[color=E0D6C0] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wFqApY1.png[/img][/center][color=E0D6C0][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/fXzi00H.gif[/img][h1][b][color=30A4D9]Bastion[/color][/b][/h1][/center][center][/center] [center] [color=30A4D9][b]Race:[/b][/color] Warforged [color=30A4D9][b]Class:[/b][/color] Warrior [color=30A4D9][b]Location:[/b][/color] Airship; Top Deck - Bar [color=30A4D9][b]Interactions/Mentions:[/b][/color] Arya [@Potter], Wendel [@FunnyGuy], Menzai [@samreaper] [color=30A4D9][b]Equipment:[/b][/color] [hider=equipment][color=F9D972]☼[/color] Tower Shield [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.) [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Aged Leather Satchel [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Worn but cherished scarf [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Maintenance Kit . [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself). [color=F9D972]☼[/color] A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown. [/hider] [color=30A4D9][b]Attire:[/b][/color] [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Fitted harness for carrying supplies. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Worn scarf [color=30A4D9][b]Gold Balance:[/b][/color] 44 gold [color=30A4D9][b]Injuries:[/b][/color] [color=F9D972]☼[/color] None, but signs of past battle damage remain. [/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wFqApY1.png[/img][/center][/color] [hr] Bastion’s gaze shifted gently toward Arya. She’d said her bird was like a piece of the sky… and that he might like one too. That he wasn’t alone. [color=30A4D9]“Thank you,”[/color] he said quietly, his voice smaller than usual. [color=30A4D9]“You are very kind.”[/color] His fingers lingered over the painted sun on his chest, warm with thought, when Wendel’s voice rolled in. [color=silver]“You have me for the time being. For all of today at best.”[/color] Bastion turned, optics flickering faintly at the corners. There was something real in those words. Something impermanent. Something fleeting. And maybe… that was what made them matter more. [color=30A4D9]“Then I’m glad it’s today,”[/color] he replied simply, but with profound appreciation. Wendel warned him about birds and shiny things in a hushed, conspiratorial tone...something about poop. Bastion tilted his head. He didn’t quite understand the logic, but it was offered with kindness, and that was enough. He nodded solemnly, committing the odd wisdom to memory. Then Menzai spoke. [color=ee82ed]“To have the sky as your domain? What better gift could one ask for?”[/color] Bastion looked up. The sky stretched wide and gold above them, bright with sun and promise. He didn’t need wings to understand the beauty in that. He thought of his gifted scarf. Of the sun painted on his chest. Of the people here beside him. These, too, were gifts. But then the world changed. It started as a tremble underfoot...barely a whisper, at first. Barstools rattled. Glasses shook in their places. Conversations faltered into silence. The sound grew, swelling from below like something ancient and wrong awakening. Then it struck. BOOM. Light and sound tore through the deck in a single breathless instant. The Stormrider groaned beneath them, bucking as lanterns swung wildly overhead. Bastion moved without thinking...placing himself in front of Arya, arm outstretched, shielding her from the blast. Smoke followed, thick and black and curling upward from the stairwell like a living thing. That’s when they came. Eight of them, stepping out of the smoke like they belonged to it. Crimson hoods. Blank masks. Blades gleaming at their sides. The air around them bent, pulled tight, like gravity itself answered to them. They didn’t speak, they didn’t need to. Bastion didn’t move. Not yet. His eyes scanned...calculating, tracking, assessing. Then a man bolted for the stairs. He didn’t make it. A flicker of steel. A body hitting the floor. No words. No hesitation. And then it all fell apart. Screams broke loose. Tables overturned. Glass shattered. Panic surged like a wave through the tavern. Bastion focused in on one of them...a tall figure closing in on a couple by the railing. The man, small but brave, stepped in front of his wife. The blade slashed downward with sickening violence. The man collapsed, his blood painting the deck and the very flesh and face of his poor wife. The woman screamed, and that was all it took. Bastion rose from his seat with singular purpose. No roar, no battle cry, just motion...slow and purposeful. The kind of movement that didn’t need announcing. Like something inside him had turned back on. Like something long-buried had been told to wake. [color=30A4D9]“Everyone,”[/color] he said, his voice calm, unwavering, [color=30A4D9]“find safety. Now.”[/color] He walked forward. Steady. Certain. The way only someone who’s done this before walks. The way someone who was created for moments like this walks. One of the assassins looked up. Too late. With a low mechanical hum, Bastion’s left palm split open...plates retracting to reveal the gleaming core of his [color=gold]Titan Chain[/color]. And then it fired. The chain screamed through the air like a whip, a blur of metal and intent, slamming into the assassin’s chest with a brutal thud. Bastion pulled. The chain reeled in with a grinding snarl, heavy links clinking against themselves as they devoured the distance. The assassin was yanked forward, limbs flailing, dragged across the deck like a marionette with its strings violently snapped. Bastion’s eyes flared brighter now, glowing with cold clarity. [color=30A4D9]“You will cease your destruction or you will cease to exist.”[/color] He wasn’t shouting. It wasn’t rage. It was a statement. A fact. A warning for all of them. The assassin struggled against the pull, heels scraping the deck, cloak whipping behind him. It didn’t matter. Bastion advanced. Each step thudded like a war drum. Deliberate. Inevitable. His focus sharp enough to cut through stone. There was no emotion in his eyes. No fury. Just the memory of what he was made to be. His right arm reached back...gripping the hilt of a blade sheathed along his spine. It slid free with a hiss of frost. The weapon shimmered with an unnatural chill, as if carved from frozen dusk. Forged from cerulean ice that refused to melt, the blade left streaks of cold across the deck as it passed, steam curling where it touched warm wood. The assassin was nearly upon him now. Bastion raised the sword with calm precision. There would be no more warnings. Just the clean, quiet promise of the end. And then he struck. Hard. And final. [/color]