, relatively free from the dangers of the desert. Though there were many times where Grace fought off those less fortunate, rather savagely and desperately. The kind of parents that would do anything to protect the only ray of hope for them, Alexandria.

It was a quiet evening, six years later, when night was just beginning to fall, casting it's shadowed blanket across the lands, when Matvei returned home after a long and prosperous week of scavenging. Imagine the look beneath his covered face, behind his protected eyes, when he stumbled upon a trap door half buried in some sandy ruins, a treasure trove of old world junk. He was an adapt haggler, and would be able to turn a mighty profit so that his wife and child could have the necessary things in life, and more. It was a relatively simple plan, loot the ruins, try not to die, make money; happy wife happy life. And Oh! How he longed to see his baby girl's face, unblemished by the scorching sands of Dust, unmarred by the howling winds. Matvei nearly dropped dead in the doorway.

The large apartment was turned upside down. Both bedroom's ransacked, the furniture smashed. Even kitchen, as expected, had been looted for everything that could be carried, even the handful of baby toys Matvei had acquired. He stumbled through the wreckage of the living area, shreds of clothing littering broken furniture. He recognized it, a nice dress he had bought for his wife. She must have been waiting for him, he did say he would return on this day. He shook his head, half in horror, half in disbelief. She would have heard the knock, only to run to the door and throw it open in expected delight of her husband. He knelt down, picking up a long shred of cloth, covered with blood. He did not think, he did not feel, the only thing the coursed through his veins was electrifying vengeance.

He had already expected this, but the sorrow still pierced through his heart. In the far corner of the living room was the playpen he had constructed for his six year old daughter. The pen was empty, but Matvei's heart turned even darker. There was no blood on the playpen, but there was a trail of it leading towards the bathroom facilities. He was half tempted to turn and walk out, his wife did not deserve this, he felt he would shame her spirit by going any further. He should just leave, he already knew, she wouldn't want him to see her decomposing. But he had to know. He had to be sure.

Her broken body lay upon the tile which was smeared with an expanding pool of blood. She was undressed, multiple lacerations covering her body. It was obvious what had been done to her previous, before whomever did this slit her throat and left her to die, covered in a ragged scarlet dress of her own blood. He wept softly, a man as hard as he, but he could not restraint himself. Everything had been taken from him in an instant, he should have come home a day earlier. He should have barred the doors, should have warned Grace about the dangers of society. He should of done this, should of done that, but his eye caught something as he turned away from the shameful scene of his wife's body. A small slip of blood covered paper.

A receipt. Rage once again boiled inside of him. He looked at his wife's body in shock. He rolled her over violently, turning her broken neck, looking for- There, he found it. Two small holes on the neck, the marks of a drug addict. The receipt had a name on it, belonging to a very unfortunate person.

It was months later when Max McClaire awoke in a dark room he did not recognize. The winds howled outside, and old world junk was piled in nearly every corner of the room. He moved to stand, and his breath caught, he was tied to the chair. Suddenly the blinding light in his face was very evident, the throbbing from his skull, and the large imposing shadow standing before him. That's right, he had been at a meeting, a deal about to happen. Somebody wanted a supply of his stock, which was expected, his new drug was all the rage; benefits of being a homemade chemist. The man stepped forward, he could have easily been over six foot tall. "Where is my daughter?" He asked.

The screams were but a complimentary shriek to the howling winds.

Six more years pass, and we come back to Alexandria. A young child still, about to reach her early teens. The night her mother was molested and killed had replayed in her mind, haunting images plagued her dreams, for the past six years. She had been drugged and hauled across the desert wastes to an unfamiliar place. For days the terrain rolled by, endless expanses of shimmering flat earth, of sandy drifts and dunes, of hard rocky terrain littered with boulders. They walked the whole way there, her captors large and imposing, she has still been but a toddler, and they walked her until her shoeless feet bled and she could walk no more. Sometimes they would carry her, slung over their shoulder and held by her ankles, like freshly killed game. Other times she was dragged until she got up, and walked again.

She wasn't taken to any city of Dust, though she did not know that at the time, but rather a camp. A camp full of dirty, vicious people. There were others like her there, most of them were older, but they helped her. Guided her so that she would feel the lash of their whips less often, so that she wouldn't be thrown down and beaten in the dirt like an animal. Taught to keep her head low and her eyes down so she would be picked less often for their lustful urges, which often came with a beating or a lashing anyways. Though they were careful not to permanently scar her flesh, but for reasons unbeknownst to her.

She became used to pain there, as she grew up at the hands of her masters. Sometimes they went out and would bring her new friends to play with, to teach as she had been taught. She would see her misery reflected in their eyes, her pain echoed in their wails of agony. Their shame, after being hauled off to one of the barracks. Bad slaves were kept outside in a pen, with just enough water to fight over to stave off dehydration. Good slaves were assigned as personal servants, under the protection of their master, to follow their will above all. Alexandria was a good slave, he had been in service for a year now, to a woman named Sula, whose tastes fell more along the feminine side of the coin.

Four more years pass. Alexandria is sixteen now, and she is one of the very best slaves. Her masters are proud of her, she learns very quickly, she is humble and reclusive. Her masters hardly even notice her presence when she's around, replacing empty platters of food or refilling drink, as quickly and silently as an apparition. She hasn't been punished in months, and her master are so very proud of her. She no longer cries when they pick her to end a night of drunken stupor with that of lust. She no longer fights, no longer resists, no longer has any will, for they are masters of their trade. She is almost ready to sell now, Greya spoke to her, often times in the bed, of how much she will miss her little Alexia. Alexandria is a good slave, and told her master how much she will miss her, her beauty, her wisdom, and other pleasantries. Her master would smile, sometimes she would be gentle, but Greya was a rough and callous person, and it often showed on Alexandria's body; bruises, superficial cuts, burns that would later be applied a poultice to keep from scarring. But Alexandria was a good slave, and she enjoyed what her master enjoyed.

It was merely days before the auction, Alexandria was laying breathless with her Master. She had been a good slave, she had pleased her Master well, and was to receive a gift later, something to remember her Master by. Soon she was dressed and following as Greya's shadow. The envy of other slaves male and female, the pride of her masters. She was passed around for service to many others who would miss her, but there was much talk of how much profit they could bring in. No matter how much they fancied her servitude, her company, or her body, they were still going to sell her to another Master, she would have to leave the only home she had ever known, or could remember. She was scared, but Greya comforted her, because her little Alexia was such a good, well behaved slave.

The night before the auction Greya summoned Alexandria. She was so pleased with her little Alexia, told her what a good slave she was, and even though her Alexia had come down with a cold, she hid the fact well, and Greya was so very proud of her good little slave. She held a bauble out in her hand, a small globe set upon an old and rusted base. Greya shook it and little snowflakes danced around a tiny figurine of a female woman, who appeared to be wearing odd shoes with blades beneath. Greya told her this was a snowglobe, and the figure in the middle was an ice skater. Alexandria tried to refuse modestly, slaves were not allowed to have possessions other than what they were given to wear. Greya gave her the look the meant she was about to be struck out of anger, and Alexandria did not want that. She was a good slave after all.

The bauble was heavy in her hands, and she shook it with delight. A smile crept across her face, showing her real joy. It was a beautiful trinket, and her delight made Greya smile. Greya moved close, pulling Alexandria close to her body, when an alarm was raised. Greya cursed and order Alexandria to stay put, that she would be back in a moment to see that smile again. Alexandria was a good slave, but a clever one too. She leaned out of the tent to see a brawl happening in the streets. A large man was striding through the streets, covered head to toe in a thick iron armor, welded together. He held a massive sword and was cutting a swathe through her Masters as bullets ricocheted off his armor. A gathering of men were following behind him, shining stars reflecting off of the breast of their shirts.

The battle raged on, tents burst into flames and people on both sides were dying left and right. Slaves cowered in the pens as stray bullets whizzed past them, some of them injured, some of them killed instantly. The large iron man in the midst of the battle finally caught sight of her. He strode towards her, his massive sword cutting through her masters. It was then that Greya appeared before him, only to be struck down by the flat of his blade. Alexandria's throat caught, Greya was about to be killed, her master was about to die.

A mantra repeated itself in her head, as the snowglobe fell from her hands; "I'm a good slave. A good slave. A good slave. A good girl. I'm a good girl. Good girl... Good girl...I'm a.."

The man paused as she ran towards him, her bare feet moving across the dirt with speed. Slaves were not allowed to run unless ordered. "But I'm a good slave." Slaves were not allowed to disobey their masters. "But I'm a good slave." Slaves were not allowed to pick up a weapon. "But I'm a good slave." And most importantly, slaves were never permitted to kill. "But I'm a good slave."

Blood streamed from beneath the man's massive helmet, a sparse column of smoke drifting from the eye hold where Alexandria had pressed the barrel of a gun. His arms were halfway around her, about to crush the life from her body, but the bullet impact in his brain as seized his body, so that he could not squeeze the life from her. "I'm a good slave," she repeated, as the man fell to the ground. The battle ended soon after, with Alexandria protecting Greya's unconscious body.

But Greya's little Alexia was such a bad slave. Upon discovery of the bauble, and a retelling of the acts Alexandria had committed, Greya's rage was near infinite. The last of the whip brought Alexandria to tears, as it ripped through her pale flesh. They had bound her naked to the whipping post. They could not sell such a bad slave as her. The whip cracked across her body again, splattering Alexia's blood on the hard packed earth. She wept and screamed as Greya cracked the whip over again, and again. Greya would have to buy her now, nobody would want to buy such a bad slave. The whip cracked, blood spraying from her back in a fine mist. Alexandria fell to the ground, every lash a searing cut with the hottest of blades, as if the very sun itself were cutting into her body.

Another crack, and another. Alexandria's vision wavered, but they had given her some form of herb, to give her energy, to keep her from falling unconscious. They wanted to to feel every lash, so she would know what a bad slave she was. Another lash, but Alexandria was already hoarse from screaming, nothing but a ragged whisper coming out. There was a pause, some water so that she could scream once more, more of the herb. But she could receive no more lashes, there was nowhere unmarred on her back to whip anymore. Instead of risking killing her Greya approached her holding something in her hand. She cut Alexandria's bonds, throwing her into the dirt, the hot earth pressing into her wounds, causing more screams and more tears. Greya pressed her boot against Alexandria's stomach, pressing down until she was sure she would break.

"I wouldn't want my little worm to wiggle away," Greya sneered, taking the odd metal baton she had been holding and pressing it into Alexandria's chest, right in the center between the upper portion of her breasts, the center of her collarbone.

Whatever this was had been new, fire spread throughout Alexandria's body, causing her to involuntarily seize up and spasm. Her screams caught in her throat, coming out only as a weak gurgle. Greya paused, but the burning sensation still remained in her body, causing her to twitch and spasm in pain. She pressed the rod again to the same area, Alexandria's flesh smoking from the point of impact. Again she body tensed up, the fire coursing across her flesh, her weak gurgling, the spasms, the pain.

And then it had stopped. The pain was no longer there, but Greya was still pressing the rod against her smoldering flesh. Greya looked slightly confused as Alexandria's body relaxed. She adjusted a dial on the rod and the tip of it glowed brightly, attempting to increase the intensity. A new pain erupted from Alexandria's chest, the rod was burning through her flesh, and that she did feel. A tingling sensation ran across her body, and white hot lightning erupted from her hands. The impact sent Greya sprawling a few yards away, her body twitching. Alexandria stood weakly, the sun burning her naked flesh, her wounds throbbing. But she felt alive, for the first time she felt capable. The life returned to her soul, and rage filled her eyes.

A day later the camp was found, though it was more of a smoldering ruin by now, burned to the ground. No a soul remained alive, and it was reported there were no survivors. Except for the small teen stumbling across the wastes, heading nowhere in particular, with plenty of supplies, and proper attire.

Some time later, she gave up the scavenging life and went through a spiritual exodus almost. Finding purpose, and bringing that dream to reality, she is now the founder and leader of the Seditio.

Gear

Weapons:

• Twin 9mm Pistols: Alexandria has come across a number of weapons in her travels, her 9mm pistol are the only ones she ever kept for personal use.
• Twin Tactical Daggers: Alexandria carries two twin daggers, with 17 inch blades, and 7 in handles. These daggers can attach at the hilt, which will extend out slightly when done so, to become a 5 ¹/₂ foot double ended sword staff.

Armor

Externally Alexandria wears leather bracers and knee pads, underneath her scarlet cloak however she is quite conservative, only wearing plain clothes. Though between the two layers of scarlet fabric a very thin piece of leather is sown in, providing protection from thorns and spurs.

Ammunition:

• Dirty Rounds: 50: contained in five, 10 bullet clips.
• High Grade Rounds: 20: contained in two, 10 bullet clips.
• Heavy Ammunition: N/A

Hiking Backpack:

• Medkit, Rope, Spare clothes and footwear, Sewing Kit, Water supply, Food, Burglary Kit, Small toolkit, Expandible crowbar, Spare shoelaces, Tape, Spare goggles, Flashlight, Fire starter, Water purifying tablets, Sunscreen, Waterproof bags, Thermal blanket, Sleeping bag, Pan, Utensils, Binoculars, Tarp.

Belt Pouches:

• Ammunition, Pistol, Canteen, Headlamp, Compass, Map, Fire starter, Matches, Lighter.

Immortalis Information

Manifested Phenomena: Electricity And Lightning
Unique Abilities:

• Battery: Alexandria's affinity for electricity has made her something of a living battery, meaning she can store electricity within herself by feeding off of pre existing electrical currents.
• Dispersion: For a short period Alexandria can turn specific locations of her body, like a hand, into static electrical form, allowing her to manipulate electronics. This can also be performed on small, conductive items allowing Alexandria to move them as energy, rather than mass. This can only be performed by touching the object.
• White Lightning: When Alex is in a considerable emotional state, her lightning will become "white hot", increasing in both temperature and force. However, she cannot normally do this.

Strengths:

• Oo' Shiny: Alexandria was quite a good scavenger, able to make a living off of what she found. Despite giving that up, the skills remain and she has developed a keen eye for useful items in piles of junk, and is quite creative when repurposing the intended use of things.
• Agility: Years of scavenging and running, have honed Alexandria's body to the point of being able to reach higher than average speeds and maintain them longer. This also allows her to perform acrobatic activities with relative ease; such as parkour.
• Force of a Whip: Alex may not been strong, but she is honed like a strong, fine blade. Where she could never likely physically throw another person, she can lash out like a whip and obtain a decent amount of force due to her corded, whip like muscle structure. Where she is not raw strength, she is speed, and focus, and even a wagon could kill you if it went fast enough.

Weaknesses:

• Conduit: Alexandria is a living electrical node, contact with water will begin to short circuit her and disperse any electrical energy she has into the water. This causes an arcing effect when caught in the rain.
• Conductivity: Anything that isn't metal is nearly non-conductive meaning her power is ineffective against such surfaces, or armors. This excludes the heat x impact factor of her power.
• ..Like A Rollercoaster Baby: Alex by no means, is emotionally stable. She's not stronger to emotional and nervous breakdowns, bouts of anger bordering on the extreme, and other such dysfunctions in her chemical process. Despite knowing this, and trying to work on it, she is as likely to stay calm as a bomb shop on fire in a crowded area, even if it's a small and controlled outburst.
• Who You Gunna Call?: Alex has led some kind of life, as most people have, unfortunately she tends to be one of those people who can't banish her ghosts. She feels the heavy, overbearing weight of the important people in her life haunting her, their death always plaguing her, relentlessly. Even those who abused her still haunt her, and somehow her brain finds a way to incorporate some kind of guilt into that too. These ghosts and bad experiences have been known to send her into a highly unstable emotional state, though she usually isolates herself if she can.
• Tick, Tick, Boom: Primal Rage is an influence from her Spark, Aeshma, and when she topples over the edge of anger there's nigh little that can be done to stop her, even in an out matched fight. She will fight tooth and nail and spit at this point, and is more than likely to awaken as there is little she can do to resist Aeshma's presence forcing its way forward. Unfortunately, they don't call Aesham "The Hunter" for nothing, and he plays with his food.
• Manipulator: Alexandria cannot manifest electricity or lightning, and can only use that which is available to her.

---

Awakened State

Spark Name: Aeshma "The Hunter"

Innate Awakened Abilities:

• Armor of the Spark: Every spark surrounds their host in a black, chitin like shell, or armor. Their host resides within the armor, typically in the fetal position as they do not control their armored state through direct physical movement. Rather, the spark intercepts the neural commands for movement, and manipulates the armor that way. The spark or the host may be in control, but not both. If a spark is only partially awakened, the host will be stuck in whatever partial state they enter, until they are able to fully awaken. Only then may they revert back to their normal self at will. Additionally, heavy damage to the armor will cause it to break and fall off, reverting back to the normal state of the host.
• Voice of the Spark: Once awakened, the host and the spark may converse mentally. The Spark can share its knowledge, though since the phenomena is not innate to the spark itself, it can only give ideas and tips for power useage; The spark cannot teach its host mastery over their abilities. The spark can retain memories gathered from their host, recalling things they forget, or even noticing things the host themselves failed to, but only through the host's eyes. Many sparks may know each other, and may recognize other awakened forms. The awakened armor is unique to the spark, which is how sparks may recognize each other, even if the differences between two armor sets are very subtle.

Additional Abilities:

• Heavy Draw: Aeshma can detect and draw electricity to himself. He can do this with a very large current of energy from nearly a mile away. The smaller the electrical current, the closer he has to be. This ability maxes out at just under a mile, no matter the potential strength of the electricity he detects.
• Full Dispersion: Aeshma's awakened state gives Alex the power to become flash of lightning for about two seconds, but letting her move incredibly fast. This allows her to pass through her foes and electrocute them as if struck by actual lightning, and to travel along a conductive surface. This is a powerful ability, and its use is quite infrequent.

Additional Strengths:

• I Can Smell Your Fear: Aeshma is a primal hunter. He has a great sense of tracking, akin to a predatory animal. It's very difficult for somebody to escape him by simply fleeing or hiding.
• Faster Than A Speeding..: Aeshma is not a creature of strength, or of great endurance, but swiftness and precision. What he lacks in physical prowess, he makes up for quick reflexes and speed. Along with his instincts and razor sharp claws, he makes an incredibly deadly foe.

.
Additional Weaknesses:

• Time Bomb: The more power that Aeshma uses, the more he charges the atmosphere around him. Negative and Positive Ions separate as a result of the static charge he gives off from using his power, causing dust to rise into the air. Over a short period of time the dust will gather and draw moisture, forming rainclouds. This effect can only occur outside.
• Do Not Operate When Wet: Contact with water will short circuit Aeshma's stored power. Continuous contact will drain him until the Awakened State dissipates completely, removing Aeshma from control and leaving Alex with no power.
• I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore: As of yet, Alex and Aeshma both have very little control over the Awakened state. They may be able to retain full functionality for a time, but fighting the Primal Hunger is a battle quickly lost. It is a feeling, a desire, a need, that overrides whatever priority present and will send them into a bloody frenzy. It is theorized that saying this hunger will give them back control of the Awakened state, but alas that is merely an unproven hypothesis. The Primal Hunger does not differentiate between friend, foe, innocents, or even children. Nobody is safe, so hide yo' kids and hide yo' wife.