webboysurf

Avatar: The White Jade Gambit

EDIT: It is ready to be ripped apart.

It's getting swampy

_{"We're all trees on the same branch... wait, that's not right..."}

_NAME

Huo

_AGE

19

_BIRTHPLACE

Foggy Swamp

_ELEMENT

Water

_{APPEARANCE DETAILS}

Huo is tall, but not altogether imposing. He leans more on the lean side, and is almost always seen in the travel garments of his people. He sports a hat made from a leaf sourced from the swamp, along with natural fiber wraps around his forearms and shins. He keeps his hair cut roughly to shoulder length, but does little to style it. The rest of his garments are assorted basic earthbender attire with the sleeves removed, as Huo finds them too restrictive. The most notable addition to his outfit that he prefers to keep intact is the wooden plate on his chest, a symbol of his pride in his homeland.

_PERSONALITY

Huo is, for better or worse, a child of the Foggy Swamp Tribe. He has remained fairly sheltered from the politics and culture of the outside world, and was instead instilled with the virtues of his people: community, generosity, joy, and a deep respect for the natural world. Some may call it immaturity and innocence, but Huo has a deep love of people and the world that he is experiencing for the first time. He wishes to see the best in people. In terms of his general beliefs, Huo ascribes to a simple philosophy: we are all branches on the same tree. The best way to solve any problem, in his book, will involve cooperation and different perspectives, and is quick to acknowledge alternate views in influencing his decision or approach.

That is not to say Huo is soft and unwilling to fight now. He had let Chi fall at the hands of the Earth Kingdom the first time he had truly faced adversity, and that shame dwells in his heart. He hopes to make it up to her through his actions going forward, but does his best to note let the shame turn to hate. He would rather fight for his love of others than in retribution for their failures... though that is a line that he finds tough to balance. His shame and desire to see the best in others does carry with it naivety and a predisposition to be manipulated.

_BIOGRAPHY

Huo was born into the Foggy Swamp Tribe, and has remained somewhat disconnected from the politics of the world as a whole. While Earth nation kingdoms have bickered and fought, and even as a coup occurred early into Huo's life that installed King Wei into power... the Foggy Swamp Tribe has remained relatively remote and isolated. They had little to offer the changing world outside, and Huo felt a strong connection to the values he was raised with. He believed in a harmony and connection with all things that lived in the swamp, and with those he considered to be family. He was a strong and brave kid, picking up bending from a young age. Since he was nine, Huo was racing skiffs alongside grown adults through the expansive reaches of the swamp.

That is not to say Huo was a reckless child, or entirely ignorant of the outside world. Even in somewhere as remote and independent as the swamp... it was noticeable when the communication trickled to a near dead halt. It was even more noticeable when guardians of the Foggy Swamp tribe who would patrol near the very fringes of the swamp began going missing. A tension filled the air year by year, as it became clear that something very wrong was afoot. Even as that anxiety was clear to a young Huo, he remained sheltered from the true horrors of what was to come. They all were.

Until they weren't.

Huo was a gifted water bender, and was trained from the age of twelve in more complex waterbending forms. Back then, it always felt like playing. Water whips, octopus form, even surging up waves of water to defend against getting pelted with a torrent of water... it all felt like games then. It was fun, and Huo enjoyed his training. One of his "instructors" was just... gone one day. She had been selected as a messenger, to simply travel to the nearest town to get some answers about the state of the world. She was only supposed to be gone a few days... but Huo hasn't seen her since. Huo's training became more intense after this. It was becoming clear that he wasn't being trained for the sake of learning or education: this was more about survival than anything else.

Huo was sixteen when the first confirmed spirit attack occurred in the Foggy Swamp. Spirits had become somewhat more of a frequent sighting before this... but a frog spirit growing in size and crushing a grown man underfoot was a change. It was the first serious injury in some time. Huo was, understandably, shaken by the sudden turn in the status quo within the swamp itself. The tribe had only one elder trained in the art of healing, Yi. Given more injuries of a serious nature and an inability to do much about the spirits directly, several young skilled waterbenders were trained to help tend to the wounded. Huo was one of the few who volunteered immediately. He hated seeing his people in pain... and hated more that there was little he could do to stop it. So, he did the best he could to provide some healing and comfort to his brothers and sisters who had been harmed in their own homeland. But the more fellow members of the tribe were injured, the more clear it was that something had to be done.

Huo, a few months shy of turning 18, was in attendance when a meeting was held among the Foggy Swamp Tribe about how to deal with the growing threat. For the first time, the adults and elder of the Tribe discussed openly their growing predicament. All attempts to get answers from the outside world yielded nothing. However, it was becoming clear at this point that if anyone was going to help solve their current predicament with the spirits and help secure the safety of the free people of the swamp... it was the Avatar. Before they could even find the Avatar, though... the people of the swamp would need more information. Their best bet would be to make a beeline for the Southern Water Tribe and hope to gather more information. They would need strong, swift waterbenders. Three volunteered, all relatively young and competent benders. Huo was one of them. Even he could tell there was a greater poison... a greater disease at the tree of humanity at large. If anyone was going to help his people, it would be the Avatar. The last two had decent relations with the Foggy Swamp Tribe. Certainly this next Avatar would be no different.

The three scouts travelled swiftly south by night, using the cover of darkness to avoid whoever they could. They relied on hunting and gathering in less populated regions, and slept in caves during the day. It did not take them too long to reach the coast. Though it took several nights camped out in a cave not far from the coast in the Xing Fuhua province to cut down several trees and fashion together a makeshift skiff... a right of passage they had all undergone at a younger age. Of course... the stakes were much higher this time around. By the fourth night, the scouts were ready to disembark.

Of course, four nights was one night too many to stay in one place so long.

They were caught on the beach by a small patrol of Earth Kingdom soldiers. Huo tried to speak for the group, and tried to explain simply they were just heading for the Southern Water Tribe. He wasn't able to say much before the rocks started flying. The eldest of the scouts, Chi, quickly took command of shielding her companions. She ordered them to get to the water with the skiff, swearing she would catch up. Huo and the other scout followed their orders, and quickly disembarked. Huo wheeled his arms around, propelling the skiff out into the choppy waters as quickly as he could. Only two Swamp Tribe scouts made it to the Southern Water Tribe, and among them... Huo was the only one conscious when they were found.

A little over a year ago, Huo discovered from his cousins in the Southern Water Tribe the truth of larger scale politics. He learned of the invasion against the Fire Nation, and the efforts the waterbenders made to defend them. He made allies with his cousins, and explained his desire to find the Avatar. Needless to say, he was less than pleased to discover that there was no Avatar. He knew trying to return to the Swamp would have been a suicide mission, given recent developments... and as he lived in communion with the Southern Water Tribe for a few weeks (whilst heavily bundled and recovering from hypothermia), it became clear that Huo's mission would have to change. Spirits were little threat when it came to the intense suffering that would come from an invasion into the Swamp by the Earth Kingdom. And if the Earth Kingdom was bold enough to attempt an invasion against the Firebenders, it would only be a matter of time. Huo committed himself to aiding the Water Tribes in repelling any attempt by the Earth Kingdom to invade by boat, biding his time until an opportunity would arise to do something more proactive.

As of three days ago, a new plan has formed. The second murmuring had begun that an Avatar had awakened, Huo knew this would be his best opportunity. The growing Rebellion would be his best chance to find the Avatar, and the Avatar was easily the answer to both threats facing his people.

_TRIVIA

Huo constantly talks to animals as if they are people. He thinks he understands them when they chirp back.

Huo has some training in healing as a waterbender. However, he has not come close to understanding how some elders were capable of plantbending.

Huo has been tried hiding his accent, but has made little progress.

The only physical possession, besides his clothes, that Huo has maintained since leaving the Foggy Swamp Tribe is his banjo. It is unclear if he is bad at playing it, or if that's just how it sounds.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Edmund Silvaine

---

Edmund's gaze turned between the varying conversations as the debate over war continued. His eye twitched slightly at the prolonged debate. Justinian seemed to have an even enough understanding of the situation, keeping his opinion on the matter subtle... and quite frankly, attempting to move the conversation to its true purpose. While some were royals in the room, only one of them held real sway. The other two acted like children, and one of them had an excuse to. The Templar of Gravity's attention was diverted to Theobald when he chose to weigh in. His argument was the closest to persuasive, but he could see past the metaphor. Underestimating others was a strength of his: failing to understand the point seemed to be as well.

The newest Scion's arrival soured an already unpleasant mood for Edmund. He found his teeth gritting slightly, his hands flexing into balled fists at his side. An apostate in all but name, chosen by the goddess herself. Edmund silenced the growing chorus in his head screaming that there must be some mistake: but the goddess doesn't make mistakes. Somehow, Renault fit into her plan... just like Lucas and Maya. But a man of the church like the Templar of Gravity was not going to dare trust Renault as far as he could throw him. It was even more disgusting when Renault dared to agree with postponing the war, planting a semblance of doubt in his mind. Tyler had already speculated these heretics could steal the powers of Scions... was Renault one of them? Was he a plant to take them all down? Background checks had shown him clearly rooted in Doumercene politics, and a brief chat with a newer recruit in the security team who worked for a former noble in Doumerc confirmed that Renault was a menace.

It wasn't until Belle and Sonia's disagreement that he was able to snap from his stupor. His eyes locked onto Belle, and then Sonia. More bickering, more idle chatter about how sending others to their death would keep them safe. He nodded at Sonia's words, but turned his gaze back to Theobald as he spoke loud enough for those gathered to hear. "I believe your metaphor is either abhorent or mistaken... you are not a hunter this time, your holiness... you are prey. By methods we are still trying to wrap our heads around, they managed to corner all of us at once and abscond with a Scion. This is not a cunning fox we are hunting, we are chasing ghosts." His gaze briefly turned towards Belle and Sonia, before turning his gaze back to Theobald. "Sending others to die in your place to create an illusion of strength does not change that you are prey, and that we still do not understand what we are fighting. Sending forces to fight the Kaudians would leave us weak." Edmund's blood was hot, his voice low and biting in unexpected indignation... and a surprising confidence. He had been worried that he had been the most fearful and paranoid of the church's chosen, but now that they were all gathered together and speaking about the deaths of thousands like it was good for their image, the first of many walls cracked slightly. He looked briefly down at Maya in her seat, before looking up with a scowl to Belle.

"We are here for the divinely appointed of Incepta to hide behind: that is our purpose. From what I remember of that night, it seems that some of the most open to war here were the ones who cowered the most."

---

@Xiro Zean@Hero@Obscene Symphony

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Edmund Silvaine

---

A Melodramatic Dream

Edmund slams blood-soaked hands against the aged wooden doors of a well-worn church, just big enough to house a community of a couple hundred farmers. The creaking of their hinges echoes in the wooden structure, though they are dampened by the masses gathered in their pews. Standing at the altar, elevated above all else, is Maya. The altar is empty, except for a single familiar hunting knife. The church-goers just watch, enraptured by the ritual they are watching. Salome beckons Edmund to come closer, but he refuses. He does not feel pain. He looks down, and he recognized the tears in his squire's uniform. His mouth tastes like iron, his limbs feel heavy. Armored men, dressed as the soldiers from the ball, surround him. They hoist him up by his arms, and drag him down the center aisle. Edmund catches a glimpse of those watching. He sees the father who never loved him, the mother who hated him, and the brother who couldn't help. Katarina and Sir Ivanov seem upset. Irina is disappointed. The Scions and Templars seem relieved. He knows they are pleased it isn't them. He is hoisted onto the altar, and Maya stands before him. She looks him in the eyes. He wakes before the knife touches him.

Edmund was subdued when he groggily opened his eyes, naturally waking before the sun had even crested the horizon. The dreams were getting more vivid. It wasn't until twenty minutes into his morning run through the gardens of the castle that he pieced together his dream was more of a nightmare. It took him another ten minutes to reconcile it was just like all the other nightmares since the new year. By the time he was in the bath, he had moved on to more important things. He reviewed the travel itinerary carefully, alongside a map of the region. He had annotated it to hell, making note of ideal ambush locations. As he dressed himself, he dared to look at his reflection in the steamed mirror. His beard had gotten longer, and more unruly. His hair was a matted mess, his bangs just barely dipping into his field of vision. He stalked through his bedroom, grabbed his hunting knife, and cut off the offending strands of hair. It was choppy and uneven, but he was never one for appearance. He popped three caffeine pills in his mouth and dry-swallowed as he put on his crisp uniform. He took a moment to look at the small programs from the funerals, reciting a prayer under his breath. He was practically dressed for war by the time he stepped out into the hallway at the sound of Maya's stirring that morning. He had enough bullets on his belt, and lining a bandolier strapped across his chest, to invade a large village.

Edmund was even more quiet than usual that day. He barely seemed to even look at Maya, but was never more than five steps away from her the second they left Veradis Castle. He kept his revolver in his lap the entire ride, his hand gripped on the hilt. When he holstered it on their approach to the castle, an imprint of the grip left red marks on his hand. He hardly noticed as he followed Maya up. He stood by with bated breath as Maya tried to gain entrance for the security detail, but there were some miracles even the queen of duplicity couldn't perform. Their denial of entry confirmed to Edmund what he already assumed: Lucas knew something, and the last thing anyone needed were prying ears. So Edmund followed a seething Maya, preparing to intervene when she decided to let that rage boil over in another's direction.

Upon entry to the dining room, he was less than enthused to find the conversation already escalate into discussions of war. Salome's mocking tone rang in his ears, and he could only watch in disgust while hovering over Maya's shoulder. Sir Ivanov had taught him chess at a young age to explain his experience in his limited engagement in war. But now, as Edmund watched the pieces move across the room, he couldn't help but feel like they were all just pawns. At least some of the pawns were offering protein and carbs, but he didn't have much of a stomach for either. His eyes caught Tyler as he spoke against war, and Edmund simply gave a small nod of respectful agreement.

“Our casus belli was an open attack on the Goddess’ Chosen, and bloodshed has always been a perfectly acceptable price for defending Her honour. Preferably less of ours, and more of theirs.”

^{"Going to fight the war on Instagram?"} Edmund's comment was soft yet biting, barely audible if not for his close proximity at Maya's side. It oozed with a disdain that had been built up over years in her service. It took him half a second to realize he had muttered it out loud. His gaze turned towards Tyler, then Lucas, and then Belle. He refused to look at Maya, even out of the corner of his eye. He quickly spoke louder to fill the pause, choosing to pretend he hadn't made the insult. "We still do not quite know the enemy who attacked us. I am only confident in their wish for the Federation to go to war with Kaudus... and I am not partial to fulfilling the wishes of heretics for an illusion of safety and justice."

---

@Obscene Symphony@Scribe of Thoth@Hero

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Edmund Silvaine

---

The Templar of Gravity left the meeting with Irina ahead of Sir Morris, and rather briskly strode through the halls the way he had first come. He was swift in passing various attendants, making his way back to the main hall. He made a beeline for the makeshift clinic, practically barging his way in and doing a quick scan. Maya had left ahead of him, which was preferred. As he turned to leave, grunting from the unnatural stiffness in his muscles, one of the nurses caught him by the wrist. He looked at her in protest, but a stern look shut him up quick. She had said enough in a look. He made his way behind a screen, removing his jacket and shirt to reveal the bright red patches of freshly bruised skin. That was to say nothing for the muscle pain in his knee.

Within moments, he had two bandages slapped on, and was able to dress himself back up again. It took him a minute as he felt the slight chemical imbalance as the bandages began doing their work. It was a welcome change from the days of pouring grain alcohol in his wounds and taking a swig for the pain, though he'd never admit that out loud. The last thing he needed was Theobald thinking less of him for preferring the modern medical solution. Though, at present, Theobald was low on the list of opinions he valued in this given moment. Striking a subordinate who couldn't strike back was the behavior of a petulant child... or, from experience, an absent and self-obsessed parent. As the emotions of the night began to finally and truly bear their ugly heads in his mind, Edmund's gut dropped as he felt a loneliness that he had ignored for a long time. The conversation with Irina and Tyler weighed heavy on him, and he could not share that burden. Perhaps that was for the best. The last thing he needed was to rile anyone up further.

Edmund managed to flag down an attendant long enough to get shown towards his room. The door was unlocked for him, and as soon as he stepped inside, he felt a conflict of emotions. He recognized the tornado of food trays and wine that he recognized as the aftermath of Maya's arrival and various demands. Part of him wanted to just be left alone to mull over the events of the day, though he did feel a relief in seeing some relatively normal behavior from his Scion. He wadded through the chaos, hanging up his expensive jacket in the bedroom closet to make sure it didn't get too wrinkled. He eyed the closed bathroom door, noting the light under it. Edmund thought about saying something, but instead just turned to take note of the chaos. He flashed a small smile as he saw his go-bag sitting on the couch. He quickly unzipped it, grabbing a pre-loaded cylinder from his revolver and a bottle of caffeine pills. He reloaded his service weapon as he dry-swallowed a pill, making his way towards the in-suite coffee maker to get a pot brewing. He had little intent of sleeping after the most recent events. With those things in motion, Edmund stuck his head out the door to order a light meal with their butler.

Once all that was said and done, Edmund drew his revolver and did a formal sweep. He checked the various pots, lamps, and light fixtures for bugs or anything out of the ordinary. He checked both balconies, and made sure they were locked and the curtains were drawn for both. Confident that they were secure enough, and hearing that the coffee was ready, he relaxed a bit. He holstered his revolver, poured a cup of coffee, and made his way into the bedroom. He sighed as he approached the closed bathroom door. He gave it two firm knocks, and called out to his Scion. "I'm back." He paused, looking at his cup of grainy and bitter coffee as he grasped for what to say. He wasn't quite sure how Maya was feeling about all of this. He hadn't seen her vulnerable like she had been in the ballroom before, and he didn't need to be a genius to suspect she might be reacting poorly. So, he lingered on the other side of the door, releasing a deep exhale. "I'll be in the other room if you need me, Maya."

---

@Obscene Symphony

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

Mandalorian Space
^{Mentioning @Chev}

---

Crossfire pulled the Kom'rk Starfighter Transport into view of the CR90 Corvette Guiding Light, noting its severely damaged exterior. He quickly noted scorch marks and significant damage to some of its systems... the fact this thing went through hyperspace without falling into pieces was remarkable. The transmitter picked up that this ship was registered as belonging to a mercenary outfit. This didn't give him any comfort: this could be some sort of textbook trap... if so, it was probably best he was the one going in. He had enough ordinance on his person to go out in one spectacular blaze of glory if it was. If not... well, whoever limped into Mandalorian space clearly needed one hell of a hand. With an expert deftness that came from numerous simulations of hostile boarding conditions, Crossfire pulled his ship up to dock in the nearest airlock, quickly initiating a hostile board. Given the distress beacon, the ship was primed to accept the request. The hatch leading into the airlock slid open, and Crossfire quickly tapped away at the console to lock the starfighter down. The last thing he needed was someone stealing his ship on him. Worst case, he would need to rush back before a slicer could brute force through the chain code linked to his vambraces.

The Mandalorian Commando stalked back to the rear of his ship, slipping into the airlock. After a few moments of it working its magic, the door on the other end slid open. The lights inside the Guiding Light seemed burnt out, only the red glow of emergency lights washing over the interior. The corpses on the ground were the first indication something was seriously wrong. A trandoshan and a rodian... though by states of dress and their wounds, it was clear they were on opposite sides of this conflict. Crossfire raised an eyebrow, confused. Judging by the series of scorch marks on the wall behind the Trandoshan, it was clear they were probably part of the crew. He'd need to find someone alive to get a little more information.

A small audio waveform appeared on the HUD of his helmet's vis-screen: footsteps. Crossfire sighed, leaving the well-lit airlock door open as he began walking up the hall, slipping into the recess of the nearest doorway for cover to stay a little hidden from view. It would only obscure him for a moment, but that's all he needed. His hands reached for the two DC-17s blasters on his belt, unholstering them and toggling his helmet to thermal vision. From around the corner, two thugs quickly approached with carbines raised. They paused for a moment as they looked dumbly at the open cockpit at the end of the hall. They looked at each other for a moment, before the smaller of the two spoke up. "Call the boss, tell 'im we got a guest."

Crossfire smiled underneath his helmet as he popped out, lifting both blasters and firing a single shot from each in quick succession. The blaster bolts fired true, each bolt hitting a separate goon in one of their respective legs. Both hit the deck hard as Crossfire began approaching menacingly. The goon on the left was quicker to act, and raised his carbine rifle up while laying on his back. He fired several shots at the approaching Mandalorian, but the bolts simply reflected off the Beskar armor. He didn't even seem to flinch. The goon on the right, however, was scrambling for the communicator on his belt. Crossfire turned one of his blasters over to this goon, firing two quick blaster bolts at his chest. The goon on the right suddenly stopped moving, slumped on the ground. This, for a moment, lit a fire in the belly of the remaining hostile. A gutteral yell emenated from deep in his soul as he fired off another shot... only to watch in horror as the Mandalorian lifted a foot and kicked the blaster out of his hands, before bringing that same foot down with all his weight onto his right arm. The sound of bones snapping changed the primal battle cry into a shriek of pain. Crossfire looked down at his target, holstering one of his blasters while raising the other and pointing it at the helpless thug's head. "So, what are you, pirates?'

The thug's eyes were filled with fear, as the gear slowly turned in his head. "Uhh... yeah, just pirates."

Crossfire paused a moment, his expressionless helmet hiding his calculating stare. After that moment passed, Crossfire pointed the blaster at the thug's other leg and fired another blaster bolt. Another cry of pain rang down the hall. "Try again."

Snot was pouring out of the thug's nose as he wiggled and writhed, his body clearly already starting the process of going into shock. "Please I-"

"Who's your boss?"

"Obadah the Hu... uhh, I mean..."

Crossfire fired a single blaster bolt into the thug's head. Obadah didn't mean much to Crossfire... but he knew what the second half meant. The smile under his helmet grew wider and more sadistic. He couldn't have possibly dreamed of being this lucky on his first assignment.

It was slug hunting season.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Edmund Silvaine

In Collaboration with @Obscene Symphony

---

Edmund exited the medical room as Sara was entering, fresh out of his armor and starting to truly feel the exhaustion and stiffness that was setting in from a physically intensive evening. There was a slight comfort to the sting, however. It reminded him of his time as a Church Knight, when his work made a clear difference. He had kept his oath this evening, but that is all he could say for his abilities. Not that anyone else seemed to do better. The other Templars seemed to be caught off-guard as well, though most seemed to handle themselves adequately. Though, now that he thought about it, Sir Jacinthe was absent... along with his Scion. He hadn't seen either on the train, nor walking into the castle. He had nearly blocked out Lucas’ cry from earlier in the night. He had been fearless and well-skilled in magic. Guess neither were great defenses against bullets.

2 casualties at least, if they were lucky. This was bad.

Edmund pulled out his flip-phone, an indestructible little brick of plastic and internal electronics. He quickly scrolled through his miniscule list of contacts, before settling on a suitable name. He lifted the phone to his ear, waiting until he heard the line connect. Without waiting for a formal acknowledgement on the other end, he spoke in a hushed tone. "I need the duffel bag under my bed brought to Veradis Castle. Soldiers will meet you, they'll get the bag to me."

There was silence on the other end, before a confused voice on the other end responded. "Uhh... right. Ok."

"Keep the penthouse locked down. Maya is safe. I'll update the team when I have more info." He lowered the phone, ended the call, and quickly made his way to the nearest attendant. "An SUV from the city will be coming towards the Castle. Woman inside will have a bag for Sir Edmund Silvaine. Please pass that on to whoever is running point on security, and please ensure the bag makes it to my quarters. It's going to be a long night." With a swift nod, he turned to head off in the direction of Ballroom A.

Edmund was somewhat delayed in his arrival to Ballroom A. Upon entering, he didn’t much acknowledge the other Templars. An attendant stood at the door, holding open a box with several of the armor crystals. Edmund’s hand rested in his coat pocket, and the rifle remained slung over his shoulder. He shook his head. ”Not happening. Not yet.” He kept his fist closed around his armor crystal, hidden from view, and attempted to walk into the ballroom.

The attendant, a young woman wearing something resembling a Templar’s dress uniform, frowned. “Sir Edmund, I’m afraid I must insist,” she replied earnestly, stepping in his path and holding the box out to him for a second time.

Edmund’s stare was cold, the scowl returning in full force. ”You can insist all you like. I will do what I must to uphold my oath.” He quickly moved one leg forward, hooking it just past the attendant, and stepping forward yet again.

“Sir Edmund,” the attendant repeated, catching the larger man’s arm as he passed. She fixed him with a strong-willed stare. “Your oath is not endangered by submitting your crystal for data logging. I assure you it will be returned at the end of the meeting.”

Edmund stopped for a moment as he was held in place, silent and unmoving. His eyes were screwed shut for the moment, the swirl of fear and anger reaching a near boil in his throat. No amount of attempted prayers or recitations were quelling the waves of emotion overwhelming him. He turned his head to the attendant, opening his eyes while clenching his teeth. He hissed,”Tell that to Ulysse.” Muscling through the pain in his shoulders and back, Edmund shook off the grab with a quick turn of the torso and entered the ballroom.

“Sir Edmund, I would have thought you outgrew bickering with squires when you ceased to be one,” a chilly voice sounded from the side of the ballroom, where Dame Irina emerged suddenly from a well-concealed servants’ door. Edmund ignored her misplaced comment, instead simply turning his attention to Irina. She barely glanced up from the tablet in her hand, tapping a few more things before handing it off to another squire, who disappeared behind the closing door. The attendant with the box, apparently a Church squire, snapped to attention, only to be waved off by Irina. The young woman made for the same door, now only visible as a recessed panel in the wall, and received a few murmured orders from Irina before she, too, disappeared.

“We’ll deal with this later,” Irina continued, “For now, there are more important matters to attend to.” She made her way to the front of the ballroom, heels clicking as she gestured flippantly with one hand. It was a familiar signal, especially to those more recently out of Templar training: a signal to form up.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Edmund Silvaine

---

Edmund operated on auto-pilot on his way to Stern Hill. He didn't question when soldiers waved for him to walk into a wall, nor why there was a bullet train behind it. He didn't even bother to question where the train would possibly be taking them. All he knew was that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and the soreness and pain was beginning to catch up to him. Edmund slumped Maya down in a seat on the train, unslung the rifle, and collapsed into a chair next to his Scion. The armored knight remained stoic and silent as always, taking the moment of quiet calm to inspect the rifle he had looted. He didn't even bother to check how many Scions and Templars had made it onto the train when it began racing off. He just focused on what he could actively work with while remaining within leaping distance of his Scion. He checked the number of bullets he had, looked it over and over again to check for any kind of serial number or insignia. The gun in his hands just seemed to give rise to more questions than answers. He had clocked several dozens of these rifles at the party at the very least, and all signs were pointing towards a mass-custom order. But the lack of insignia... it was unlikely any company in the Estoran Federation could have fulfilled an order like this. Even if the job was piecemeal, cobbled together from various rifle parts... something would have a company logo on it. Whoever these people were, it was clear they had connections outside of the Federation. But something in his gut was telling him that Salome had been upfront... these people weren't associated with Kaudus, at least not primarily. This was just the beginning of something larger.

That very though sent shivers down Edmund's spine.

When the train stopped, he didn't take much time to acknowledge his surroundings. He instead opted to quickly scoop Maya up into his arms in a princess carry after slinging the rifle back over his shoulder. As much as every fiber of Edmund's mortal shell desired rest and ice, he trekked on slowly and methodically. His mind focused more on watching his step and keeping track of his breathing, which was becoming more labored with occasional hissing as it was clear just how poorly his initial landing from the ceiling fall had gone. He pushed through with no vocal protest nonetheless, stopping only as he stood before a collection of servants.

“Greetings, holy ones. I am Duchess Patricia Bachmeier. I will be personally overseeing your stay here with us in the Rose Wing. I have been instructed by Archbishop Elijah to have all Scions looked after as Dame Irina has summoned the Templars to Ballroom A. If there are any injuries, the medical team is located on the first door on my right-handside. If it would please you, the Scions have been invited to Her Highness’ Snuggery where she eagerly waits to host you. Of course, if you are weary and wish to retire, we are happy to lead you to your rooms per the Archbishop’s order. Whatever your wish, you need only ask and we will provide to the best of our ability.”

After taking a moment to decipher which direction was the Duchess' right-hand side, he carried Maya towards the room where the medical team was waiting. The debriefing session could wait a moment.

Her Holiness had a boo boo.

---

@Obscene Symphony

City In Flames: A Night City Story

James "8 Track" Walker

James "8 Track" Walker

Age: 34 years old
Gender: Male
Faction: None

Appearance:
James Walker stands at around 6' even, and is of an average build. He is almost always seen wearing construction or utility pants with several pockets filled with various components and scrap that can be used to cobble something together quick. He often manually dyes his hair, most recently choosing a sort of bluish purple. He keeps his beard long, but well trimmed. He sticks simple while at work, often opting for a simple plain-colored flannel or just a sleeveless tank top. When out on the streets or at various nightclubs after work, Walker can be seen sporting custom-smelted rings and a pair of cyberglasses. He almost always keeps his Ticon tucked into the back of his waistband, no matter what. Most of Walker's cyberware is somewhat hard to spot to the untrained eye, though his arms and hands have clear signs of military-grade cyberware upgrades. Walker's most noticeable cyberware feature are the 8 shard sockets (4 on each side) embedded in his neck behind his beard. It is the source of his street handle, 8 Track.

Cyberware:

• Projectile Launch System (Right Arm)
• All-in-One Tech Hand and integrated Tech Scanner (Left Hand)
• Ballistic Coprocessor (Right Hand)
• Kiroshi "Doomsayer" Optics
• Biomonitor
• Subdermal Armor (Moderate, covering Torso/Arms)
• Fortified Ankles
• 8 shard sockets, 6 are full of various user manuals and schematics

Equipment:

• Modified Militech Ticon (integrated suppressor, extended magazine, custom type 2080 red dot scope)
• Modified Militech Crusher (collapsible stock, Reverse-Engineered Kanetsugu scope, armor piercing rounds)
• Hand-Built Militech M-179 Achilles (Custom Thermal/infrared Scope)
• Titanium-Core Crowbar
• Polarized Cyberglasses with integrated anti-flash technology
• Kang Tao portable Gas Mask
• Fragmentation and EMP grenades, along with a handful of remote detonation charges stored in a box labelled "Vanilla BDs" in his van.
• Modified Villefort Columbus V340-F Freight (Armor plating, Bulletproof tires, Back-Mounted Manually-Operated Machine Gun, Improved Suspension, small shielded smuggler's storage space)
• Walker owns a Quadra Type 66 Avenger and a Brennan Apollo that he will use on occasion, or loan out for a price.

Biography:

James Walker was born a drifter of sorts, a nomad of the Jode Nation while they were on the decline. His family had a long history of traveling and road work, transporting supplies around the fractured remains of the United States following a series of environmental disasters that left the heartland barren. James Walker was the youngest of three sons, but was easily singled out as an expert with a wrench in his early teens. He spent plenty of time fixing vehicles for the family at large. By the time he was 18, he was tuning up the clan's vehicles professionally. He learned quick how to use salvage and spare parts to upgrade clan vehicles to deal with the growing dangers of traversing the roads.

After four years, war broke out between the NUSA and the Free States. Seeing the writing on the wall as tanks and convoys rolled through the country, James felt like he wasn't seeing his full potential fixing up cars for the clan. He already knew how to fire a gun and had a decent head on his shoulders. He enlisted with the Northern California militia, and was quickly scouted after some aptitude tests to serve as an armorer/mechanic. In an effort to expedite his training, James Walker was made into a new man. On top of the standard cyberware enhancements given to most recruits, he was given something extra-special to bring him up to speed: 8 shard slots embedded in his neck, filled with manuals and schematics to aid in his work. With a lot of drugs to keep him from going into cyberpsychosis from the shock, James began to pick up skills and experience that would change the trajectory of his life.

James Walker was one of the lucky few who was on the backlines for the Battle of Ridgecrest, and managed to walk away with no serious injuries. NUSA and Militech were ruthless, and the constant escalation of weaponry in the Unification War kept Sgt Walker busy. He developed an addiction to nicotine and caffeine pills to keep himself awake at all hours, fixing up Panzers and various other vehicles and weapons to keep NorCal in the fight. He was forced to keep up with combat drills, but managed to avoid most combat due to his vital support role. The blood, sweat, and tears of hundreds of thousands of people managed to keep the war going on long enough to see an end to the conflict. Myers signed the Unification Treaty, Night City became independent, and the veterans of the unification war were the ones who were left sidelined. Those who were injured got fixed up just enough to keep suffering, but those who were still in good condition were left with a fistful of eddies and whatever they could snag on their way out of the proverbial door. Walker wasn't able to walk away with much else but the cyberware in his body, and two vital shards containing weapon schematics that were not confidential enough to warrant sending a repo man.

In the interim, the Jode Nation was fractured, weak, and had been one of the first bought out by Biotechnica. Having been screwed once by working for a larger organization, James Walker cut his losses. The first year away from the clan was hard. He ventured out to Night City with barely any connections, settling out in Santo Domingo and picking up contract work for smaller shops in the area. He eventually managed to secure a job working at Gun O'Rama in Rancho Coronado, not far from where he lived. He used his business connection and some free time to get some more working knowledge of the firearms he was selling professionally. He spent several late nights tearing apart Overtures and Copperheads to understand how they worked inside and out.

What kept Walker from getting complacent were edgerunners. Solos would swarm in from time to time, looking for some serious gear before a big job. They preferred their guns a certain way: serial numbers filed off and with heavy modifications. Of course, Gun O'Rama prided itself on selling guns factory fresh. So, Walker would often take a smoke break and meet Solos in the alley out back, where he would offer heavily modified weaponry for a slight markup. Of course, some edgerunners had a fun habit of trying to trade various guns they had picked up off the corpses of some poor gangers they flatlined for store credit. Luckily, the blood was usually easy to wash off.

Word travelled back to James Walker's manager, and his stint at the Gun O'Rama was over. Luckily, Walker had made some decent connections with some local fixers and edgerunner crews. He would meet with clients at the El Coyote Cojo for preliminary meetings to talk shop and specs, and Walker began modifying guns to order for a time. He was able to make some decent eddies for a while, and even began taking on orders working on upgrading cars for edgerunners looking to get a little more speed and power for when conflicts were taken to the highways. Eventually, Walker had managed to save up enough eddies to buy an abandoned repair shop in Arroyo three years ago... around when things began to go south for Arasaka.

Walker has a working relationship with what remains of the 6th street gang, but has no formal loyalty to them. His clientele is much more expansive, and he has had to hire on temporary techs just starting out in the business. For the most part, Walker provides custom modifications to various weapons and vehicles as a premium service for well-paying edgerunners and gangers from around Night City... especially those wanting to steer clear of Corp influence or control. Of course, Walker has begun to have dreams and aspirations for himself. He seeks to move out of the local Megatower and into a nice apartment in the City's Center, and possibly own a Rayfield himself. He's fallen hard for the charm of Night City and the pipe dream of being a true edgerunner and Night City legend. He loves his workshop, nicknamed the Devastation Depot... but he loves the thrill and eddies that come from running gigs on the side even more.

City In Flames: A Night City Story

James "8 Track" Walker

James "8 Track" Walker

Age: 34 years old
Gender: Male
Faction: None

Appearance:
James Walker stands at around 6' even, and is of an average build. He is almost always seen wearing construction or utility pants with several pockets filled with various components and scrap that can be used to cobble something together quick. He often manually dyes his hair, most recently choosing a sort of bluish purple. He keeps his beard long, but well trimmed. He sticks simple while at work, often opting for a simple plain-colored flannel or just a sleeveless tank top. When out on the streets or at various nightclubs after work, Walker can be seen sporting custom-smelted rings and a pair of cyberglasses. He almost always keeps his Ticon tucked into the back of his waistband, no matter what. Most of Walker's cyberware is somewhat hard to spot to the untrained eye, though his arms and hands have clear signs of military-grade cyberware upgrades. Walker's most noticeable cyberware feature are the 8 shard sockets (4 on each side) embedded in his neck behind his beard. It is the source of his street handle, 8 Track.

Cyberware:

• Projectile Launch System (Right Arm)
• All-in-One Tech Hand and integrated Tech Scanner (Left Hand)
• Ballistic Coprocessor (Right Hand)
• Kiroshi "Doomsayer" Optics
• Biomonitor
• Subdermal Armor (Moderate, covering Torso/Arms)
• Fortified Ankles
• 8 shard sockets, 6 are full of various user manuals and schematics

Equipment:

• Modified Militech Ticon (integrated suppressor, extended magazine, custom type 2080 red dot scope)
• Modified Militech Crusher (collapsible stock, Reverse-Engineered Kanetsugu scope, armor piercing rounds)
• Hand-Built Militech M-179 Achilles (Custom Thermal/infrared Scope)
• Titanium-Core Crowbar
• Polarized Cyberglasses with integrated anti-flash technology
• Kang Tao portable Gas Mask
• Fragmentation and EMP grenades, along with a handful of remote detonation charges stored in a box labelled "Vanilla BDs" in his van.
• Modified Villefort Columbus V340-F Freight (Armor plating, Bulletproof tires, Back-Mounted Manually-Operated Machine Gun, Improved Suspension, small shielded smuggler's storage space)
• Walker owns a Quadra Type 66 Avenger and a Brennan Apollo that he will use on occasion, or loan out for a price.

Biography:

James Walker was born a drifter of sorts, a nomad of the Jode Nation while they were on the decline. His family had a long history of traveling and road work, transporting supplies around the fractured remains of the United States following a series of environmental disasters that left the heartland barren. James Walker was the youngest of three sons, but was easily singled out as an expert with a wrench in his early teens. He spent plenty of time fixing vehicles for the family at large. By the time he was 18, he was tuning up the clan's vehicles professionally. He learned quick how to use salvage and spare parts to upgrade clan vehicles to deal with the growing dangers of traversing the roads.

After four years, war broke out between the NUSA and the Free States. Seeing the writing on the wall as tanks and convoys rolled through the country, James felt like he wasn't seeing his full potential fixing up cars for the clan. He already knew how to fire a gun and had a decent head on his shoulders. He enlisted with the Northern California militia, and was quickly scouted after some aptitude tests to serve as an armorer/mechanic. In an effort to expedite his training, James Walker was made into a new man. On top of the standard cyberware enhancements given to most recruits, he was given something extra-special to bring him up to speed: 8 shard slots embedded in his neck, filled with manuals and schematics to aid in his work. With a lot of drugs to keep him from going into cyberpsychosis from the shock, James began to pick up skills and experience that would change the trajectory of his life.

James Walker was one of the lucky few who was on the backlines for the Battle of Ridgecrest, and managed to walk away with no serious injuries. NUSA and Militech were ruthless, and the constant escalation of weaponry in the Unification War kept Sgt Walker busy. He developed an addiction to nicotine and caffeine pills to keep himself awake at all hours, fixing up Panzers and various other vehicles and weapons to keep NorCal in the fight. He was forced to keep up with combat drills, but managed to avoid most combat due to his vital support role. The blood, sweat, and tears of hundreds of thousands of people managed to keep the war going on long enough to see an end to the conflict. Myers signed the Unification Treaty, Night City became independent, and the veterans of the unification war were the ones who were left sidelined. Those who were injured got fixed up just enough to keep suffering, but those who were still in good condition were left with a fistful of eddies and whatever they could snag on their way out of the proverbial door. Walker wasn't able to walk away with much else but the cyberware in his body, and two vital shards containing weapon schematics that were not confidential enough to warrant sending a repo man.

In the interim, the Jode Nation was fractured, weak, and had been one of the first bought out by Biotechnica. Having been screwed once by working for a larger organization, James Walker cut his losses. The first year away from the clan was hard. He ventured out to Night City with barely any connections, settling out in Santo Domingo and picking up contract work for smaller shops in the area. He eventually managed to secure a job working at Gun O'Rama in Rancho Coronado, not far from where he lived. He used his business connection and some free time to get some more working knowledge of the firearms he was selling professionally. He spent several late nights tearing apart Overtures and Copperheads to understand how they worked inside and out.

What kept Walker from getting complacent were edgerunners. Solos would swarm in from time to time, looking for some serious gear before a big job. They preferred their guns a certain way: serial numbers filed off and with heavy modifications. Of course, Gun O'Rama prided itself on selling guns factory fresh. So, Walker would often take a smoke break and meet Solos in the alley out back, where he would offer heavily modified weaponry for a slight markup. Of course, some edgerunners had a fun habit of trying to trade various guns they had picked up off the corpses of some poor gangers they flatlined for store credit. Luckily, the blood was usually easy to wash off.

Word travelled back to James Walker's manager, and his stint at the Gun O'Rama was over. Luckily, Walker had made some decent connections with some local fixers and edgerunner crews. He would meet with clients at the El Coyote Cojo for preliminary meetings to talk shop and specs, and Walker began modifying guns to order for a time. He was able to make some decent eddies for a while, and even began taking on orders working on upgrading cars for edgerunners looking to get a little more speed and power for when conflicts were taken to the highways. Eventually, Walker had managed to save up enough eddies to buy an abandoned repair shop in Arroyo three years ago... around when things began to go south for Arasaka.

Walker has a working relationship with what remains of the 6th street gang, but has no formal loyalty to them. His clientele is much more expansive, and he has had to hire on temporary techs just starting out in the business. For the most part, Walker provides custom modifications to various weapons and vehicles as a premium service for well-paying edgerunners and gangers from around Night City... especially those wanting to steer clear of Corp influence or control. Of course, Walker has begun to have dreams and aspirations for himself. He seeks to move out of the local Megatower and into a nice apartment in the City's Center, and possibly own a Rayfield himself. He's fallen hard for the charm of Night City and the pipe dream of being a true edgerunner and Night City legend. He loves his workshop, nicknamed the Devastation Depot... but he loves the thrill and eddies that come from running gigs on the side even more.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Edmund Silvaine

---

“Okay.”

Maya loosened her grip on the chandelier above, and the descent started off slow and gentle. Edmund's cloak seemed to billow around her, catching on currents of air. The symbol on the back of the Templar's hand glowed strong for the moment, but he watched in fear as the glow began to diminish. He looked up at Maya in horror for that moment, as a gunshot ricocheted off his shoulder and sent him stumbling a step forward. Turns out armor and a glowing symbol on his hand had made him the target of one of the reinforcement soldiers who had burst into the ballroom. Maya's descent began to speed up, as his focus grew divided. He had blown through a vast amount of the mana he had access to scrambling for control over his own descent, and that costly miscalculation was coming back to bite him. He heard another bullet whiz past his head, and simply closed his eyes. He muttered the same words that carried him through every grueling battle he had suffered in the frozen wilderness of Rodion. "mecum dea est, mortuus non sum."

Fifteen feet overhead, as Maya's descent grew more rapid, the weightlessness sensation once again returned as the speed was slowed. Edmund's sigil glowed weakly, but steadily. She lowered several feet over the span of a few seconds, as two more bullets came at Edmund. One connected with his lower back. Sweat dripped from his brow underneath his helmet as he strained to keep Maya floating just a little longer, readying his right arm. in place to catch her. At this point, Edmund shifted Maya's center of gravity slightly, tipping her feet more sideways. As Maya was seven feet above Edmund's head, the sigil grew dormant. She fell the last few feet, but her Templar was ready. He lifted his left hand to help catch her, and moved back his left leg. As she fell into his arms, his left leg buckled. The extra strain had forced Edmund to one knee, holding Maya in both his arms. He looked at her briefly, stifling his grunt of pain at catching her weight. He would much prefer another bullet than to deal with Maya's wrath to that reaction.

To his luck, another bullet did come, grazing across the side of his armor. This grunt was not stifled, but his grip around Maya tightened as he pulled her closer to him. "Keep the cloak wrapped tight, your holiness." With that, Edmund shakily lifted himself to his feet, turned his gaze towards the shattered open windows, and charged towards them as fast as his legs would carry him.

---

@Obscene Symphony