vietmyke

S P I R I T U M

Awesome, take your time both of you. Lookin forward to seeing what pans out!

SPIRITUM

I've been reading things and I vibe with this

y'all got a working discord link?

@Blizz

Here ya go

Paranormal Detectives

Interesting!

S P I R I T U M

Looking for one or two more players to fill out the party!

SPIRITUM

Gerard Biserus

"Well, where's the fun in that?" Gerard snarked as he reluctantly posted himself back up at the truck, casually sipping his beer. He'd temporarily suspending the setup of their camp for the moment. While the use of mist and magic wasn't exactly illegal, it was extremely uncommon amongst the lay-people. Most people that showed any aptitude for mist manipulation were press-ganged into the WARDEN program, or were otherwise State certified- and State monitored individuals. In the cities you might see some handful of folk with the ability to manipulate mist. Out here in the boonies, it was no better than a boogieman's tale. "Tell them to shoot you again, I like that one."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard caught the glint of glass. Glancing subtly in the direction, Gerard spotted what must've taken the Marshals so long to come out to play. Up on the town's single combination radio-cell tower, a man had climbed up. Backlit by the sun, it was hard to make out exact details, but Gerard reckoned the man didn't climb up there to drink a beer. In fact, the party favor he brought seemed a little bit like one that had to be held in two hands, and braced on the shoulder.

"Long gun, 2 O'clock high." Gerard murmured into the squad's communication spell, his face never losing its casual, easy grin- like a college kid with too much time and alcohol.

The WARDEN's heard the men long before their faces came into view. For almost all of them it was almost impossible to miss- their training and situational awareness long since drilled into them made them well aware of the crunch of combat boots on gravel from about twenty meters away. Silhouetted in the afternoon light was a fellow in a wide-brimmed hat, but otherwise uniformed like a Rassvet army regular. The uniform was flat khaki rather than camouflage, and on his left breast there were the Rassvet sword and runes, but on a shield.

"Afternoon folks. Just stopped by to check up on you young travelers, make sure alls' well!" came the voice of the lead Marshall, an old, gravelly baritone of a voice with a slight drawl. Well on past his physical prime, the man had a something of a beer gut, and his shoulders had slumped a bit in age. A bushy, more-salt-than-pepper beard covered most of his face, but his eyes held the faint gleam of one a bit faster on the draw than his age might suggest. His hand rested casually on his hip- though no more than an inch away from a holstered handgun. "Heard a bit of a ruckus over at the general'."

“Marshall.” Gerard called back as a way of greeting, ignoring Justice's command to let her do the talking, his voice mimicking the country drawl. “All's well over here. Anything we can do for you?” Gerard's eyes flitted from the badge to the pistol, but took no initiative other than to take another casual sip of his drink.

"Well, there's a war goin' on out there, and orders have it that it's my job to check up on anything unusual. So a bunch of... young folks like you lookin' like you just left the Citadel..." he shrugged, "Well, you know." The man was bold, Gerard gave him that. Deserters were heavily persecuted in Rassvet, but if the Marshall thought they were deserters, he was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to approach them with such scant backup. Still, the man looked like he could handle his own well enough- maybe not against a cadre of WARDENs, but well enough against whatever this backwood might throw at him.

"Now I hate to interrupt your afternoon, but I'm gonna need to see some papers, alright? Just one'uv ya'll do, don't see the point in runnin' em' all if it checks out." The old timer said rather pleasantly, current circumstances considered, as he held his hand out expectantly. In Rassvet, a police state, citizens were expected to show ID, papers, and endure a check at any given moment. This fellow, out in the boonies by a bit, was at least a little more common sense and friendly in his approach. Around Orestia, these guys acted like they were on the front lines already, and that everyone was a spy. Now that he was a bit closer, the old timer cocked a glance at Justice's tank top, and the WARDEN insignia stenciled across the front.

"Hopefully I'm not offendin' ya'll when I say this, but what's a bunch of WARDEN types doing out here?"

The Symphony - A Fated Quest

Odran Stormweaver
Marching Music

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When it came to Iron Dwarf companies, not even their scouts were particularly subtle. While they were not going out of their way to be noisy, when dwarves in plated armor came marching, it was hard to be quiet about it. Unlike their regular army units however, at least the Ironborn's Ranger crews marched relatively light. In place of a two-score platoon fitted a full baggage train of wagons, cargo and support crew, Odran and his crew numbered a bit over a dozen warriors and shield dwarves, and a quartet of laden mules. Still, it was hard to mask the subtle shake of the ground as some 18 dwarves marched through the village. The main component of unit itself was made up of 10 dwarven rangers and a pair of war-goat riders of varying ages, though all experienced in their own right, heads on a constant swivel as they scanned their surroundings. The remaining 6 dwarves made up the unit's small complement of shield dwarves, attendants to the older, more experienced rangers in the column. The column slowed down as they entered the village proper, hands on blade, rifle and shield as one of the shield dwarves, a young woman, approached her adoptive father at the front.

"Flint and fell... Da', what do you think's happened here?" Alfira asked, her normally bright alto voice low and subdued, her face more than a little pale given the sight. The orange light of her runelantern on the back of her pack pulled long shadows on her father's face as he glanced back at her.

"Well, that's what we're here to find out." Odran murmured in reply as he knelt down, checking one of the corpses and the accompanying beast prints. The poor man had been torn apart by the beast, whether by teeth or claw, it was hard to tell due to the severity, but whatever it was, the beast was massive. Removing a gauntlet, Odran ran his fingers against the edge of one of the footprints, feeling for textures, as his eyes and hands looked for something that might clue him in to what it was they might be marching into- be it stray furs or claw marks. Whatever it was, Odran hadn't seen anything like it, but it was smart- at least smart enough to keep the village people alive after slaughtering its defenders. Either men had control of the beasts and had taken villagers prisoner, or the beasts themselves were capable of taking folk prisoner.

"Callan!" Odran barked as he stood, there was an attendant grunt as one of the goat-riders rode up to him. "Return to the company and tell em what's happened 'ere. Request for reinforcements." The dwarf named Callan gave Odran a sharp nod before kicking his spurs into his goat, sending the two careening back the way they came. "Mulloch! Oryl!" Odran barked at two of the veteran rangers. There was the rapid shuffle and crunching of steel and sod as the responding dwarves marched up to him. "Take the mules and the lads and hold here. Hopefully flare rounds will make it through the treeline if we need ya."

"But Captain!" One of the shield dwarves protested, "How are we s'posed to learn if we're stuck here on camp duty?" To Odran's chagrin, Alfira nodded in agreement, speaking up as well. "I'm not stayin' back either Da, I'm coming with you."

"This un's no learning matter." Odran grunted, "We've stumbled onto something big here."

"All the more reason for me to come with you." Alfira argued, several of the other shield dwarves nodding in agreement, "You'll need every axe you can, right?" Odran eyed his daughter down for a moment, his vision flitting over to the other shield dwarves for a moment before he sighed. "Fine. Arek, the goat's no good in the woods. Stay here. Alfira, Tonben, form up." The two mentioned shield dwarves' faces lit up as they began to fall into formation with the rest of the rangers. A few of the remaining shield dwarves began to protest before Odran cut them off.

"I'm sorry- I think you lot are under the impression that this was a discussion." Odran barked, "I didn't say, 'Hey laddies, would you all like to stay in the village or come with me?', I said 'Mulloch, Oryl, take the mules and the lads, and Hold. Here.' Understood?"

With the riders gone, and two of their number staying back with the remaining shield dwarves to set up a small base camp, Odran's unit now numbered 8 Rangers and 2 Shield dwarves as they prepared to enter the woods- seeking whatever it was that had torn through the village. With any luck, they'd be able to find the remaining villagers and bring them home. If not that, then at least put an end to whatever was tearing this countryside apart.

"Stick close to me loddy, don't rush in looking for a fight." Odran murmured to Alfira, cradling the starmetal rifle in his hands as the dwarves glanced at the woods ahead of them, necks craning as the short dwarves looked up at the towering treetops above them. There was a silent breath before Odran led the march into the forest, the stomping of steel muffled in the thick underbrush. Now about half their original number and without the mules, they could at least try to travel more quietly- especially given the unknown they were heading into. The darkness of the night and trees soon enveloped the dwarves, their runelanterns like willow-wisps in the dark woods.

"Stop worrying Da, I'm not a child anymore." Alfira replied to him quietly, a plated elbow nudging his side reassuringly.

"That's why I'm worried."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Galahad Caradoc

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The march up to Osprey was a quiet one- at least from Galahad's perspective. To be fair, none of them were much in the way of conversationalists, but furthermore Galahad had a bit more on his mind than usual. He was glad to let Izayoi guide them for the time being, let him have the time to get his head on straight, given the facts of the previous night. He wasn't expecting the samurai to take them to her old home- she seemed like the private sort, so he would've thought that she might've kept that personal knowledge. Though that being said, most of them trended towards rational anyway- and a familiar place in an otherwise hostile countryside was as good as any for safe camp.

Or so they thought, anyway. The small town itself was apparently already occupied- by Valheim, unsurprisingly. They'd spent too much time trying to get themselves down here to turn around and find some place better to camp with what little light there was left. Galahad also knew that stealth was something hardly worth suggesting- subtle wasn't exactly their strong suit. "Here we go." Galahad sighed as he watched Izayoi charge into the fray, followed shortly after by Éliane, Arton not far behind to provide cover. Straightening his neck, Galahad slowly pulled his halberd from his beast's side as he dismounted, pausing for a brief second before leaping into the air. Steel glinted in the fading sunlight, a shadow against the setting sun as he hung in the air for a moment. He had a better vantage from up here- a small group of melee fighters were approaching the party, while a group of gunners and a mage were setting up to hit the party from their flank.

"Over here! Set up here and- Augh!" the small formation of gunners scattered as an oversized halberd fell upon their mage, piercing through armor and pinning the man to the ground as its bulk- alongside that of a dragoon hurtling to the ground. Stray shots were fired as the gunners scattered and split, their flanking maneuver set back as they attempted to regroup. A richochet pinged off Galahad's armor before he leapt back into the air- not intending on sticking around to find out how Eldren steel fared against Valheim lead.

Once again in the air, from his vantage Galahad spotted a pair of figures heading towards the party- the first one was obvious, one man, larger than the others, wielding a giant hammer or mace of some sort, in hulking armor stomping towards the party. The other hung back a bit, a crest in his helmet- an officer. Recognizing the priority target, Galahad whistled and threw a bolt of lightning towards the man, the electricity more or less a glowing beacon in the fading light of the coming dusk, the crackle and burst of blue light silhouetting the crest for his party to see.

Tile and wood cracked and groaned beneath his feet as the dragoon set down on a roof, halberd in hand. He took a step back as enemy bullets began to strike at his position. "I'll take care of their ranged fighters!" Galahad barked as he jumped yet again, the force sending tile and splinters scattering from the roof.

The Envenomed

ECHO DOMAIN - PLATFORM #2884

As the third set of coordinates appeared, Echo paused for a moment. Odd. They were being tasked to fire on a hostile position- formerly hostile anyway, as the bunker was now occupied by ostensibly friendly forces. To be fair, the ZRF were nominally friendly, but were temporary allies at best. The command was puzzling to the Echo platform. If only for a moment. The Endoform bristled with subtle activity, its grip on its weapon tightening for a moment as it began to slowly lift it up in preparation to perform a pre-emptive strike on what would likely soon be hostiles. Before Rasch's voice crackled across the squad comm. There was a twinge of hesitation before the Endoform abruptly turned on its heel and began returning to its main host.

Echo Platform falling back. Command Acknowledged. the voice rumbled through the squad comm as the Endoform and microforms fell back and merged themselves with the patched up Warform, returning the unit to full firepower. Patched up being a relative term- their mobility was mostly restored, and its damaged sections were armored, but its ability to stand up to heavy concentrated firepower was no longer a sure thing. Preparing Defensive position. Recommendation. Break contact and initiate tactical retreat.

With its heavy legs, the Warform plodded over to where Kleo and Alice were patching up, lowering one side of its body as it deployed a platform to lift them into its troop-carrier section. Alert. Contact imminent. Recommendation. Load onto Warform. Addendum. Anti-grav locomotion allows stability within acceptable ranges to continue triage.

If necessary, Echo's warform could plow through trees if they required a hasty escape, at the minimum it would be able to provide mobile cover for the squad as they engaged with the new enemy. In preparation for the incoming fast mover, Echo's weapons angled themselves in its approximate heading, preparing to- as Rasch said- open fire on the new contact as soon as it came into range, collateral damage be damned.

SPIRITUM

Gerard Biserus

"Wow boss, you're real slick with this words stuff." Gerard snickered through their squad-wide communication spell, taking a spot outside the building, leaning against the door to prop it open against the wall. "I'm surrounded by sociopaths." Gerard chuckled and sighed, the jet black of his hair and reflection of his glasses partially showing as he poked his head in the building. To Justice's credit, the open invitation to violence did put a look of uneasy surprise on the faces of the locals. The mention of military also brought some measure of confusion to the faces of the toughs- evidently not expecting a pack of military hounds to look like- well, them. To top things off, Silje approaching the main aggressor with a gun and the air crackling around her quickly drained the blood from their faces. They stared at her in shock. For the WARDENs, magic was an everyday thing- even if they weren't dedicated battle mages, they could use magic and knew what it was. It was everywhere around them and a facet of everyday life. For the general populace of Rassvet though, magic- and mages were rare and dangerous at best, and extremely lethal and destructive at worst.

"What the fuck..." One of the men managed to croak out, his face pale, obviously overwhelmed with the sudden presence of military hounds and their magic pet. "They're fuckin' freaks!" another one cried out in a bit of a panic.

"They're WARDENs!" The girl behind the cashier hissed, a frightened arm grabbing at the large man to tug him away from Silje and Tony. The announcement quickly caught the attention of the remaining civvies, who quickly began to back off, the sounds of weapons- be they knives or bats, clattering as they hit the tile. One man threw his hands up, an old, beat up revolver dangling from his fingers for a moment before slipping off and clattering to the ground. The largest of them, in an attempt to keep his tough guy persona up, managed an uneasy cough before waving away the pistol, breaking eye contact with the Tony and the almost comically smaller battle mage. "F-fuckin' tourists, yall ain't w-worth my time. Just take your shit and fuck off."

"I suppose I stand corrected." Gerard commented dryly, pushing off of the door as he started the short walk back to the car, deciding the situation handled. The motel, gas station and convenience store all shared the same parking lot, making the short walk little more than a few steps in any direction. "So we done here? We drinking or are we gonna put the smack down on the locals? Either sounds like a good time to me." Without waiting for an answer, Gerard flicked his hands, crates and folding chairs slowly beginning to float out of the back of the truck so the lot of them could start setting up their 'camp'. Perhaps tailgate was a better word for it. One of the benefits to a telekinetic was the amount of time saved cutting out manual labor, though Gerard's eclectic tastes in placement often left something to be desired.

"Beer me!" Gerard demanded of no one in particular, even as in the distance he spotted a pair of individuals leaving what appeared to be the local Marshal's station.

The Symphony - A Fated Quest

Veteran soldier, and all round grumpy grandpa. Odran Stormweaver

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Odran Stormweaver

184 - Male - He/Him - The veteran

"For Iron and Stone!"
—Odran Stormweaver

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NAME Odran Stormweaver

RACE Iron Dwarf

Hailing from the hewn halls of their mountain homes, iron dwarves are known for their hardy constitutions and stubborn attitudes. Like their steel cousins, iron dwarves are stalwart and traditional, and their families are organized into great clans. Different clans are known for their varying specializations in different forms of craft, be it gems, gunpowder or steel. Iron dwarves have long memories and lifespans, and have defended Ironspire for thousands of years, and shall continue to do so for thousands more.

CLASS Ranger/Artificer

Odran is no mere hunter or frontiersman, though they are capable of both. A ranger of the Ironborn Free Company, Odran is a skilled scout and marksman, slowly stalking across the battlefield clad in heavy armor with both patience and precision. Dwarven Rangers are both experts of their mountain regions and experts of their gear, each a capable craftsdwarf in their own right. Intead of the natural magics of elven and human rangers, Odran instead is a capable runesmith, inscribing specialized runes into equipment to perform specific effects.

Appearance

Odran is a stout and sturdily built dwarf, with a bold stance and an intimidating disposition for one so short. Forged by wine, battle, and song, Odran's wide and thick trunk of a body belies a surprising amount of deft and dexterity. Standing at a height of 4'8", he often stands no higher than the chest of other mortal beings, but is tall for a dwarf. Despite his diminutive stature, he's often denser than most humans, and certainly weighs an amount comparable to a human upwards of six feet in height.

His body is composed mostly of muscle and bound within the relatively short frame of his race, and his face is adorned with a dense, rough beard, and the copper hair over his head is sheared on the sides and pulled into a tight, short ponytail behind his head. This thick dwarf dresses in a combination of padded cloths and leather, but in battle he pulls on a hefty chainmail hauberk and hardened steel plate carapace over his leathers, his short legs stomping across the ground with surprising speed and lightness as he walks. Upon his face sits a wide, fat nose, with a crooked angle from many a fight, and regularly wears an eyepatch- a mark of a battle from long ago.

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HISTORY

A career soldier, tinkerer, rune crafter and scout, Odran was born to the Stormweaver clan, a powerful crafts-clan of some repute, well known throughout Eldoria for their weapons, with many aspiring warriors seeking pieces of armor of weapons crafted by his family. While most took up the family trades, Odran instead went about a different way to seek his fortune. Some took to trade, others took to craftsmanship. Odran took to the sciences- the military sciences, to be precise. Odran joined the ranks of the Ironspire Citadel's clan warriors, here he would earn his keep through blood and sweat. The clan warriors were divided into companies, each with their own storied past.

Odran joined the Ironborn Free Company as a Ranger Scout in its service fighting against the infestations of goblins and mountain orcs that sought out the vast wealth of the mountain citadel. With his technical prowess, as well as his skill in combat, Odran advanced steadily through the ranks, becoming a trusted sub-leader of his squad commander by the end of his first campaign across the dwarven mountains. By the end of his second campaign, Odran was given command of his own squad, and by the end of his fifth campaign, he was the designated Lead Scout of the Ironborn Company, and a notable veteran in his own right. Almost a century later, Odran is the veteran of countless battles and campaigns across the mountain range and even occasionally out of it.

During one such expedition above ground, Odran witnessed a shooting star fall from the sky and crash into the ground ahead of him. Making the journey to the crater, within it Odran found a firearm unlike any he had ever seen before. When he reached out to grab it, Odran was taken to the Fates themselves. Though initially wondering if he had died, Odran took little convincing to accept his mission- after all, fighting Malakith was what he and the Ironborn had been training to fight against their entire lives.

FEARS

Odran avoids sleeping sober. After a near century of fighting, and both witnessing and dealing in untold death, Odran's psyche has been irrepably marred. To avoid harsh memories, Odran keeps his hands and mind busy as often as possible, and indulges in vices like alcohol or tobacco. A strong drink before bed keeps his mind from wandering. Like his dreams, above all Odran fears a foe that he cannot physically overcome.

GOALS

Odran's drive has always been the safeguarding of his family and his home- in that order. Even after becoming a fated warrior, his goals have not changed, only his foe. He does not care for lofty ambitions or goals, preferring to keep things simple whenever possible.

SECRETS

Something of an open secret, at least among his company Odran has adopted an orphan his company found during a mission to a small fringe town within the mountain ranges. The town had been ravaged by a pack of orcs. After clearing the town, Odran came across a youngling and her slain parents. Taking pity on the child, Odran adopted her as his own, unbeknownst to the rest of his clan. The young dwarf, Alfira, currently serves as Odran's shield dwarf (A dwarvish take on a knight's squire).

FLAW

Odran is hard headed and stubborn, almost famously so. Unwavering like an oak tree- even to his detriment sometimes. Odran's has little tact and deft when it comes to talking to more highborn folk, and isn't afraid to say what is on his mind, exactly how he sees it- no matter whom it might offend.

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Skills

Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy: Odran is a capable career soldier. A veteran of decades of fighting, Odran is proficient with a variety of weapons, armor and small unit tactics. Head of a ranger unit, Odran is capable of operating away from friendly lines for long periods of time, and conducts battle with a calm and level head. Patience and preparedness are among the core tenants of an Ironborn Ranger, and Odran keeps his packs and gear meticulously organized.

Odran finds himself most at home sitting inside a suit of heavy steel, and either firing a heavy crossbow or rifle from a fixed position or methodically advancing with his rifle before switching to bayonet or axe. A precise and durable marksman, Odran has considerable staying power in a fight, and has surprising amounts of dexterity and deft despite his size. Odran is no slouch in a melee either, be it using his rifle as a spear, or with his axe and bayonet in hand.

Rather capable with his hands, Odran, though not a dedicated craftsdwarf, is still a capable smith- able to make repairs to and maintain his weapons and armor, as well as build new ones if given the proper materials and time.

Unlike human and elven rangers, Odran eschews more natural magic in place of runecrafted magic. Spells and effects are carved into surfaces of weapons and equipment with specialized tools to be used at later times.

ABILITIES

Runecrafting:

While not his primary trade, Odran carries a set of runecarving tools for the purpose of carving dwarven runes into a variety of objects. Large intricate runes on the ground can explode or create snare traps, small runes inscribed on bullets to give it elemental properties, or runes carved onto mundane gear to give it magical effects. Not a primary method of combat, but used as a supplement to his combat style. Unsurprisingly, his preferred runes imbue elements and other magical effects upon his ammunition and weapons, and often keeps a satchel of runic ammunition on hand.

FATED WEAPON

Odran's fated weapon is the Meteor Rifle, which takes the form of an intricately crafted rifle of forged starmetal, and adorned with silver and carved with runes. Despite its supernatural nature, it is rather familiar to Dwarven hands. A bayonet of similar star metal is attached to its end, but can be removed to be wielded as a blade in hand.

In lieu of gunpowder and shot, the Meteor Rifle fires bolts of starmetal from its barrel, cracking like rumbling thunder with every pull of the trigger. The rifle's attacks grow stronger in potency the longer Odran waits between pulls of the trigger. This allows Odran to choose between rapid, but weak barrages of attacks or slower, more powerful strikes. A chamber in the center of the rifle allows Odran to insert carved runes to augment his attacks, though each rune can only be used once and must be prepared between battles.

Alfira Stormweaver

Alfira Stormweaver

30 - She/her - The Spunky Shield Dwarf

RACE

Iron Dwarf

CLASS Shield Dwarf

The equivalent of a human knight's squire, Shieldbearer Aspirants- referred to as Shield Dwarves in modern times, act as second-line fighters, assistants and trainees under more experienced clan warriors. A shield dwarf's career may take any where from a few years, to a few decades, and these individuals are often capable fighters in their own right. Along with general skills, Shield Dwarves also often pick up skills specific to their mentors, as well as a variety of camp skills.

Appearance

On the shorter side for dwarven women, and Alfira stands at around 4 feet in height, and is rather noticeable with her mane of copper orange hair. Sporting fair skin and a dense musculature, Alfira is often seen with a snarky smirk and a curious twinkle in her eye. She often wears thick furs and leathers, but dons a dwarven steel half-plate over a chainmail hauberk in combat.

HISTORY

Orphaned as the result of an orcish attack on her village, Alfira was found by Odran when she was 8. The old dwarf took her in as his own daughter, and while she technically does not belong Stormweaver clan, she still claims it as her own clan name. As it wasn't uncommon for the Ironborn Free Company to take on camp followers- merchants, families, tagalongs and the like, Alfira spent most of her early life with the military company.

Around reaching her adolescence, Alfira would spend the next decade or so training under craftsdwarves in what amounts to the 'standard' education for Iron Dwarves within the Ironspire Citadel. Reaching an adequate level of proficiency in near record time, Alfira was quick to rejoin the Ironborn Free Company around the age of 25. Rejoining the Ironborn Free Company as her adoptive father's Shield Dwarf, Alfira has served in this role for the past 5 years now. She longs for the day when she can put down the apprentice's shield and pick up a rifle as a full fledged member of the Ironborn Company's combat troops.

Skills

Spry and energetic, Alfira is dexterous and quick, having taken to life in the military with a surprising amount of gusto- though there are still plenty of things to complain about. In combat, she serves as a Shield Dwarf, clad in armor and carrying an axe and shield, with a crossbow as a supporting weapon. Though lacking in experience, Alfira is strong for her size, and while her father rarely lets her loose on the battlefield, she can hold her own against basic foes.

Despite her gripes, Alfira is extremely organized and competent as a camp manager. Keeping stock of supplies, building and tearing down tents, preparing food, making repairs to equipment, assisting warriors with the donning of armor, or doing other jobs her adoptive father 'doesn't care to do'. Such is the life of a Shield Dwarf.