WSilversun

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

The Gold Road

Kiffar had been busy, while the other employed clever strategies and bandied words, turning bandits into babies. Those few who had been foolish enough to charge him head on, and foolishly brave enough not to flee soon after, were methodically bruised, bloodied, and broken by the Cathay-Raht, their weapons turned against them and limbs bent very firmly in wrong directions. He was busy wresting the axe from the hands of the most stubborn of the bunch when the atronachs were brought into play. Seeing one bear his own shape, Kiffar could have wept with glee for the challenge presented. With a harsh yank, he tore the axe from the Bandit's fingers, the man practically forgotten in his excitement. He spared him only enough thought more for a headbutt that produced such a meaty crack, it may well haunt the nightmares of the others for days to come. It was certainly enough to make the man go limp, ragdolling to the ground as Kiffar turned, stolen axe in hand, to face the frosty replica of himself while it lumbered closer.

"You have given Kiffar a present, and it is not even his nameday! Kiffar has fought many things, but he has never fought Kiffar!"

As fire rained down from the treeline, lashing out at the copy of Arndvir and blocking the mage woman's retreat, Kiffar turned his toothy grin towards the source, waving his new axe overhead.

"Do not hurt this one! Kiffar wants the challenge, yes yes!"

Then, a clash of giants. There was an audible crack as Kiffar and the atronach charged into one another, and it was unclear whether the sound was bone or ice. For a long moment, they strained against each other, shoulder to shoulder, frost slowly spreading along the real Kiffar's fur from the point of contact. Neither could gain much ground, never more than a step, given and taken- until, at least, Kiffar suddenly dropped his center of mass, abandoning the contest of strength to instead loop an arm under his icy copy's legs, heaving it up onto his shoulders with a roar. Frozen limbs creaked, flailing, before he turned over the other direction to slam the thing's head into the road.

Against a fleshy mortal target, it would have been a deathblow, and probably put their head in their chest cavity. Atronachs were made of sterner stuff, however. The cobbles cracked, and fractures raced along the thing's head and chest, but it lived still. Kiffar came down at it with the axe, splitting the air with a thrum, only to be stopped cold and sent stumbling back by a brutal blast of frost magic, a stream that hit like a hammer and spread rime over Kiffar's arms and chest, forcing him to guard his face with the axe. It slowed him, and the chill cut deep, giving the atronach time to regain its feet as Kiffar fought to break the shell of frost on his joints, straining and snarling. He broke loose, scattering chips of icy shell all around, just in time to take a hammering fist to the gut, sending him back a few more feet, almost to the wagon.

It wasn't pain, though, that twisted his expression. It was disappointment. The creature was strong, true, and durable- it's strikes hurt, it's frost burned him, and it survived much... But it was not him, as he had first believed. It was without grace, without technique, without the feral, frenzied glee in battle that Kiffar could embody. It was but a crude reflection. He sighed heavily, tail drooping as he ducked under the atronach's next strike, twisting sharply at the waist to drive his free hand into its side brutally. It had no liver, of course, but ice still cracked, chips still fell away.

Another powerful, flailing strike from the creation. Kiffar took this one against his elbow, parrying it off to the side, and returned with the axe, an upward cleave that split ice like wood, and sent the thing's arm spinning away, cleanly removed. His disappointment only grew as another stream of frost came in reply. Painful. Slowing... But not debilitating. This time, when he broke the shell and it came for him again, he dipped to the side, and brought the axe down in a cleave that would have split a man from head to groin. It bit only chest deep in the atronach, but it was enough. The creation shuddered, cracked, and went inert, to slowly melt away as the day went on.

Kiffar left the axe in its chest, limping towards the wagon and taking a seat on its bench. He was badly frostbitten, but seemed otherwise okay... Save, perhaps, that he appeared to be pouting.

"Stupid mage-woman... Kiffar wanted to fight Kiffar, not a normal frost-man..."

Oh... Oh dear. Not only was he wounded, but it seemed all the joy had been sapped from the enormous cat. He'd completely lost interest in the fight- cleaning up what remained of the enemy force would be left up to the others while he pouted.

Bleach - Resonant Souls

Sagamiyama - Stone Household
Evening

Darius leaned against the bathroom counter with a low sigh, peering at his reflection in the mirror. A heavy frown drew lines across his face, wrinkled the skin between his brows. He could swear there was grey in his hair, could believe that some of those frown lines were wrinkles that were here to stay. War aged a man, and stress wore him down. He had thought he was done with the first, and dealing with less of the second, yet here he was, about to put on yet another uniform and strike out against yet another force. The spiritual nature of it all was just a detail- the result was the same. Conflict. Always, always, there was conflict. He was so tired... And what would Aiko think? Even if he could get her to believe he was running around as a ghost, hunting spirits, he doubted she would be pleased he'd lasted all of six months in retirement before finding another war to fight.

Still... His hands clenched around the edge of the counter, a frustrated huff blown out through his nose. If he didn't do this, then the only ones in the line of fire would be a bunch of kids. He wouldn't stand for it. Couldn't. And there was that distant voice. Like the gong of a far away church, getting louder every day- ever since the asauchi. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew what it said. There could be no rest for him. Not while there was still something, anything, to protect.

Determined, he plucked that little green pill from his pocket, swallowing it down, and waiting a moment for the soul candy to take effect. It was always a strange feeling, being ejected from his body, stumbling back a step away from it, while the artificial soul now within looked around as if surprised. Steadying himself, grimacing as he always did at the strange, traditional nature of the shihakusho he wore in this form, he stepped forward to seize the soul- himself, really- by the shoulders, turning him roughly to stare into eyes equal to his own, but bearing a mind that most certainly wasn't.

"You. Pay attention. You're going to put on pyjamas, you're going to lay down, and you're going to sleep. You stay that way until I get back. Touch my wife, and I put you in a goldfish. Clear?"

Once he was assured that there would be no antics or shenanigans by the soul candy while it inhabited his body for him, Darius released it with a nod, and struck out. He paused only briefly in his room, stooping low to brush a kiss over Aiko's cheek, though he knew she wouldn't see or feel him in soul form.

"I'll be back... Always. I promise."

---

Sagamiyama - Sakuhana Park

Dusk

Darius leaned back against the trunk of the Sakura tree that gave the park it's name and fame, that heavy frown still pulling at his features. He was seated, his zanpakuto resting across his lap, still in its sheath. He fidgeted idly with the tassel hanging from its guard, the only sign of his nerves over the battles to come. It has always been a bad habit, in situations like this- whether it was a strap on his gear, the carry strap for his weapon, or a bit of stray thread on his uniform, he'd always needed something to futz with in the hours of waiting before action. It helped him keep from overthinking- to keep his head clear going in, so it would be clear coming out. He had been the first to arrived- and he would remain there, seated, until the last of the others arrived, or they were called to action. Whatever happened, he knew his purpose this night.

He wouldn't let those kids come to harm. Not one of them. Not a scratch.

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

Kiffar, the Unbound

The Orange Road

It was a wonder, really, that they had gotten this far. Between the debates on plans, the debates on leadership, the debates on breakfast, and the debates on who rode, who walked, and who drove their little caravan, Kiffar had been beginning to believe that all they would ever do was debate. He'd been overjoyed when they finally got a move on that morning, and the only thing that has prevented him physically dragging the others into action was some thin veil of politeness that he insisted on keeping in front of the Confessor.

Now, after hours of walking, he was getting restless. He almost would have welcomed further debate if only to interrupt the monotony- but what he got was a far better gift. Bandits. Oh sweet, sweet bandits, and their eternally foolish ways. They could see a legend made flesh and still think to rob them of their purse- and while they may be led by another incessant talker, at least there were those foolish enough to charge.

The arrows that came first, of course, were a nuisance. He was able to lurch out of the way of the first few, a startling display of agility for a man of his mass- but, unlike some people, Kiffar had no magic. He wore no armor, and carried no shield. It was little surprise that a pair of the shafts found their mark on a target so large, no matter how fast he was- arrows sinking into the flesh of his thigh, and his side. The pain, sharp and deep, got an irate snarl from Kiffar, as ice blue eyes turned towards the charging fools.

"Kiffar has promised the nice Confessor he will commit no war crimes. But we are not at war, are we?"

The others were granted, then, a singularly unpleasant glimpse at just what their least favorite kitty cat did for a living. First came the knife- really, a whole short sword, for people of any normal size. It practically leaped from its place in the small of his back, sent spinning underhand towards whoever was unlucky enough to be first in line. The much larger of the two weapons on his belt was left right where it was- because it was time for hands. Just. Hands. The Cathay Raht moved frightfully fast, even with an arrow tearing at his thigh- and seemed to have no compunction at all with trying to get his claws in all the squishiest bits he could find, while he cramped the bandits for space to wield their weapons. He would be... Busy, for a small while.

The roaring and screaming was probably a bit distracting. Was he laughing? What was that crunch?

Bleach - Resonant Souls

Darius Stone

Sagamiyama - Ouga's Shop
Afternoon

Darius had spent the bulk of the afternoon helping out around the shop as a matter of course. He was hardly any good at repairing bikes, but there was plenty of heavy lifting and cleaning to be done in any shop, and he was happy to lend a hand... Even if it was only to stave off his own restlessness and boredom, while the younger folk got up to their training. When the time came to be seated and briefed, he sank into his chair with a soft grunt, and focused up. He could almost wish he hadn't, a frown deepening over his features the more Shouko explained.

By the time she finished, he was leaned forward in his seat, fingers laced on the table to keep from fidgeting and back rigid, concern clear in every line of him.

"Up until now, we've been led to believe that Hollows are practically animals- Clever animals, but still operating on simple needs. Hunger, violent envy for the living, the simple need to lash out. What you're describing now sounds more like a terror cell on the move- I've certainly sat through enough of those briefings to know the sound of it. Are you telling me these things can organize? That there's some higher thinking going on?"

Himitsuraku [Naruto RP]

Terumi Jin

木ノ葉 １２
木ノ葉 １２

Konoha 12

_{^D.O.B October 24 | ^Age 16 ^y.o | ^Sato Kiri | ^Region Shizumi | ^Rank Chūnin | ^Caste Kiri Refugees}

Mimoto
Mimoto

Terumi Jin

Shigoto
Shigoto

Police

Joretsu
Joretsu

B-Rank

外伝
外伝

Flashback

_Monogatari
Jin was destined for a life of struggle and disappointment from the moment of his birth. He was born when tensions were at their highest in Kirigakure, and born to a bloodline that was already the focus of that tension; Worse, he didn't even have the protection of the family he was hated for being part of. He was the product of an affair, a source of shame for the Terumi family, even as he was hated by outsiders for being of the same blood as so many Kekkans. Those tensions reached their boiling point before he was old enough to even remember it, and the civil war in Kiri began.

Reviled by his own bloodline, feared by those without it, his only source of protection came through his mother, a commoner, and fairly poor besides. All of his earliest memories involve running, from one group or another- Always on the move, a step ahead, but terrified to fall a step behind. With skirmishes breaking out constantly, and the fear of a knife in the dark to drive them, their only choice was to flee the Land of Water entirely, making way for the welcoming arms of the Land of Fire as refugees. While they never knew it, they escaped only minutes ahead of Jin's father, determined to erase the stain on his honor.

Once within the Land of Fire, things improved dramatically for the pair. Jin's mother was a talented seamstress, and while her skills would never make her wealthy, they were enough to earn her a place with a dressmaker in Oto, home of fashion in the Land of Fire. It meant a childhood almost approaching normalcy for Jin. He made friends, explored, the grim memories of his escape from his homeland fading swiftly. He was even able to, with help from his mother's employer, be taken into the local academy despite being from the Land of Water. It was here, however, that he would learn his limitations. Despite his bloodline, and all the famed Shinobi within it... Jin was a hopeless student. He showed only the bare minimum talents for Ninjutsu and Genjutsu, and while he excelled in Taijutsu, and was quite adept at the most raw forms of Chakra manipulation, it was clear that he would never be a shining star. Indeed, despite his ancestry, he was never even able to harness the power of the Kekkei Genkai within him.

In a way, it was a relief. It made him normal. Perhaps even less than normal. It meant he would live a quiet life, if not a peaceful one, never to rise up as a public figure, never to have the spotlight on him. His mother greeted that realization with joy, and after a time, Jin began to believe it a blessing as well. Still, he trained hard in the arts he was able to, and through sheer effort and grit, placed well in the Chunin exams at the first opportunity. It meant that while he may never shine, neither would he be trapped in the archives doing clerical work all his life. He's been quite content, since then, to do his duties with Konoha's police forces, a notoriously jubilant and pleasant presence on the street.

性格
性格

Individuality

_Kokoronaka
Jin is, put frankly... A bit simple. He isn't actually stupid, of course- He never would have made it through the exams if he were. But he is simple, and direct, and he knows his place in the world will forever be right in the middle of the pack. It allows him a level of complacency, the freedom of not being destined for great things. It lets him take his life a day, an hour, a minute at a time, and to never overthink things that don't concern him in the least. This leads to a laid back and cheerful attitude that is often mistaken for his being dense, and that perception is strengthened further by his refusal to hold a grudge- People think they can get one over on him, or take advantage of him. To an extent, they even can; If only because he can't be bothered to put in the kinds of effort and angst it would take to get them back for it.

Yet, by the same token, it has led over time to people liking him all the more, some even becoming defensive of him, and solving such problems before they ever arise. After all, what good is it to take advantage of somebody so perpetually good natured... Especially when they have friends who can and will rip you apart for it? He has become the Cop that everybody knows and everybody loves, the name you can call out on the street to get a hand moving something heavy, just as much as to stop a crime in its tracks. The only time he can be said to behave seriously, let alone look it, is when he's busy training, or when he actually has to do his job. For all his easy going nature, there can be no denying that Terumi Jin can, and will, throw hands with the best of them.

It's a simple life. A happy life. A life he's content to live.

Kirainamono
Kirainamono

Hates

_Kirai
- Taking Things too Seriously
- Mathematics
- Entitlement.

Sukinamono
Sukinamono

Likes

_Suki
- A Really Good Spar
- Barbeque
- Cats

忍道
忍道

Ninja Way

Simplicity

---

Terumi Jin, Combat Sheet

忍
忍

Terumi Jin

Bingo Book

参戦
参戦

Nuance

Affinity
沸 ^Boil

Specialty
Chakra Control- While his ability to perform Ninjutsu is subpar, Jin possesses excellent foundations in raw chakra control, for such techniques as water and wall walking, dispelling Genjutsu, and physical enhancement.

Taijutsu Specialist- His lacking skills in Ninjutsu and Genjutsu have led to Jin specializing in Taijutsu. While he is not on par with such legendary masters as Might Guy or Rock Lee, his skills cannot be dismissed, either.

The Muscle- Jin is, even without the use of Chakra manipulation, disconcertingly physically strong and enduring. If something heavy needs moving, or something durable needs breaking, Jin is the one to ask.

Inventory
_Ninjabag
Raiken
^{• Bombtags • Chakrablade • Kunai • Smokeflashbombs • Scrolls • Shuriken • Makibishi • Ninfocards •}

術式
術式

Jutsu List

^{B Rank}
Water Fang Bullet
Water Formation Wall

Buteijutsu
Buteijutsu

^{Bukijutsu | Taijutsu | Kagakuningu}

Supplementary Skilltree

^Weaponstyle
Weighted Knuckles

^{Fightingstyle}
Muay Thai

^{Scientific Ninja Tool}
"Scorch Knuckles". Weighted knuckle dusters with a fire-nature chakra battery designed to get them red hot without his expending any chakra.

Chohojutsu
Chohojutsu

Concealment | Disguise | Substitution | Cloning | Body Flicker | Genjutsu Kai | Areascan

Supplementary Skilltree

^{Specialization}
Genjutsu Kai

Himitsuraku [Naruto RP]

AIGHT, I give you Terumi Jin! Spoilered to save peoples' scrollwheels.

He Aint Stupid, Just Simple

木ノ葉 １２
木ノ葉 １２

_{^D.O.B October 24 | ^Age 16 ^y.o | ^Sato Kiri | ^Region Shizumi | ^Rank Chūnin | ^Caste Kiri Refugees}

Mimoto
Mimoto

Terumi Jin

Shigoto
Shigoto

Police

Joretsu
Joretsu

B-Rank

外伝
外伝

Flashback

_Monogatari
Jin was destined for a life of struggle and disappointment from the moment of his birth. He was born when tensions were at their highest in Kirigakure, and born to a bloodline that was already the focus of that tension; Worse, he didn't even have the protection of the family he was hated for being part of. He was the product of an affair, a source of shame for the Terumi family, even as he was hated by outsiders for being of the same blood as so many Kekkans. Those tensions reached their boiling point before he was old enough to even remember it, and the civil war in Kiri began.

Reviled by his own bloodline, feared by those without it, his only source of protection came through his mother, a commoner, and fairly poor besides. All of his earliest memories involve running, from one group or another- Always on the move, a step ahead, but terrified to fall a step behind. With skirmishes breaking out constantly, and the fear of a knife in the dark to drive them, their only choice was to flee the Land of Water entirely, making way for the welcoming arms of the Land of Fire as refugees. While they never knew it, they escaped only minutes ahead of Jin's father, determined to erase the stain on his honor.

Once within the Land of Fire, things improved dramatically for the pair. Jin's mother was a talented seamstress, and while her skills would never make her wealthy, they were enough to earn her a place with a dressmaker in Oto, home of fashion in the Land of Fire. It meant a childhood almost approaching normalcy for Jin. He made friends, explored, the grim memories of his escape from his homeland fading swiftly. He was even able to, with help from his mother's employer, be taken into the local academy despite being from the Land of Water. It was here, however, that he would learn his limitations. Despite his bloodline, and all the famed Shinobi within it... Jin was a hopeless student. He showed only the bare minimum talents for Ninjutsu and Genjutsu, and while he excelled in Taijutsu, and was quite adept at the most raw forms of Chakra manipulation, it was clear that he would never be a shining star. Indeed, despite his ancestry, he was never even able to harness the power of the Kekkei Genkai within him.

In a way, it was a relief. It made him normal. Perhaps even less than normal. It meant he would live a quiet life, if not a peaceful one, never to rise up as a public figure, never to have the spotlight on him. His mother greeted that realization with joy, and after a time, Jin began to believe it a blessing as well. Still, he trained hard in the arts he was able to, and through sheer effort and grit, placed well in the Chunin exams at the first opportunity. It meant that while he may never shine, neither would he be trapped in the archives doing clerical work all his life. He's been quite content, since then, to do his duties with Konoha's police forces, a notoriously jubilant and pleasant presence on the street.

性格
性格

Individuality

_Kokoronaka
Jin is, put frankly... A bit simple. He isn't actually stupid, of course- He never would have made it through the exams if he were. But he is simple, and direct, and he knows his place in the world will forever be right in the middle of the pack. It allows him a level of complacency, the freedom of not being destined for great things. It lets him take his life a day, an hour, a minute at a time, and to never overthink things that don't concern him in the least. This leads to a laid back and cheerful attitude that is often mistaken for his being dense, and that perception is strengthened further by his refusal to hold a grudge- People think they can get one over on him, or take advantage of him. To an extent, they even can; If only because he can't be bothered to put in the kinds of effort and angst it would take to get them back for it.

Yet, by the same token, it has led over time to people liking him all the more, some even becoming defensive of him, and solving such problems before they ever arise. After all, what good is it to take advantage of somebody so perpetually good natured... Especially when they have friends who can and will rip you apart for it? He has become the Cop that everybody knows and everybody loves, the name you can call out on the street to get a hand moving something heavy, just as much as to stop a crime in its tracks. The only time he can be said to behave seriously, let alone look it, is when he's busy training, or when he actually has to do his job. For all his easy going nature, there can be no denying that Terumi Jin can, and will, throw hands with the best of them.

It's a simple life. A happy life. A life he's content to live.

Kirainamono
Kirainamono

Hates

_Kirai
Taking Things too Seriously/Mathematics/Entitlement.

Sukinamono
Sukinamono

Likes

_Suki
A Really Good Spar/Barbeque/Cats

忍道

Simplicity

---

Himitsuraku [Naruto RP]

The Discord link is broken, but color me interested! Looks like you planned this out super well, I'm looking forward to seeing it run.

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

Kiffar, the Unbound

Weynon Priory

Kiffar groaned as the others continued to fuss over such silly things as plans. So intricate, so complicated- and, he felt, entirely unnecessary, particularly given their discussion was infringing on his time to nap and lounge. More ideas were floated, and he could taste the fringes of tension in the air, certain this would fall into arguments and raised voices if things didn't come to a conclusion soon. He might enjoy that, in truth... But seeing who would fight who could wait for when he wasn't quite so sleepy. The Legionnaire took his leave, just in the tail of Sylruna and Sindri, and Kiffar rolled to sit upright on the pew with an irritable chuff. Even seated, he towered well over the eye lines of most in the room, movement alone often enough to draw attention to him.

"Kiffar does not believe the Legion Stomper intends to return. You all bicker too much, and this one is deprived of rest. Since the thinkers cannot think as one, Kiffar says that Kiffar is the leader, and that the Nord is the victor of words. Coin-Violence suits many here, and is simple. This works for Kiffar. It is decided, yes? Kiffar will accept challenges to his leadership after he has had a nap."

He pushed himself fully upright with a weary sigh, the pew groaning as if in relief once he was free of it. Apparently done with the conversation one way or another, yet too agitated to return to his planned rest, the Khajiiti stretched out, and made way for the door, stooping down to step outside, a flicker of his tail given in lieu of a wave for the others.

"We meet with the rising sun at this door to collect our things, yes? This one will find another place to rest until then."

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War, Second Thread

I have been asked to join in, so here we go again xD Bit of an oddball concept, but Bee approved, so it just needs a glance over by the CoGMs

The Schroedinger Special

6'4" || 240lbs

Name:
Sìorraidh || Schroedinger

Age:
Appears to be in his Thirties

Nationality:
Celtic

Noble Arm Name & Appearance:
Mionnan an Fhaoillich
A single edged, one handed sword in the style of Messers, Mionnan an Fhaoillich bears a nearly mirror polish, with guard and pommel styled after a raven. The flat of the blade bears writing, etched in rose gold against the silvered surface.
"𝕻𝖗ì𝖘 𝖆 ’𝖈𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖍𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖉
𝕬𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖉 𝖓𝖆 𝖍à𝖗𝖋𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖈𝖍
𝕭𝖎𝖔𝖉𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖚 𝖈𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖙𝖊
𝕲𝖚 𝖇𝖗à𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖍"

Noble Arm Rank:

Special

Power: D
Speed: A
Range: D (S)
Persistence: A
Precision: S (Affects Only Himself)
Potential: F

Noble Arm Type, Element, and Range:
Melee, Entirely Self-Affecting

Noble Arm Abilities:
Àrdachadh: Mionnan an Fhaoillich provides modest enhancement to Sìorraidh's physical abilities, offering strength, speed, and reflexes marginally above what may be naturally obtained by humans. The blade itself is uncannily sharp, and wielded by skilled hands, devastating in melee combat.

Briseadh: When unpercieved by others, Sìorraidh can traverse modest distances (Up to around fifty meters) instantaneously and precisely. In example, he may step behind the cover of an Ally's shield, and emerge from behind an enemy, as if traversing the distance in the same step, so long as both points are not actively observed. The range of this ability is vastly increased should another individual actively think about him and attempt to summon him, such as by uttering his name as a command- He may, in such cases and only in such cases, appear near to that person no matter how far away they are.

Ceangaltach: Sìorraidh is bound to life, to existence, in a manner even he does not quite understand. Mionnan an Fhaoillich has dictated that he must exist, always- and this force of will is laid across him like a curse. In practice, it appears that he is incapable of death- should he be felled, he will fall only until he is no longer perceived. Once this happens, he becomes once more, as if he never fell at all. This state of being has been compared to the theoretical Schroedinger's Cat, given the apparent reliance on perception.

Misc Abilities:
While his physicality is enhanced by his Noble Arm, Sìorraidh's prowess with the weapon is entirely his own- he is a masterful swordsman and martial artist. His talents with modern weaponry, however, are sorely lacking, and he possessed little in the way of leadership skills. He is, and has always been, a servant- a tool to be wielded by others.

He is also, apparently, an excellent cook, and has a talent for music.

Personality:

*Likes: Fine Dining, Clear Direction, Dancing

*Dislikes: Dishonesty, Getting His Clothes Dirty, Being Ignored

Fears: Being Forgotten, "The Drift", Being Lost Once More

Bio:
Sìorraidh remembers little if his life before the incident- it comes in flashes, a confused tangle of memories from what feels like a thousand different lives. He knows, vaguely, that he was part of a training program meant to create Arms Masters- and he knows for certain that it was a brutal, punishing experience, meant to break participants down until they either had nothing left to give, or manifested an Arm. He remembers more vividly the moment his came to bed- remembers the driving though, his only remaining thought, in the moments before the program killed him.

I will be.

As the addage goes, be careful what you wish for. Mionnan an Fhaoillich manifested to him in that moment, and in a twisted manner, it gave him all that he desired. His last desire. He would not perish. He would be... Forever. Like a cat in a box, he was bound to existence, to be where ever and when ever he was perceived, with no escape, no release. So he has been, and will be, always. He was adrift, then, lost in between, living myriad lives and none, until he found one to anchor him.

A prince. Another who knew of the space between, a power mirror to his own. They spoke, and Sìorraidh swore himself to service- anchored himself to this boy prince, for both their sakes, to serve as an instrument of his will.

*Current Goal:
Unwavering Service

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

Kiffar, The Unbound

Weynon Priory

Kiffar had remained, for the mostpart, quite silent after his arrival- Patiently waiting, head bowed, for the blessing he was to receive. He was not a particularly religious sort, but it seemed the way these things were done, and holy people deserved at the least an attempt at civility and respect from him. It also served to let him listen, ears flicking this way and that as each voice aired ideas, or criticized the ideas of another. All of it sounded like a great deal of cactus husk to him- But then, the ideas of thinkers often did. Once the blessing was given in full, he rose to his full height once again, an appreciative nod offered to the Confessor before he turned to the others.
The vast feline prowled through the group, one claw extended to none-too-gently prod Alexios' armored chest on his way past. He flopped with all the grace of a tired cat onto one of the pews, wood groaning under his weight, though it held. For now.

"That one... Thinks ill of us. Kiffar thinks that one is wise. We chitter like kittens for fancy ideas. The task we are given is simple, no? We escort the talkers and the thinkers, we kill the plotters and the schemers. Kiffar has found in life that if a problem cannot be solved by fighting or by fucking, then it is not a problem for Kiffar to solve. We meet the talkers and the thinkers in this Bruma. We walk with them. We kill things that try to kill them. We get much coin to line our pockets, and food to line our bellies. Simple, yes? Leave the scheming and the plotting for the people we will kill. Schemers and plotters always fail to remember that they can be killed."

He stretched out upon the pew he had claimed, yawning massively- A brief, terrifying impression of just how wide those jaws could spread- before he melted into his place of rest in the way of cats big and small, draped over hard edges as if they were the most comfortable of cushions. Eyes like ice never closed, however, flitting from person to person among their mismatched group.

"But perhaps Kiffar is too simple for saying so. This one leaves the thinking to thinkers- He wishes only that the thinkers would not argue so much, when we have been given many hours for the napping. He also thinks it is impolite, not to introduce one's self, after another gives their name. The Meen-La has given hers. Kiffar has given his. Who are these other thinkers?"