











![]() _______________________________________________ D A T A Full Name - JUSTICE, The Hero of Righteousness(Seison, Terada) Hometown - Hokkaido, Sapporo District Japan Quirk Type - Emitter Gender - Male - P E R S O N A L I T Y Arrogant Trait Description. Brash Trait Description. Bright Trait Description. | Physical Description Prettier than You Personal History Just perfect and better than you Character Arc Better than you Quirk Description Known by the name of BURNING JUSTICE, it's cooler than yours |


![]() ________________________________________ NAME Male | 24 | Lorenzia Scion of Earth _______________________________________________ Quote about your character from an outsider's POV. ________________________________________ | Incepta, in your benevolence I ask you to forgive the actions this poor soul whom you have blessed will now commit. Holy Sigil Location It shines within his right eye, burning ever brightly like his vigilance against evil. Appearance A handsome young man of average height and lithe build, walking around with an aura of smiles, laughter, and passion. Aegis takes to dressing with great flamboyance and decor, dressing in ways which grab the most attention and taking the time to keep up with the local fashion trends, though never at the cost of his ability to burst into action against threats to the weak. His slender frame belies a extremely fit physique, however, as he has built his body with a gymnast's flexibility and a soldier's sturdiness. Callous line his hands and feet and he carries more than a few scars from his numerous excursions(supervised and not) to face off against the monsters that stalk the country side. The most notable of these is a rather nasty looking scar on his upper right shoulder, a reminder of a encounter against a beast on his way to visit the Rodion Dominon. Personality Bright. If one were to describe Justinian in one word, it would be bright. His dispostion remains cheery no matter the circumstances, he always tries to lift the spirits of those around him, and always willing to be the butt of a joke to crack a smile on someone's face. Rather than wallow in what he has lost, Justianian lives every day like it might be his last and gives thanks to Incepta for every night it isn't. His piety is beyond the reproach of most, in all areas but one: He refuses to let himself be fully constrained in his use of his abilities when it comes to hunting down monsters. And it is with this standpoint that the other factor of his personality comes into play, because much like the element he is imbued with, Justinian is infamously stubborn about things he has set his mind too. The wilfullness of his youth and a fierce independance have only catalyzed with his faith due to his belief that his awakening was Incepta decreeing that he should use his powers to save the helpless and so he often will bash heads with Templars, the church, sometimes even Her Grace High Cardinal Margaret herself. With all due respect, of course. Biography The earth Scion's life before his awakening was. . . an unpleasant one. He was the son of a factory worker that spent all day in a failing factory to bring home scraps to a family of 4 with seemingly another on the way. His mother could barely pay him much attention, so he spent his early life with a great deal of independance that gave him a willful streak that his parents found equal parts exhausting and amusing. It was a rough life, but it was his and he was happy enough with it. The only regret he carried was lacking the ability to help his family rise from the poverty they found themselves in. Unfortunately, this menial commoner's life came to a bloody end as a shadow fell over the small factory town. It started slowly, first with people's pets vanishing in the twilight hours and strange noises being heard in the dead of night. When people started to vanish, a call for help was sent to the local lord of the area. Justinian would not learn until much later that the Lord had known this danger was approaching his town, but the creature and its pack was a known danger that had even managed to take the lives of Templars in the past so they had decided that the loss of one or two commoners as had been the beast's pattern was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make. But the creature did not stop at one or two. More and more as the week progressed, people kept disappearing. Homes went quiet, the old factory deemed unsafe. And then, one day, the monster made it's final strike. Justinian saw the first of the monsters on that day, masses of skittering legs and shining black carapaces bursting from the ground as he and his friends played in front of their building complex. Everything after that, however, was hazy and indistinct. He remembers screams, his father grabbing his arm and pulling him. . . somewhere. He couldn't remember where his mother was, or his sister of only 5 years. He could not remember when he and a few other kids had been huddled together in the backroom of the local church, his father looking at him with tears in his eyes and asking him to be brave and keep the younger ones safe. He can remember the banging. Even to this day, he remembers the skittering screech of talons on stone work, of heavy oak buckling and bending against the weight of something huge and savage. He still sees that door at night, in his dreams, bending and buckling and breathing like some great dragon about to unleash a torrent of death upon him. He remembers praying to the Goddess, as clumsily as one can expect of a frightened child. A prayer not for himself, not for his family, but for the strength to protect them all. A prayer to give him some form of agency in this terrible nightmare. To take away this horrid helplessness that gripped him as he stepped infront of the other children, feeling a strange burning crawl through his body. And he knows that Incepta answered. When the Templars came a two days later to investigate the presence of a Scion, what they found left them both horrifed and speechless with awe. The town was covered in the corpses of man and monsters alike but rather than scavenging like the vermin they were, every monster had been frozen in a crystalline amber shell, somehow still alive within their prison. Justinian and the children he protected were found in that church basement, surrounded by a wave of the macabre crystal sculptures while Justianian just say there with a small baby cradled in his small arms. From beneath his frazzled blonde hair, the holy sign of the goddess shone with a dull amber glow from his right eye. The children had all been too scared to leave, wanting to wait for their parents to come and take them home, and the newly awakened Scion had sensed the state of things through the ground beneath their feat. He couldn't bring himself to break that hope to them. In his first meeting with the Templars, Justinian's denied to follow his Templar rescuers until he was promised all of the children in his care were to come with him. He had refused to leave them in that mausoleum of a town, as they were his responsibility. His father had told him to take care of them, and he would not let them out of his sight until he was sure they'd be safe. It wasn't until the head templar gave his wor that he would finally relax, nearly fainting into the arms of the man. That was the last time that he ever let himself cry. For the next year, Justinian responded little to any prompting outside of specifc questions or inquiries, he remained quiet, respectful, and rarely left his room. Whenever he spoke, his gaze never met that of who he was talking to, as if gazing somewhere miles away. The only thing that ever sparked any interest in him, strangely, was reading. It was the only request he ever made and it was quickly given in hopes of improving the young Scion's condition. He seemed especially fixated on the first Scion of Earth, Isidore Laurent, whom he spent hours reading about in every form he could find. Whenever he spoke, his gaze never met that of who he was talking to, as if gazing somewhere miles away. And before long, his birthday came around. As he lay in bed, twelve years old watching the kids he had saved all come into his room with present for him, thinking about how they only reason any of them were here was because of his actions that day . . . a choice was made, bringing with it the first smile he'd had in a long time. He told his handler that he had finally felt ready to accept his place as a Scion, which was met with much joy and relief from all around who had about how this event would effect a personof such importance. It was only the next morning that his handler, and all of Lorentia for that matter, would realize the true meaning of his words. The year had not been spent just idly processing his trauma and reading, but listening to the very earth beneath his feet. Feeling the heartbeat of the planet and letting it lead him to the places most active with creatures like those that had attacked his home. The vermin that existed only to ruin so many lives with their destructive desire for chaos, living outside of the natural order. As the sun broke, Aegis' small form was being broadcast live by flabbergasted villagers as he dragged out a wolf-like monster that had been terrorizing their livestock for weeks, the small girl it had been stalking held in his arms. One of several rescues he had made that evening and would continue to make for many years after. Aegis swore on that day not only to never let himself feel that level of helplessness again, but to save every person he could reach from the unfair horrors of life. It was the decree given to him by the Goddess herself and he would fufill it, even if her voice on earth disagreed with him. Weapon of Choice Justinian has taken the years to teach himself at least a passing familiarity with a number of weapons like the spear, staff, sword, and even the bow. But when it comes to his favored weapon, that would simply be his own two hands. Often channeling the strength of the earth into his form, Justianian reinforces his own body to smash through obstacles that stand before him Misc.
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![]() xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx B A S I C I N F O[Name] Zhejiang Erica Teteh Almark Trace Aeolia Julianne Nova Trine Alzmille Lenore Chandra Ral Shagia Kycilia Lucille Jacqueline Agrippa Elysia Paraya Verlaine Haro Tieria Kelly Sune Stabity Drasso Visch Milla Romanof Rosso Christine Sys Lichtendahl al Mortuus-Orbitae LXXXV[Callsign] Cygnus[Gender] Female[Age] 28[Rank and Designation] Stardust[Place of Birth] NiǎndàoC O M B A T A B I L I T Y[Anti-Barrier Sword] A.B. Sword 光辉虚空(Guānghuī xūkōng)/Brilliant Void[Anti-Barrier Quotient] 29%[Physical Description] Brilliant Void is an odd weapon for an AB sword. A long spear with minimal decoration along it's shaft, mostly the flowing aniconic designs common to the Mortuus-Orbitae trace themselves down it's jet black body, representing the planets and stars of the system where it's ore was found. These markings are marred by some odd discolorations that appear all along the weapon as if exposed to a fearsome heat, blemishing it's simple beauty. [Attributes]Brilliant Void, despite its simplicty, is a weapon deeply intwined with the anomaly of those descending from the Hua sect. When wielded by one of the Hua, it feels as light as the very air and strikes as quick as a cobra, like it knows where its blade needs to be before the wielder. So connected are the two that not even the illusion of distance can keep them apart, allowing the wielder to will the weapon to their hands with barely a thought regardless of how far away it seems to be.[Anomaly] Void[Origin] Space-Between[Phenomena]"The Mother grants those so blessed to walk in her domain, traveling distances both grand and small [Limitation]Zhegiang herself has a long way to go from reaching such lofty heights of Anomaly Mastery. | Profile[Surface-level Impression]Proud.[Personal History W.I.P.]Broken More than anything else, Zhegiang is a broken person. Perhaps she always has been, only deluding herself through naive youth that she felt as others felt, walked as others walked, could be as others could be. But her father never let her forget what she was. Ever since she stole his wife from him though the mistake of her birth, she was never anything more than an inconvient parasite. A thing, to be kept at a distance, a thing to be addressed only when necessary for the sake of propriety. Not a moment sooner nor a second longer.Blood backstoryVoid backstoryHome World[Planet Description]Niǎndào{The Imperial Passage way)[Culture] The Way of Void [W.I.P][Warrior Family] Mortuus-OrbitaeNotable Contacts![]() [Name]Insert Name Here[Relation to Subject][ ] Is Trace's Voidbound, he rtrue partner in life while she is legally married to a man she's never met who knows how many light years away for some political favor or the other. Her guiding star, the light which has brought her back from the celestial edge of Apathetic wasting, the one true death that awaits those who find life's futiltiy too much to bear.[Analysis]A fellow constellation, albeit one of Main rank, [ ] is the hearth that tempers Trace's roaring flame of fanatical passion. Possessed of an infectious energy and enthusiasm for life in all it's forms and features, but possessing a warrior's honor through and through. [ ] proves to be a steadying hand against the baser desires that drive her Voidbound's self-destructive behavior. |

![]() xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx B A S I C I N F O[Name] Insert Text Here[Callsign] Insert Text Here[Gender] Insert Text Here[Age] Insert Text Here[Rank and Designation] Insert Rank Here Pilot / Insert Rank Here Constellation[Place of Birth] Insert Planet Here[Official Statement] Insert Quote, or 'Reason to Fight' HereC O M B A T A B I L I T Y[Remove Section if Pilot] [Anti-Barrier Sword] Insert Number and Name Here[Anti-Barrier Quotient] Insert Percentage Here; recommended number being above 10% to affect Aberrant barriers. Higher Quotient of AB material makes for more fragile weapons.[Physical Description] Insert Physical Description Here[Attributes]Insert Auxiliary Ability Aside From Hitting Things Here If Applicable[Remove Section if Constellation] [Mech Model] Insert Name and Number Here[Type] Insert General Purpose/s Here i.e. Crowd-Control, Tank-Buster, Hyper Mobility, Interstellar Combatant, etc.[Size] Insert Height and Weight of Mech Here; limited to 60 feet in height.[Core] Insert Core Rank Here; limited to Delta-Class below 40 foot size and to Epsilon above.[Armaments]
[Remove Section if Non-Applicable] [Anomaly] Insert Name Here[Origin] Insert Progenitor/Off-shoot Name Here[Phenomena]Insert Description of Ability here[Limitation]Insert Description of Limit/Cost here | Profile[Surface-level Impression]Insert Brief Description Of Character Here; Can Be List Of Personality Traits.[Personal History]Insert History HereHome World[Planet Description]Insert Text Here[Culture] Insert Text Pertaining To Homeworld Culture Here[Warrior Family] Insert Text Pertaining to Warrior Family if Applicable Here; Mandatory For Anomaly Users |
![]() ________________________________________ Marqué Male | 25 | Dourmerc Templar of Fire _______________________________________________ "The boy is the picture of devotion, discipline, and selflessness. For better and for worse." ________________________________________ | "Your Holiness, it is the duty of a Templar duty to serve you til their dying breath. Nothing more, and nothing less." Holy Sigil Location Over his heart, same as his Scion Appearance The Templar is not the most standout individual, as is prefered. They stand at an unimpressive height of 5'2, with hair that is kept short and unstyled and amber-gold eyes that hold little in the way of emotion. Some would say they even lack a spark of life. His tanned skin is covered in a tapestry of old scars and strange runic patterns. If asked why he keeps them, despite the technology to make such unseemly blemishes being easily accessible for one of his rank, he only states that they're to be a reminder. Beneath the scars is the physique of a solider and athlete, built out and maintained through a constatn work-out regimine and strict diet. It often is hidden beneath baggy, non-descript clothing, to better keep his appearance unseen and unnoticed when not on official business. He has no real sense of fashion, or really any preference in aesthetics. The only outwardly notable feature aside from his scars is that his eyes changed somewaht when he became a templar. Moments of intense emotion oftne cause a ring of burning firey mana to form along the edge of his pupil, one of the few indicators of emotion that any can grasp from him. Personality Marqué does not feel. It is a constant thing said about the Templar and it is true in some ways, but not others. Phyiscally, it is as true as can be. Whatever the purpose of the experiements preformed on him in his youth, they have taken from the young man any capacity to feel physical sensations. Pain, Pleasure, warmth, cold, even exhaustion. HIs body does not communicate any of the information to him, and it has lead to him to often treat his body as an expendable resource more often than not. He pushes himself far beyond when a reasonable person would stop, and while he has gained enough of a sense of self to know his limits, this was a years long process that has lead to him being on a first name basis with every medical professional within the Church, and a few outside of it. Emotionally. . . it is only partially so. It would be more accurate that, in this case, Marqué does not allow himself to feel. To do so would invite weakness, invite complications, would get in the way of the duty he has sworn himself to. The only thing he really things give his life worth. The Goddess deemed him to survive where so many others did not. The Goddess deeemed him as worthy of saving when both before and during that horrible experience, he had hurt many people. He was no devout follower, he had cursed her name many a night as starvation and pain took him, back when he still felt such things. But she had deemed him worthy of survival. Or so he Marqué tells himself, because the alternative thought, which dogs at his mind every day, invites a creeping dread that he refuses to let win. It had to be for something. It had to be. Biography Marqué is not the name that the Templar was born with. In truth, it's part of a designation, a word heard time and again in the midst of the drug-addled haze that are his memories. He can barely recall life before his kidnapping, though he had the sensation it was not much different than his imprisonment. He had no one but other urchins that struggled to survive in the streets of some Dourmerc township. No parents, no caretakers, just his own wits and hands. Sometimes he was hurt, other times he hurts. Sometimes he went to bed hungry, and other times, he managed to find some scraps to hold it off. And in the tangled threads of these memories, the threat of starvation was replaced by a different pain. Agony that laced through his veins, the sensation of strange chemicals and mana being injected into his young body. Bright lights and sharp pains as he was pushed out before other kids, bigger ones and smaller ones, and forced to hurt them. THey were told to do the same to him. They never knew why, and knew better than to ask. That continued for a long while, a constant treadmill of isolation and pain that left him unsure if he was even still alive. He stopped speaking, as no one would ever respond. He stopped thinking, as thoughts only served to tourment him. And thus, when he stopped feeling. . . it barely made a difference, though the adults who prodded and examined him seemed excited. And then. . . the Goddess came. It was in a burst of action that she appeared before him, with hair like fire and a large blade in hand. She was followed by a familiar scent of iron that hung thick, with more voices behind her that cried out in horror and disgust. It wouldn't be till much later that the boy would learn that it was not the Goddess, but a mercenary by the name of Axan who saved him, not the goddess. But he still held onto that feeling, that the Goddess had come to lift him out of his misery. It kept him from slipping entirely into the darkness of unspoken thoughts, where the eyes of so many unclear faces stared back. They shared no features with him, but they all bore the same name. They all were Marqué. They all could have been him, if they had been luckier, and he had run out of it. And so, like the scars, like the runes, the name became a reminder. Marqué was not a name. Marqué was not a person. Marqué it was a designation, and the boy just happened to be chosen for it. And so, in his mind, he had to be chosen for a reason. So he became a squire for the church knights, htne a knight himself, and then a Templar for the very same woman who saved him, though she did not recognize his face. If Marqué was a person, that may have stung, but it was better this way. Marqué was not meant to stand out, as it would make the work harder. He had dedciated himself to helping others, saving others as he had been saved. Be it monsters born from Mana or monsters born from Men, he decicated himself to their end. Weapon of Choice Marqué prioritizes no singular weapon, but instead works to have a knowledge of as amny as he can feasibly learn to an acceptable degree. THere are few weapons which he is not at least proficient with and he has made sure to inscribe several transport runes to summon them to his side at a moment's notice. If Marqué was to have a preference, it would be with knives and small caliber fire arms, which can be used in nearly any enviornment with ease, but he also keeps a runes for a spear, a sword, and a rifle on him, and knows how to use a number of other weapons. Misc.
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