[IC] {Closed}

[Luminosity]

_{F i o n a}

Armistice - Eastern Gate - 500 HP - 6/6 Stamina

---

"You honor me with your words, Sister. It is a brave thing to do - thrusting yourself into the unknown for something you believe in. Tell me, Fiona; what do you know of the world outside of this city?"

Fiona had to stop herself from smiling, as the feeling within her was something of a mix between relief and elation. Not only did Ezheia not reprimand her for her choice, she commended her for it. Said she was brave. And she would be coming, too! It was an incredible feeling, no longer being alone in the pursuit. There were already many others, of course, but none that could share in the experience of serving the Burning Light. Not until now. She almost had to do a double-take at the question the Decanus asked, not quite hearing it until it sank in. She understood the concern at once.

"I've studied diligently, Sister. I know of the nearby regions and their relevant history, and what I should expect in terms of environments. I've studied the Order's bestiary extensively. I... have only been outside the walls a few times, and never very far... but that's why I'm traveling in a group, rather than alone. I'm aware that my own skill and training may not be enough." As so many of her teachers and superiors had informed her, possessing the knowledge of how to defeat something, and actually doing it, were vastly different things. None disagreed that Fiona had potential; physically she was adequate, and still improving, magically she excelled, particularly as a healer, and she was intelligent, quick to grasp new concepts. She could do this, she knew she could.

"Promise me this, Fiona. You and I are the Order's sole representatives on this journey. I aim to serve as an exemplar of what it means to serve in its ranks, and implore you do the same."

Fiona nodded, solemnly. "Of course. I am a protector of the light, a destroyer of the darkness. Serving beside you will be an honor, and I will do everything in my power to acquit myself well. You have my word." Perhaps she did not have experience against horrors of the outside world, but Fiona was not as green as some of the others. Armistice was not always a safe place, and she'd served within its walls for months now. She would not turn from danger beyond the walls, nor would she allow her allies to fall if it was within her power to stop it. Such was the decree of the Order: to defend the people, even when it meant sacrifice was necessary.

Azra - Public Roads - 500 HP - 6/6 Stamina

---

Fiona listened to the conversation taking place between the carts. It was a bit of an ice-breaker, she expected, since there had been so much uncomfortable silence to start out with. Fiona hadn't imagined the group would end up that way. Perhaps it was foolish, but she had always imagined such a venture would have some sense of camaraderie to it. There was certainly very little of that so far. Just between the two Sisters.

She occupied herself staring out at the landscapes. Mountains in the distance, peaceful meadows and woods... it was hard to imagine the world was a horrible, dark place beyond from here, but it had always been that way. The beasts had never touched these parts, for reasons unknown. Having never been this far from the city before, Fiona could've stared at it all day, but decided it would be best to chat a little with the others, so that they would know her a bit and potentially come to trust her. The largest man of the group seemed a good place to start. He was a bit intimidating to look upon, and had a way of weighing down the carriage they rode in, but Fiona knew well that first impressions were hardly a fair representation of any man or woman.

"Excuse me," she said, reaching across the carriage to lightly tap his knee. "I've been wondering... the others that wear that sigil you carry, are they all as large as you? It seems it would be frustrating, as much as it is advantageous. Do you bump your head on things often?" It was an honest question, really. They didn't make bunks big enough for men like him in the Order's Temple, and several of the doorways would require ducking to fit through.

[agentmanatee]

Erickson of the God Eaters

Azra-Public roads-1000 HP

Erickson hated carraiges... too small, and restricting, hard to get to his weapons out or move around at all. He was also worried about his horse... even hitched to a carriage the big beast was dangerous without a rider who knew how to handle it. It may try to unhitch, chase some small animal... or if some child got a bit to close to the caravan and it felt hungry.

As he stewed about this, one of his new companions sought his attention, "Excuse me,", she even lightly tapped him on the knee to make sure he noticed her, "I've been wondering... the others that wear that sigil you carry, are they all as large as you? It seems it would be frustrating, as much as it is advantageous. Do you bump your head on things often?", it was a surprisingly innocent question. She was one of the Priestesses from the order of Burning light. She was a young woman, her face free of any blemishes and quite feminine, she had fiery red hair, he could see it even under her hood, and her eyes were a piercing blue. He knew she was a user of magic, and most likely stronger than she looked.

"Are all God Eaters as large as me? Gods no, it would be more expensive to maintain our armor than our own fort. We are as varied as any other order.", this was the first time he had said he was a God Eater out loud, no more ominous allusion to it. "As for my head, it is sometimes difficult. Often I must bend and hunch to enter buildings others have no issue with. But it goes further, a carriage like this is a good example.", he shifted uncomfortably to make his point, "It is hard for me to feel comfortable in such tight quarters, mainly because it is hard to draw my weapons. But I did not become a Knight for comfort, I became a Knight to kill beasts and gain power.", he looked the woman up and down again, "That answer your question priestess? And if I may ask... what is it like to be in the Order of Burning Light? Wield powerful magic? I've seen it on the field, it is quite... inticing."

[Rockette]

Y T O N E [and] M A R C U S

^{"They crucified her by the depths of her soul, her heart sill beating and well alive. They took him out by the ends of his spirit, and hung it out to dry."}

Azra — Public Roads — 250 — 8 / 8 ; 500 — 6 / 6

^{And so my dearest. . .}

Through the smatterings of dribble, babbling quips and innuendos laden through the various pitches of cadences and timbres, Ytone was carefully constructing and imitating the looping scrawl of her scarlet aesthetics compressed beneath leather with heat blooming through the flesh of her robes. The intricate laces of peeled skin and thick layers of sustenance elicited whispers of shuddering breath through the passages of her flaring nasal, evoking the most tempered of pants until the scenery and bucking of the wagon over the roads fractured the euphoric concentration of her pain. Ytone's gestures carefully slid back, fingers twining through crimson threads as the securing blanket of her Raksha nestled onto her lap cemented her reality to the evidence that she did not have the luxury of quiet contemplation. Her sister, the Tessen was securely folded, compressed by the silver switch that would decompress and spring open at the faintest coaxing of her touch and hidden discretely through the fabric of Raksha's embellished scarf. The methods of conversation among those gathered was of little to no interest to her, the only point of stern concentration being the intended path, as if attempting to commit the roads to memory and bringing with it something of familiarity.

She had come this way before.

It was only by the subject of willing death that evoked a reaction out of the Gaki envoy, a woman responding to the subject and thus bringing the question flush and returning to initial thought. The press of her silver stare sliced through the fringe of her lashes, brow raising an increment in her illustration of perplexity at the man who voiced the original inquiry to their apparent want. Her eyes remained thus, never flinching away a fraction before she disengaged her silence.

"You speak of Death as if it really were just a mere wish." Ytone began, for Death was no luxury like the woman detailed, for Death was no happenstance of circumstance. Death was of much more complexity and wonder, for the final slumber was a gift of a God.

Marcus winced as an unfamiliar tone cut through the air and the swath of replies that now seemed eager to wet their throats with conversation. Despite having never heard the sound before or meeting its owner, common sense and his peripheral vision confirmed that the first of his fears had finally come true; the strangely dressed woman from the wall in Armistice could not resist the allure of conversation either. As if that fact was not bad enough, the first words she spoke indicated the beginning of an introspective into abstract concepts that neither could be nor had any business being quantified--suffice it to say, the freshly released convict felt his attention being forcibly dragged in the direction of the one group member he was the most uncertain about. Though he wanted to address those that had spoken to him first--especially the one in the other cart who seemed to have... Interest in his manhood--the futility of trying to ignore the sheer aura emanating from the gaze of the weird one grew with every passing second. The squeal of the cap as it loosened from the flask signaled the only preparation Marcus could take as he ingested the warm liquids and prepared his mind and soul for the encounter. This, no matter what, was not going to end well.

"You speak as if you wish for death. Seems like we're back where we began, so I'll ask again in a manner more befitting of your sensibilities. What kind of ignorance brought you to willingly volunteer for the kind of quest with only one possible ending?" Marcus now focused his gaze fully on the one he could not bring himself to look upon in the city.

Integrated intricacies of habit rendered by blades of eternal sundering, and woe garnered a peculiar performances of her pupils dilating into spheres of depressing cesspools lined in silver corrupted by the finest webs of ebony from the cancerous mana coursing through every vessel throbbing beneath her skin. In a slow cant, her cheek came almost parallel with her shoulder, black thread spilling over her shoulder, pooling onto her lap where Raksha calmly posed in silent malice, akin to a feline lounging in the midst of the tamer. His retort simmered with the slurring drawl of his beverage, her eyes flashing to the flask clutched within hand, and the careful implants of a rebuttal garnered in something distasteful. She recognized the patterns through the execution of his movements, they were harsh, deliberate, befitting to the representation of his countenance, but more was laden there that made Ytone's lips perch upwards into a simper of illustrious wonder. Speaking to her in such a variation of his previous inquiry bade a similar rejoinder, clipped in the husky bearings of her usual cadence and gleaning like the edges of metal embedded into her pallid skin.

"I know better than to address Death so ignorantly as you have. I was taught such reverence." One could've mistaken her utterance for a reprimand, but a dull, simmering reflection of pity and sorrow in the silver of her stare dissuaded the assumption as her focus redoubled in effort, and was wed to his eyes and self. "You mistaken me for a treasure seeker? That I willingly proffered my blade and body for the desires of a union that bears no importance to me? If only Fate were so kind." Ytone lips gaped at the slither of a chortle that sputtered from her throat marred in ink and scars, irony lacing tight into the fixation of her mind at the baseless conclusions he spoke of.

"Reverence?! So, indeed you are one of them," Marcus pushed the flask into an unseen pouch and even let a chuckle escape.

The Catastrophe was a terrible event in the dark and convoluted history of humankind, but it was also an era that informed the presently surviving world. The death and destruction caused by the armies of invading beasts were exponentially bigger than any previous wars fought between the countries and this kind of chaos lead to a division in the mentality of the population. In the experience of the former knight, there existed a sect of individuals who seemed to worship the concept of death itself in some ridiculous attempt at avoiding any sort of calamity in the future. He had encountered many who genuinely thought this much in his official travels and this oddly dressed woman was merely repeating their ideals in a more fanciful tone. Those unearthed memories were unwelcome.

Marcus pushed his back straight against the side of the cart and improved his sitting height slightly. His mood twisted into that of disgust as he wrinkled his face and furrowed his brow. "You speak too surely of yourself," He watched the woman's black locks fall ominously over her weapon, "Did you think because you carried a weapon, I would assume you to be a warrior? In the same way that these new adventurers underestimate the outside world, you severely underestimate that which you seem to honor and bend your knee to. A roaming beast won't give a shit if you proffered your blade and body for its own carnal desires, much less the actual nature of your agenda."

The wound expanded over her thigh from the previous interlude at the wall suddenly burned. Beneath the thickets of her robe ebony fissures rocketed and flamed across the swallow complexion of herself, splintering through the flesh; manifesting a sheen that bloomed across the silver coins of her eyes accompanied by a near sheer disbelief. He was dismissive, ignorant of the plights and evidence of her representation. He inclined her to be apart of some existing lunacy, as if he were even aware of the horrific realities that sundered her soul, fostered her taint, and corrupted her heart to a deadened organ that pumped poison, ash, and pain through her being. She respected the final slumbers, the intricacies of death and despair, for she was to be denied them through all leagues and bounds of eternity, she wished naught for death; but - perhaps - only the freedom by the blessings of such a gift from a God.

Do not mock what you cannot hope to fathom. . .

"And you underestimate me and my purpose, you twist and spear my words to reflect the fear burdened inside yourself, you who came to the gate by a leash.. You're no better than these adventurers and seekers of Fate, I respect the finalism of life, for I have seen the depths of Hell, I've felt the fire and ash of the woeful dead." Her voice bubbling with a hidden, festering ooze of pain and suffering, a near desperation to bend his will and body to the spears of blood and silver that tangled and wove into the locks shimmering ebony in the light.

"Don't you dare speak to me of beasts. I've felt their ire and power, you know nothing of Us."

As the words spilled from her mouth, chaotically arranged and tinged with an arrogant anger that relished in its own assumption, Marcus felt a barrier begin to crumble within himself. He had always been a private sort of person, never speaking of his time in the knighthood and never selling stories of the harrowing ordeals he faced as a career criminal. He had witnessed and experienced many events, emotions, and traumas that he was content to keep locked away in the bowels of his mental sanctity until he stepped into his final resting place. Despite the masks he wore as his persona to those on the outside looking in, there was still enough genuine dignity left to constitute pride in the unspoken ideals he held dear. Due to the fact the almost never took another seriously, he could always protect his pride no matter what verbal offense came charging his way. This time, however, he felt the grip on his imprisoned identity loosening. It was not that this woman mentioned seeing the chains he wore on his way to the gate. It was not that she accused him of harboring some sort of hidden fear that was he was now attempting to project onto others. The problem was far more serious than that.

This woman... This bitch implied that only she had seen the true depths of hell. That only she had felt the pain and anguish and tangibility of those that had perished. That Marcus, a man she hardly knew, had never felt the sheer power and authority only the beasts held when facing down a mortal opponent. She implied that this broken man could not know the meaning of chaos, destruction, and true evil. She was sorely mistaken.

Instinctively, a shudder raced down Marcus' arm. The limb involuntarily wished to act on its owner's welling rage and clutch the blade that would end not only this discussion, but the life of one who did not deserve it--did not deserve such a rare gift. The weight laying across his crossed legs suddenly felt heavier and more real in that moment than any other. Flashes of various methods of immediate offense appeared and disappeared just as quickly. Irate pools of green focused a murderous gaze directly into the eyes of the one that drew their ire, but no words managed to slip passed the lips which remained sealed. There was nothing more to say. Marcus learned everything he needed to about this woman here and now and it would be something he would remember for the duration of this journey. Her visage seared a special place into his memory. Her words became everlasting echos that he could recall whenever he desired. He would know the sound of her voice amidst the bustle of the biggest city, but...

He would never ask her name.

^{. . . will you then ask for my name when the world has gone.}

[JulienJaden]

Collab by @Garden Gnome (Senua), @IcePezz (Annalynne), @OneWayOut (Jessabelle) and @JulienJaden (Nicholas).

---

Jessabelle's words were a lot less kind than those of the other woman but the comment from the neighboring carriage made Nicholas laugh.
"I appreciate the sentiment! Perhaps I should shave my head to be more like our friend here. Or maybe grow one feet taller? Ah, but then again, I don't think my ego would survive rapid changes like that. I guess I will have to wait until I can show everybody my beautiful pe- uh, personality."

While he let the joke take effect - or not - he shot Jessabelle a quick, curious glance. What circumstances could have brought her here when she said herself that Isabelle, Annabelle, Mirabelle and Clarabelle were relying on her? It didn't seem to make much sense for her to go on a dangerous quest that Nicholas knew was a lot more likely to go badly and end in all of them dying than seeing them successful and with an immunity to magic poisoning in hand. He would have asked, perhaps, had she not made it abundantly clear that she didn't care to talk to him, and her previous comment, however much it reminded him of their friendly bickering in better days, did little to change that impression.

As the man across from him seemed too preoccupied with the most silent person in their carriage, Nicholas instead turned to the woman next to him.
"So, since I'm a fool for wishing to die in the comfort of my own bed, wanting for nothing, why are you here?"

Not quite waiting for her to answer, he leaned forward to glance through the window to the neighboring vehicle, grinning at the woman who was
"And what about you, oh stalwart defender of my manliness?"

Despite his reservations, he looked at Jessabelle again, silently extending the same question to her.

---

Senua let loose a chuckle as the man suggested to shave his head in an attempt to put his manliness on par with the other more muscular man on his carriage. He even wanted to show everybody his beautiful pe-personality! For a moment there, she thought it was something else entirely. An unsure smile tugged at the edges of her lips as she swallowed the words she nearly uttered about the man's personality. The brunette listened to the suave and charismatic man he began speaking to the other lady before moving back to her, tossing her a direct question this time around. "And what about you, oh stalwart defender of my manliness?" He even called her his stalwart defender of his manliness! Her lips spread into a wide smile as she stifled an oncoming laughter.

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice, really. I was a criminal, you see. Not my fault of course, yes I know, they all say that,but I'm innocent, really. To cut a long story short, I was offered my freedom if this expedition bore fruit. No idea what they saw in me, but this is sure as hell better than rotting away in some dark and dingy dungeon."

---

Her eyes canvassed the carriage, settling on Jessabelle. There was obvious tension between her and the care-free gentleman. The answer she gave wasn't exactly a direct one, but there was something said that caught Annalynne's interest. Something about not having the luxury of death and just then, Annalynne felt quite alone.

She had opened her mouth with the hope of striking with a witty response. The notion of speech, unfortunately, was quickly swept away when the girl from the other cart spoke up. She couldn't make heads or tails about the her. She spoke of seeking freedom, which was certainly something she could relate to. But, Annalynne didn't particularly care for spunky loud mouths - and suddenly, her imagined future of the group flashed before her eyes once more. Blood every where, it wasn't a pretty sight.

Despite this, there was something amusing about it all, deep down inside a chuckle wanted to emerge. The girl from the other carriage was another criminal. Reasonable enough, no normal, sane person would volunteer for this mission. At least they all had that in common - they had nothing to lose. It was what they had to gain that made each person interesting, that made it all worth it. Unfortunately, she couldn't come up with an answer that sounded any less ridiculous than his.

"I suppose the notion of dying in ones own bed is certainly an appealing one. Unfortunately, it's not a luxury that many of us have, nor is it likely a luxury that this mission will allow any of us once all is said and done. Though those are just my thoughts on the matter. My reasons are my own, but I think there is one thing that most, if not all of us have in common. We have nothing left to lose at this point."

There was something off about her as she sulked back in her seat. Pain stricken and guilty. She had given up on the only family she had left. A soft sigh escaped her, and she went along in silence, hoping that someone would speak up soon, filling the quiet void.

---

"You can say that again", Nicholas murmured to himself, his voice so low that only Jessabelle and Annalynne could hear him. He had been looking for a mission like this, organization and information like this for a while. The ICC wasn't the only group that offered an immense reward for finding the new panacea, the substance that turned anyone who tasted from it into a god - or at least something as close to that as one could possibly hope to come. But unlike the others, the ICC seemed to have at least some kind of idea of where to look, even if them hiring random strangers rather than sending their own to secure spoke volumes about how much they trusted this information.

He had cut himself off from everything and everyone long before but things hadn't just been going well in the years after he left Sorei. Nicholas bore more scars than before, he looked and felt older and more tired. Without a home to return to or people to look out for, the world wore you out quickly. But he had nobody else to blame but himself - he had never been one to point fingers or lament about the things that didn't go as planned - so he didn't. And yet the woman was right: He had nothing left to lose. In fact, as his eyes wandered from face to face, he found himself thinking that they all had more to lose than him.

But he wasn't one to let thoughts like that keep him down for too long, at least not as far as his appearance was concerned. Within a few seconds, he donned his charming smile again.
"But a man can dream, and I'm sure you'll be thinking about that bed I was talking about soon enough, once we are out of these rolling coffins. And you are in good company", he raised his voice so their neighbor knew that he was addressing her, "my... friend here", he winked at Jessabelle, knowing full well that she could and probably would strangle him in his sleep if he overdid it, "and I, we both hail from Sorei, the city where you can lose your money, your innocence, your dignity and the clothes on your back before the sun has set. I am the magnificent, the one and only, the world-reknown... Nicholas", he concluded lamely but somehow still succeeded in sounding supremely pompous.

"I'm sure you've heard of me... or somebody with the same name, I don't know. It was probably me. Unless it was something about goats and cheese and- uh, anyway, that definitely wasn't me. So... Who are you?"
He looked at Jessabelle again, trying to make out if she was at all entertained by his babbling, but if she was, the twilight of the carriage hid it well, though he thought he could see the corners of her mouth twitch. It was enough to make him push his luck and attempt to communicate with her.

"What is your name, beautiful stranger?"

---

She'd kept her eyes fixated on the passing scenery as the others spoke, and Jessabelle didn't have anything to say while they did. Of course she heard most of what they were talking about, but in truth, she wasn't inclined to participate. And so she didn't. Even though her calm expression was set in stone, her mind was buzzing with so many questions and concerns, worries and fears. Had she not naturally been so stoic, it would have been clear to anyone who cast their eyes upon her. Jessabelle was consumed in her thoughts before something Nicholas said made her inadvertently turn her head to look at him. He was referring to her as a friend, telling them they both hailed from the same city before pompously introducing himself. She rolled her eyes at this, thinking that the man before her seemed to have changed so little in regards to his personality. How she wished she were close enough to kick him.

"I believe "magnificent" and "world-renowned" are taking things a little too far wouldn't you say, friend?" she said to him, her tone light as she adjusted her seating position. One of her legs had started to go numb, so she uncrossed them and stretched them out before crossing them again, the numb one resting atop the other.

"My name's Jessabelle. It's a pleasure. Please forgive my silence for now, I choose not to speak often because, well, you know what they say: "If you've nothing nice to say, say nothing at all"." That being only one reason and the other being she didn't open up to people... at all. She was even a bit annoyed Nicholas had told them where she was from, then again everything he said at this point annoyed her to some degree. She had no intention of making friends here, but at least she didn't want any enemies, or to make them feel like she couldn't be trusted. Not that she cared on a personal level, but she believed that a mutual trust would work out well for all parties involved.

Though she had broken her long string of silence, she planned to settle right back into it.

---

Senua watched as the pair from the neighbouring carriage introduced themselves. The charismatic man was known to be Nicholas the magnificent, while the girl was simply known to be Jessabelle. Surprisingly, they both hailed from Sorei as well, the very same place where she was born and lived most of her life in. She'd never heard of this man by the name of Nicholas though he claimed to be really popular. But then again, back in Sorei, she did not wander around the city much, and so that could have attributed to her ignorance of the name and his popularity. Senua thought about how the man talked, and how flamboyant he sounded, very much like the performer or the storyteller she had once saw during her childhood back in Sorei. She had long forgotten the name of the fellow, but remembered distinctly what he looked like, and the way he was dressed.

His clothing was bright and lavish, though one could tell that it was not because of wealth but of his profession. He had referred to himself as 'the magnificent' as well, and had entertained quite a small crowd in a small terrace a few blocks away from the home she shared with her father. Senua had gone along to watch and listen to his tales with her father watching close by. The young girl then had listened to his tales of adventure and battle, where valiant warriors fought creatures of various ferocity, showcasing their might and emerging victorious. Those were stories that she would never forget, for they instilled in her a desire for adventures of her own.

Senua spoke up. "I go by the name of Senua, and was born and lived most of my life in Sorei as well. I left the place after my father died and have been wandering around ever since. Well, I guess you can say that life hasn't really been all that great for me so far. I hope that this would be a turn for the better. We can all hope, can't we?"

---

Again, she couldn't help but chuckle at Jessabelle's response. Her own temper had sometimes made it very hard to live by those words, but some may argue that is why she remains silent when forced to work with others.

Senua spoke up, introducing herself as yet another adventurer, still wet behind the ears. You had to envy the girl to some point. Despite having already had a taste of death, and the trouble independence has brought her, she was still young, bright eyed and bushy tailed, untouched by the harshness and cruelty of life. She still didn't like her though.

They had all been honest in one way or another. But no matter how this mission went, she was still a renowned spy and assassin, at least within some circles. Still, they were not asking for her life story, it was just a name. She had rarely gone by her real name anyway, she doubted anyone would recognize her, or be in danger because of this name. She wanted desperately to open up. They were all beautiful and witty in their own way, a crowd that she -could- possibly make a friend in. Not that it was something she was here for, but it would be nice to be a part of something.

From her slumped spot, wedged between the awkward pair, she sat up and said. "Annalynne, my name is Annalynne."

[Luminosity]

_{F i o n a}

Azra - Public Roads - 500 HP - 6/6 Stamina

---

Naturally Fiona was a bit taken aback by the revelation that the giant man was a God Eater, or at least he declared himself to be one. She wasn't sure whether or not to believe him. She'd heard stories of his kind from older members of the Order, but in all honesty, she hadn't truly accepted that they could be true, that men could truly desire to consume the flesh of other men. The beasts surely did enough of that in the world, she thought. It was possible he was simply pretending to be one, she supposed. He size and strength could not be faked, of course, and many likely took him at his word. Fiona almost did. Being feared certainly had its uses, even if Fiona did not plan to take advantage of that fear herself. Many of her brothers and sisters took a different path, or tried to. She would have to see him doing the things she'd heard about to really believe. Immediately she didn't want to, but also couldn't help feeling morbidly curious.

By the time she recovered herself enough to form words again, the supposed God Eater had finished his own question, and what was perhaps a veiled threat at the end of it. She'd noticed him sizing her up, eyes traveling up and down, something that earned him a hard stare from her in return. If he meant harm to her, well... he would likely find himself outmatched, especially with Ezheia here. "The Burning Light's path is not something one follows for power," she stated firmly. "Our magic corrupts and destroys our bodies from within over time, despite the rigorous training we practice to endure it. The power is used to destroy threats and heal in equal measure."

She looked at his armor, which was quite sturdy, something she wouldn't be able to pierce through with her martial abilities. He would cook quite nicely inside it of, however, something that even the lowest Order Disciple knew. Even the thickest armor did little to protect against the impressive heat of magical fire. The metal would only burn a man inside of his own suit.

"To be in the Burning Light is to serve the people, above all." She left it at that. It felt a bit like something a Preceptor would say to a child in the Order, but despite that, Fiona believed it whole-heartedly. Fame and glory were things often sought after by those of her kind, but rarely were they earned alongside a lengthy life. Nor were they achieved through selfish pursuits, but instead those that were revered by the people.

[icmasticc]

The Traveling Party

Azra - Public Roads - Story Event

---

The long, barren road out of Armistice had not been the most exciting path thus far. As two wooden carts pulled by small horses rolled on, the two groups within had taken to conversation. A day and a half passed by in the blink of an eye before the talking began, but it seemed like the party was nowhere closer to anything at all. Infinite tree line stretched into the vastness of the horizon on both sides and the same unkempt fields of green grass and random vegetation also seemed to stretch on. The mountains in the distance held their ground and provided no clue as to just how far away any sort of civilization was. It was beginning to seem like progress had stalled almost as quickly as it had begun and that no fruit would come from this expedition. It was beginning to seem like the entire point of the trip was a waste. It was beginning to seem like... Like things had been set up this way. Despite not knowing where the destination actually was, sharp minds were beginning to come to a somewhat far-fetched conclusion--that the ICC had, possibly, sent the group on a wild goose chase.

Marcus was the first to let these thoughts develop weight in his mind. There was little reasoning to explain such a proposition, but the resulting situation could not be denied. Even if it had only been two and a half days, they should have passed by at least small villages and other merchants by now. Not a single soul was anywhere to be seen to the rear or the front however. This was even a public road. Marcus looked around and slumped down a bit. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember everything that had led up to this moment. He had been imprisoned for the last two years right before he had suddenly earned clemency from the government under one condition being that he go on this trip with this particular traveling party. Though it was not much to go on, he immediately found the one thing that struck him as odd--the traveling party. Even if the ICC truly believed in the notion that magical immunity could be gained, why would they use volunteer warriors instead of their highly trained army? Even assuming they did not want to waste the lives of the royal knights, why would they take any willing person and give them government backing? There were all kinds of scum in the world and to think that the ICC would vet not a single one of them was preposterous at best.

Before Marcus could truly form the conclusion he was quickly reaching, a sudden impact sent both carts careening into the air. What followed was darkness. Infinite darkness.

#

Unknown Location - Story Event

---

It was the smell of fire and ash that brought the former knight back into the conscious world. His eyes slowly opened and immediately shut when introduced to the clouds of smoke hanging in the air. Blinking furiously, Marcus pulled himself from the cracked ground and coughed and wheezed a bit before trying to discern the world around him--or lack thereof. The only thing he could see was endless smoke, fog, and the brown, cracked earth beneath his feet spreading out in every direction. He almost shouted to see about the lives of the others, but thought better of it. His instincts kicked in and he quickly decided to play it safe just in case a potential enemy was around. There was no way to tell how much time had passed or what time of day it even was, but--maybe just as strangely--Marcus realized his weapons were slung over his back just as he would normally have them on foot. With that peace of mind, he pulled up his face mask and hood and drew his blade. He had known that this journey would end in death anyway, but he did not intend to go down without a fight. His first order of business was determining who else, if anyone, was still among the living. That would not take long at all.

The entire party lay scattered on the broken earth. None of them looked injured in the least and all of them also seemed to be equipped with their own weapons. Marcus raised an eyebrow at his own relief towards people he had just met, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the heavy smoke and fog ahead. The footsteps echoed as if one was walking on wood flooring, but looking down once more confirmed that it should have been cracked earth under foot. Sheathing his blade, Marcus instead brandished his longbow and drew two uniquely designed arrows until his drawing hand reached his cheek. The footsteps echoed louder until figures began forming silhouettes in the fog. Marcus slowed his breathing and focused only straight ahead. He was already accepting his fate in his mind as three figures finally emerged and stopped just in front of the strewn party, though it seemed like everyone else had awoken just as they entered.

"Are these... What we were promised?" The lead figure questioned in a deep, bassy voice, never turning his gaze away from Marcus and the group.

"I believe so, brother. They shouldn't have appeared here otherwise," A lighter, yet still male voice answered.

"The possibility still remains that they are the others. It is not insurmountable to reach this realm," A feminine voice chimed in. The lead figure stood deathly still as blank white eyes looked over the group briefly.

"She is right, brother. One can still enter this realm through alternative means. We must perform the test."

"But brother, if they are indeed the ones we seek, the test could result in their death," The figure on the right took a step forward. The figure on the left sighed.

"Let's not bicker about this," She began "Our eldest is correct. We must perform the test as tome mandates. Allow me to test them eldest brother,"

The lead figure did not move, but nodded his head. "Then we shall take our leave. Come, brother," The lead figure and the figure on the right slowly disappeared in a wispy smoke that melded with the thick clouds hanging in the atmosphere. It was clear that there was magic at play here. The remaining figure, the female, stepped forward to where the leader stopped and raised an armored arm and hand. With a snap of her fingers, human silhouettes began to materialize until a group of human bandits appeared. They were dressed in leathers and cloth and brandished rusted swords and clubs. They had no faces--only skin resided where eyes, lips, and a nose should be--and no hair on their heads to differentiate them from one another. The figure sighed.

"It seems like my magic is waning much quicker than I thought it would. What an embarrassment. Should you feeble humans survive this ordeal, a great reward awaits you," She said casually. With that, she too disappeared into wispy smoke that melded with thick clouds hanging in the atmosphere. The faceless bandits grunted and moaned in an attempt to speak, but failed miserably. They turned towards one another examining each other as if to see if each one of them had been created in the same way. Once the confusion cleared, they faced the group in menacing stances, but only waited instead of charging forward. It seemed that they would not attack unless provoked, at least that's how Marcus surmised the situation.

He had long since put his bow and arrows away with the arrival of the mysterious figures. He only did nothing in their presence because he was not sure whether to believe in the reality of the situation or declare that he was already dead and this was the entrance to hell. As the smell of fire and ash continued to fill his nostrils however, he knew whatever was happening was real enough to probably end in his death. A death he knew was coming since the guards first showed him the order of clemency in his cell. Once again brandishing his blade, Marcus tried to suppress the fear he felt from looking upon faceless enemies that had literally been created in thin air in front of him. If he was going to die no matter the case, he was not going to go down without a fight.

And something in the core of his being told him this was going to be one hell of a fight.

[JulienJaden]

Nicholas

[HP: 500 - SP: 6/6]

Unknown Location

---

It was like breaking the surface, the suffocating water on all sides making way for the crisp air that filled his nostrils. But the smell... the smell was that of war, of ash and smoke, of burning wood and searing flesh... or were those last tastes only in his memory?
As Nicholas' eyes fluttered open and he found himself lying on his back, wheezing like a horse after a ten-mile race, his body was shaking so violently that his armor sounded like a windchime. He looked around, searching for clues on what had happened. Weren't they in the carriage just now, having a pleasant conversation? Hadn't somebody just mentioned the God Eaters? Hadn't somebody just spoken of Death while somebody else defended his manliness? Or was that only another distant memory? And why was he shaking?

As he turned to his side, weighed down by his armor, he noticed - it wasn't his entire body that was shaking, only his left arm.
Always at the most opportune time.
The mercenary clenched his left into a tight fist, his leather glove scrunching as he willed the tremor to stop. It didn't, of course it didn't, but it focused him, made him aware of the fact that he was unharmed, that his shield lay next to him, that both his swords hung at his hip and, most importantly, that he wasn't alone.

No, they were all around him. Most were still lying there, some with their eyes closed still, but they were all breathing. Only the men who had sat across from him, the one with the shaved head, was on his feet already, holding onto a bow for dear life. And there was somebody else, red figures appearing from the smoke. He didn't understand, couldn't comprehend what was going on, but he heard every word they said and as nonsensical as it all sounded to him, he understood the gist of it: They must have been responsible for what had happened, whatever it was.
That assumption was enough to rouse his anger, and his anger was enough to get him to his feet.

"Hey!", he yelled at the mysterious red thing as more smoke took form, this time some that he and his blade were more familiar with, "where the fuck is my horse?!"

No response. Perhaps she didn't hear him - doubtful that she didn't, the dead must have heard him - but she probably just didn't care. It was all the same in the end, wasn't it? He knelt down and picked up his shield, fastening its straps to his arm one after the other.

"Fair warning: I don't care if this is Purgatory", he said loudly, his voice flush with wrath as he tightened each strap and stared at the 'bandits', "or if you guys are the Guards of Styx, or if you", he drew his bastard sword from its scabbard and pointed it at the smoke where the female had stood a moment ago with such ease and dexterity as if it was a wooden stick, "are the Three-Headed Devil themself. If I'm stuck here for eternity and find out you messed with my mare, you're going to wish for the good ol' days before I was here."

Banter in battle had always been one of his fortes. Nicholas knew that, to some of his companions, it would probably sound stupid, but even Jessabelle who had always derided his proclivity for speeches like this knew that there was weight behind them, that the way he prepared himself for the fight as he spoke and the fury in his eyes transformed them from something that was merely stupid, another joke from the man who hadn't taken himself too seriously in the carriage mere minutes ago, into something that put fear in the hearts of lesser men.
It was a pity, really, that their foes didn't seem to be men at all but faceless creatures who maybe had been men one day. Or maybe they were men indeed but bound to the Red One's service and will.

Whatever they were, they faced somebody who wasn't deterred by the prospect of death. His companions were gathering themselves, rising to their feet, mentally or physically steeling themselves for what was unavoidable. With a glance over his shoulder, he looked who would be at his side. The giant of a man and the small woman stood to his right. The red-haired priestess was closest on his left, close enough to give her a wink, and, how else could it be, Jessabelle only a little farther, next to the bald guy. The others were either farther to the side or farther back, hidden by the smoke either way, but it didn't matter now - in a fight, you couldn't look too far; you had to focus on the warriors at your side, on the ones you had to protect and the ones who were protecting you.

With another clench of his fist, his left arm went still - and with it, his mind. All emotion was gone. Nicholas would spill blood and he wouldn't care whether the men he butchered were good or bad, evil or innocent, cried for vengeance or begged for mercy. He was still as water as he made his first steps from the group, his grip on his sword firm as rock, closing the distance between himself and the nearest bandit in three seconds. His enemy's friends didn't escape his attention and he knew he'd have to ward against them too, his shield at the ready as he powerfully slashed upwards with his sword, putting all his momentum in a strike that could, and should, carve a gushing wound into the 'man' before him.

[OneWayOut]

Jessabelle

Unknown Location - 250 HP - 8/8

---

Prior to the sudden attack upon the carts, Jessabelle had been falling in and out of consciousness as she was fighting off the urge to sleep. While she had dozed here and there over the duration of the trip, she didn't yet feel at ease enough to fully fall asleep. Or so she thought. Only minutes before the cart she was in had toppled over, Jessabelle had lost the fight against sleep, and passes out. She had been snoring softly, only enough for the person who she ended up leaning on to hear. The poor soul, whoever it was, probably felt uncomfortable having her moments away from drooling upon their shoulder. She wasn't able to get that far in her sleep however, as she was suddenly jolted awake by a loud noise before being tossed like a ragdoll out of the cart and crashed down on the unforgiving earth.

The wind was knocked out of her as she landed hard on her back, crying out in pain as her quiver of arrows dug hard into her skin. She lay there, turning onto her side as she gasped for air, only inhaling thick smoke, causing her to cough violently in the process. Pushing herself up onto her knees, she looked around her, eyes blurry with tears and her vision further clouded by the thick blanket of smoke around her. She heard the groans of those who had been with her, but could hardly see them. Suddenly, three figures emerged from the smoke and she immediately felt around for her bow, the moment her hands touched it, she picked it up and started to move backwards away from them, still crouching as she did. Upon feeling something at her back, she turned and looked up, recognizing the blurry face of Marcus as he pointed his own weapon towards them. She'd backed into his leg.

She rose to her feet, lifting an arm as she coughed, stepping back behind the man and further from the figures. She heard the faint sound of speaking behind the ringing in her ears, but she could only make out bits and pieces of what was being said. Jessabelle felt uncomfortable being unable to see clearly with the thick smoke surrounding them, seeming to only get thicker with no chance of dissipating anytime soon. Before she knew it, the figures one by one had retreated into the smoke. One however, remained, and with a simple gesture, the forms of other humans began to fill the area near the hooded figure.

Reinforcements?

Cursing under her breath, Jessabelle drew an arrow and pointed it towards the group of what seemed to be bandits. She took a few more precautionary steps back as it seemed none of them were on the offensive. Other than Marcus, she couldn't see anyone else around her, and didn't entirely trust herself to make precision shots with the smoke obscuring her vision. Her mind racing with a solution, she decided she would need to make a tough judgement call. She aimed her arrow lower, at the ground between her and the group in front of them. Concentrating on gathering some magical energy, she would channel it into her arrow, causing it to glow slightly. A moment later, she would fire it into the ground and a large gust of wind seemed to thrust outwards from the arrow in large bursts. After a few moments, the thick smoke started to become lighter, more fog like, gradually fading so it became easier to see. Once she was able to glance around and see more of her allies, she relaxed a bit, seeing Nicholas already going at attacking an enemy.

Using the magic had taken quite a bit out of her, and she slumped down onto one knee, panting and using her bow to keep herself upright. While she wouldn't be much else help in the fight, she hoped this would give her new companions an easier time.

[Luminosity]

_Fiona

Unknown Location - 500 HP - 6/6 Stamina

---

Despite her inexperience with the darker horrors of war and struggle beyond the walls of Armistice, the smell that Fiona awoke to was a familiar one. Ash, smoke, fire, burning. That hazy, acrid stench. It was something that both comforted and haunted any Order member. A source of protection and strength, even as its creation steadily decayed their insides. Fiona was perhaps less fond of the smell of burning, and the burnt, than most of her brothers and sisters.

She groaned softly, finding herself on her side in the cracked earth. The crossguard of her longsword dug painfully into her hip, but other than that she felt intact, which was a bit surprising given how she remembered the carriage being smashed into, or attacked, or something. Fiona rolled onto her back and blinked the bleariness from her eyes, pushing herself at least up onto her elbows. The three figures had already arrived, as had the faceless human-like things before them, and Fiona froze where she lay. It was a first taste of how something real and horrific being in front of her compared to simply studying and learning of it. Uneasiness coiled through her insides, with a touch like ice.

Fiona looked to her allies, a few of which had already risen. The male mercenary-type, the prisoner, he was up, as were the two that had introduced themselves as Jessabelle and... Nicholas, she believed. Jessabelle cleared the smoke away somewhat with a magically infused arrow, the act seeming to take quite a bit out of her. Nicholas... winked at her? Why would he do that? She found it such an odd, lighthearted thing, like this situation was just another day for him. It actually made her feel a little less petrified; the ice beginning to thaw.

Clambering to her feet, Fiona drew her sword with a ring of steel. The long blade was polished to a brilliant shine, its edges honed deadly sharp from both excellent care and lack of use. Today would be the first day her weapon tasted blood of monstrous beings. When Nicholas charged, Fiona was a half step behind him, rushing forward as well. She targeted the faceless man that was next closest, spinning into a wide horizontal slash, her sword singing through the air with swiftness and force.

[agentmanatee]

Erickson of the God Eaters

Unknown location-993 HP-4/4 Stamina

Erickson would have been the first one standing, and was kneeling to all the others, if not for the large sharp piece of wood impaling his left thigh. It had been lucky enough to find one of the few gaps in his armor. He groaned quietly, before grasping the large thorn and wrenching it out of his leg, wincing slightly he brought it before his face before growling and tossing it away.

Luckily the chainmail and thick padded cloth that made up the undermost layers of his armor had stopped it from going to deep, so the wound wouldn't slow him down to much. As he stood he groaned again, not from pain, but from that yelling idiot charging at their faceless adversaries. Right behind him was one of the Red women, specifically the one he had spoken to, it would be interesting to see her in action. Erickson did not charge, he considered it a stupid tactic that left one far to open to being impaled as they ran, he glanced about quickly for his shield before deciding fuck, and drew both his blades. The lighter ordinary longsword, a long shortsword in his hands, was held in his left while his custom thickened sword was held in his right. He scanned over his new opponents, bandits conjured forth with magic, no faces, no mouths or eyes or noses... fucking magic he thought as he thought about the exploding carriages and now the faceless warriors. However, his face was broken by a wide toothy grin, magical soldiers were almost always worthy flesh, and he hadn't had a good, proper fight in weeks.

He had watched the three figures disappear, but pushed them out of his mind as they were no longer immediate threats. He stalked towards the faceless bandits, making his way to the small group at a hustle rather than a charge, not wanting to expose himself to their blades armored or not. He took aim at one the other two who had charged in were neglecting, laughing maniacally as he lunged forward at the faceless man, his large longsword aiming to impale the magical thing at the chest, his smaller sword held back and ready to parry a reprisal, though he did not shout, he wanted the sound of singing steel to be his battlecry, and his laughter should be all that is needed to intimidate his opponents.

[Slamurai]

_{Sister Ezheia}

Unknown Location - 500/500 HP - 6/6 Stamina

---

Ezheia's eyelids slid ajar, welcoming her not to the faces of her troupe in the wagon, but to a dead, slate sky. Her ears rang and vision blurred for several moments, before she forced her senses to normalize. Her nostrils burned with the scent of embers, followed by the reek of decay that lingered after a battle. Her fingers eased themselves around her bow, which had slid from its sheathe and now lay parallel to her. The grass beneath her resembled white ash more than it did vegetation. The Decanus strained to lift herself from the ground; a struggle made harder than it should have been, given that she did not feel completely... inside of her own body.

The other members of the troupe were easing themselves from the dirt. She recognized their faces, but struggled to piece each to a name. The only one she managed to recall in that hazy moment was Fiona, another sister of the Order. Ezheia drew herself to full height, approaching her subordinate to discern her condition. The girl was unhurt, but no less dumbfounded by whatever instance had led them here. As Fiona pushed herself to her feet, Ezheia caught a glimpse of the trio in red.

They stood facing the party, faced hid in the folds of their hoods. While Ezheia could clearly see them, they appeared... unwhole; as if they were both present and somewhere else entirely. It was a strange notion to wrap one's head around, and before Ezheia could attempt to draw an explanation, two of them were gone. The third raised its - her? hand, and a handful of figures materialized from the wisps of shadow that rolled lazily through Ezheia's vision.

The summoned were grotesque amalgamations of men and excess flesh. They bore no faces where they should have had them. They were armed with rudimentary weapons, but did not brandish them. Their movements were sluggish, unsure. The last crimson wraith disappeared from view, and Ezheia's ears caught the words, "...survive this ordeal, a great reward awaits you." Now, the featureless constructs gurgled and moaned to each other. Though difficult to look at, they were peculiarly nonthreatening.

Almost as if they weren't intended to...

Several members of the party were already charging with blades in hand, nothing on their minds but the annihilation of the ghouls before them. Ezheia raised a hand, shouting "No!" in warning, but blades had already struck flesh. The Decanus cursed, striking her thigh with a fist. She prayed her hunch was wrong, as she notched an arrow and let it fly into the bare face of the nearest brute.

[IcePezz]

Annalynne

Unknown Location - 248 HP 8/8

---

Annalynne had enjoyed the conversation in the wagon. While she was completely unused to such a thing, it actually eased any tension, allowing her to close her eyes for a moment of brief bliss. So this is what normal people do, hmm she thought, allowing the words, the voices, the rhythm and charm to circle through her head. She still had her hand clutched to her hip, ready to draw her weapon if need be, but the possibility of not having to use it was nice for a change.

The sudden crash threw them all into chaos. Normally, she would've paid extra attention, taking note of every single thing that happened. It was easier to get through a situation if you know what you were dealing with. Unfortunately, she couldn't recall much. It was as if the crash had completely wiped her memory, or she was somehow asleep for it all. She woke, face down in the dirt. The hilt of her dagger digging into her hip, leaving it tender to the touch. The rancid smell of death and smoke billowed from the earth itself, snaking its way down her lungs, smothering her in its embrace. She sensed the others were near, but there was something else there ... someone else. She tried to keep quiet, her keen ears listening to each syllable, each tone. But the smoke was becoming too much for her. She turned herself over to face the sky, as if there was something to see through closed eye lids, violently coughing as if to expel the vile smoke that was choking her. It wasn't much better top side, but her coughing had eased. Had they fallen into an abyss of nothingness? Not even their carts were to be found. Nothing but darkness, smoke and death.

'A test', the others had mentioned. A grin tugged at her lips. "Should you feeble humans survive this ordeal, a great reward awaits you"

You pack a bunch of 'low lifes' and 'holier than thous' in a cart together, and then threaten their lives., she giggled quietly. And suddenly she felt that this was where she was supposed to be, like all her life was leading up to this moment, why else would she have had to endure such tortures. She wiggled her fingers and then her toes, ensuring that not only were they still there, but that she could move. She slowly slithered back, returning to her previous position, digging the toes of her boots into the ground. She was quite low to the ground, the fog lifted just enough to cover her almost completely. She could barely see much, but the preparation of the others told her all she needed to know. A dagger in one hand, she slipped to the back of the group eyeing her enemy. Her brows wrinkled slightly. These we certainly not human, they weren’t beasts either. They were but figures in the dark.

“No!” someone shouted in warning. But it was already too late. The others had mounted their attack. All that she needed now as for them to advance, and then she would make her move... She waited patiently.

[Garden Gnome]

_Senua

Unknown Location ♦ 500 HP 6/6 Stamina

---

The last thing Senua remembered was the carriage they were riding on, overturning which had tossed her flying into the air. That was the last thing she remembered, and now as acrid and putrid scent of fire and smoke drove her to her senses, her head still somewhat throbbing from the accident. Her ears were ringing and as sound came back gradually to her, it did not help that the first few sounds she heard were of a man yelling for his horse. The sounds of the man rambling on about some other matter she was having difficulty focusing on. Oh god, who cares about your stupid horse.

As her eyes slowly opened, she realised that she was lying down onto the ground, and groaning, she lowered her head to check for any possible injuries on her person. Fortunately, there were none,except for a few aches here and there. The combination of both chainmail and hardened leather wore and done enough of job protecting her from attaining any serious injuries.

As she moved, she could feel the weight of her broadsword on her back. At least she still had her weapon with her. A commotion could be heard up ahead, and Senua moved towards the source of the noise. It was there that she saw the rest of her party who had recovered and risen before her and seemed to be engaged in battle. She must have been one of the last few up and running, as there were already quite a number of them here. The male mercenary was there, the one who she had her conversation with, the one who had introduced herself as Annabelle, and the Priestess as well. Not to mention the Giant of a man, walking around with his hand in hand. The enemies they seemed to be fighting were some kind of inhuman bandits.

They had no eyes, lips or nose, simply skin. Other than the missing facial features, these bandits were dressed and armed for the part, and she had no doubt that they would equally as lethal as your usual bandits, and not to be underestimated. Drawing her broadsword from her back, Senua gripped the sword tightly in her hands, before she took a deep breath before charging towards one of the bandits, her sword angled to decapitate one of her foes once they got into range. If the rest of the members in her party wanted a battle, she wouldn't want to be left out as well,and thus Senua had thrown herself into the mix.

[icmasticc]

Unknown Location - Test of the Faceless

---

Moans, gurgles, and grunts permeated the hazy atmosphere as the faceless bandits took up their impromptu formation and awaited any would be attackers, their featureless skin almost foaming with excitement from a mouth it could not conjure. Rusted and worn weapons clutched tight in hand, the identical marauders seemed to catch on to an idea of some sort as their heads whipped about and their subtle movements became a bit more erratic. Nicholas was the first to step forward and, instinctively, a lone enemy took his own steps forward to meet the rather courageous mercenary who mourned the seeming loss of his prized steed. With a sturdy shield in hand and a savage blade in the other, Nicholas poured his weight into a strong upper slash that almost cleaved his foe in two. His enemy stood however, unfazed from the attack and almost appearing to be unimpressed. With its own savage blade, the first of the acting faceless sent its own offense hurling towards the mercenary, cutting along the horizon and meeting the hardy shield that lie in wait to protect its owner. The strength of the attack sent Nicholas sliding backwards, but luckily unharmed--luckily.

As the magic of a brightly lit arrow burst forth and illuminated more of the smoky surroundings -- revealing only more smoke, but a more detailed view of the enemy at least -- Fiona, the Order of the Burning Light's budding warrior, timed her movements with those of Nicholas and moved in swiftly behind the man before breaking off and launching an assault at the Faceless nearest. Unlike its brethren, this twin preferred the brute force of a blunt club which appeared to be made of wood and bone, but menacingly glared at the group. Though her attack was much wider than Nicholas', something about the form was serene, technical like years had been spent refining these movements until they gracefully connected to one another and allowed one to effortlessly move in and out of spaces with relative ease. In spite of this beauty however, metal met supernatural bone and bounced off the hardened defense allowing the angry Faceless to rear back and bring down a fierce, powerful swing that was narrowly evaded thanks to the apparent swiftness Fiona had gained in her order training.

Erickson, the hefty knight in the heaviest armor, manically laughed as took on yet another lone Faceless attempting to impale the thing and end it all in one strike--as seemed to be his wont to do based on appearances alone. His longsword forced its way into the chest of the faceless bandit and broke through its back from the sheer force the God Eater applied. If nothing else, Erickson was as strong as he appeared to be though he missed a crucial detail. The Faceless moved forward, the blade sinking deeper into its chest until only the hilt remained visible from the front. Once in range, the unarmed monster curled a fist which took on the properties of stone and bashed the armored knight in his visor. Supernatural strength sent the God Eater backwards, bringing the sword of the bandit with him, and took him to one knee briefly. Cocking its head to one side, the Faceless only stood as the wound from its impalement slowly healed.

The final two faceless watched their comrades attack and be attacked without so much as a single indicator of emotion. Though they appeared human, it was clear that these creatures were not complete beings. Be it that they lacked a reasoning mind or the soul of a living individual one could not discern, but they did not behave in a way that suggested they were fighting to cling on to something unlike most of the natural world with its various purpose and goals intertwined in their combative encounters. No, these creatures seemed to only attack because the group -- namely Nicholas -- had decided to attack them first even as it did not appear as though they were defending themselves either. Sister Ezheia seemingly caught on to this fact before she let the air of battle infect her body and sent an arrow whizzing straight through the neck of another unfazed Faceless. Annalynne's body language and expression were inclined to agree and without the weight of peer pressure forcing her into combat--she did not move, but only surveyed the situation as events unfolded around her. In the end, Senua achieved what seemed to be an impossible feat.

The last unwarranted faceless fell headless as Senua's broadsword butchered its neck and left its head rolling away into the invisibility of the heavy fog and smoke. Black liquid pooled from the newly opened cavity and as massive amounts seeped around the entire form of the motionless bandit, skin and clothes began to melt and merge with the bubbling substance. It gave off a strong aroma of ash and cinders mixed with the rotting stench of dying flesh and decaying organs. Somehow, someway, Senua had been successfully able to kill one of the creatures proving that, though they were not of this realm, their like could still be felled by man-made weaponry and prowess. Marcus looked on in amazement as the admittedly young looking member of the party now looked to be something more like a warrior in his eyes. Maybe that broadsword was for more than decoration after all. With a new confidence, Marcus unsheathed his blade once more.

Battle Summary

Nicholas - Attack was ineffective, but he is unharmed luckily
Fiona - Attack blocked, but her agility was boosted in this situation for unknown reasons. She is unharmed.
Erickson - Damaged his enemy, but also received a blow with magical infusion. 100 HP loss
Sister Ezheia - Unharmed due to a long range attack, but attack was ineffective
Annalynne - Did not attack, unharmed
Senua - Killed a faceless somehow. Attack was super effective
Marcus - Did not attack, unharmed

[Luminosity]

_Fiona

Unknown Location - 500 HP - 5/6 Stamina

---

The sounds of battle erupted around Fiona, clashing of steel on steel, weapons whooshing and whistling through the air, grunts of effort, boots digging for purchase against the cracked earth. Fiona's well-practiced opening attack ended with a dull clang of her enchanted blade against her opponent's club, rebounding her weapon backwards harmlessly away from him. It was a simple instrument her enemy wielded, but also a dangerous one given its weight. Her layer of mail would do little to protect her from it, should she take a direct hit.

Thankfully, her footwork and her decision not to overly commit to the offensive enabled her time enough to react to the faceless brute's retaliation. His club came down swiftly towards her face, and rather than try to block or deflect such a heavy swing, Fiona darted sideways a step, feeling the rush of air that the club through next to her before it thudded heavily into the ground.

Given a bit of space from the fight, she was able to at least partially observe the other events taking place. Ezheia's shout of no had given her pause, and perhaps subconsciously made her second-guess her attack, but it was too late now, with battle already joined. Nicholas was holding up well beside her. Remarkably, the supposed God Eater had impaled his target, but it seemed unaffected, even offering a fierce blow in return. At the same time, the one who'd called herself Senua had managed to kill one of them by beheading it. Fiona took this as evidence that attacks targeting the body were not worth making.

Their faceless enemies were even more unnerving up close, with their gurgles and unnatural moans, and the way they seemed to radiate their excitement. For what, Fiona couldn't say. For violence, the prospect of a fight? For mere existence? Perhaps they believed their opponents hopelessly outmatched, soon to end broken upon the ground? Fiona's curiosity was almost enough to halt her aggression, but only almost. For better or worse, she'd thrown herself into a fight, and would now need to see it to its conclusion, or forfeit her life instead. Despite the startling new environment she found herself in, caught in her first battle against real supernatural horrors, there was a definite sort of familiarity to it all. At its core, this was just what she'd practiced for years: martial combat between two individuals with physical weapons, making judgements, striking, and withdrawing in order to gain the upper hand. When she ignored their grotesque features, she could almost place herself back in the temple, sparring against the other Disciples.

With vigor, she stepped back in towards her club-wielding enemy, taking her blade into both hands and making a strong overhand strike, attacking diagonally downwards at the faceless head before her.

[JulienJaden]

Nicholas

[HP: 500 - SP: 5/6]

Unknown Location

---

The blow connected. Nicholas watched as his blade tore through unnatural flesh, cut its way through the alleys between bones, went where vital organs would be... or at least should have been. Too late he realized that he had let himself get fooled by the appearance, by two arms, two legs, a head, clothes and armor. He had yelled about purgatory and forgot right after that the Red Ones had spoken of a test. Oh, he had noticed that they didn't attack. He noticed that they were waiting for them to make the first move, whichever it was, but unlike the other priestess, this knowledge hadn't stilled his hand. Perhaps Nicholas had acted prematurely and let emotions cloud his judgement, it was a possibility, but in his mind, he had no doubt that there was no alternative to the path he had chosen - this 'ordeal' was of the Triumvirate's design and had they truly wanted to resolve something through words, they would have stayed.

Instead, they sent an armed band of humanoids that seemed mute, blind and deaf at once. They couldn't have possibly made it any clearer that this trial was one of force and wit but not of words.
His opponent was incapable of more than moans and shrieks but the blow that hit Nicholas' shield said more than a thousand words. His arm ached from the strength behind it, his shield still ringing almost a second later, the ripples of vibration traveling up the mercenary's arm. No, he couldn't possibly match his enemy's physical prowess and from two steps away - even with his heels dug into the dirt, he was pushed back that far - he observed as the "bandit's" cleft healed.
He didn't have the luxury of turning to watch the God Eater's attempt at impalement or how it failed even more miserably than his own attempt, or how the red-head's attack fared, but he didn't need to, his ears told him everything he had to know.

All this lead to a simple conclusion: Their foes had to be treated the same as any creatures of the wild, despite their disguise. None of them were invulnerable, no matter how tall they loomed or how impenetrable their carapace. And it seemed that somebody else had found the weakspot as Nicholas watched a stray head roll towards greener pastures just behind his opponent.
It wasn't necessarily that obvious, not when one had fought monstrosities with multiple heads or such without one altogether. Sometimes, the heart was the only vulnerability, so he couldn't fault his giant companion for trying. But regardless of who cut off the first of them, they certainly set an example he intended to follow.

With unbroken spirit, he stepped back into the fight at the same time as the priestess at his side, so close to her that he could have touched her, and his right hand swung his sword with deadly experience and murderous intent towards the neck of the creature before him, careful not to overcommit as much as he did with his first strike. His left arm, however, held the shield with the memories of fighting as a group, not just trying to protect himself but his sister in battle as well, if he could. He would rather abandon his assault and ward her and himself against harm than sustain a wound or watch somebody else suffer an avoidable one.

[IcePezz]

Annalynne

Unknown Location - 248 HP 8/8

---

She hadn’t not attacked out of any higher intuition or knowledge, or moral obligation, no, she acted the part of the hunter, and they were her prey. She moved slowly, weaving herself in and out of the battlement, observing the others in their efforts. All of their attacks however, were rendered useless against their foe. Jessabelle’s shot helped to clear only some of the smoke, but it still had allowed Annalynne to see more of the battle, and more of her enemy. They were as grotesque as they were resilient. Human in shape and size, molded and incomplete, they were things of nightmares, horror stories to get little children to obey. They were perfect for a pointless slaughter, and they were holding up against a group of well trained, seasoned warriors.

It was uncertain to tell what might have happened had the group not attacked. One thing was clear though, it was as if they had moved on instinct, and of a singular mind, attacking only because -they-were attacked. I wonder if this is what the three had planned or perhaps expected. Are we playing right into their hands? The thought didn’t sit too well with her. But at this point, there was nothing that could be done. She tightened her grip on her daggers, slowly moving towards an advantage. She was never the main attraction in combat situations, not that she ever minded too much. She was either hidden in the shadows, the strike that was never seen, or in team efforts she was counted on to be the scout, or the support. And while this group didn’t seem to be in much need of either, she wasn’t going to count herself out of the battle just yet. She just needed an opening.

Finally, things started looking up. The girl from the other cart who had joined their conversation, Senua was her name. She had not only found their weakness, but had also struck an amazing feat by decapitation. It was a smart move, and a great way to make sure your target is dead. It wasn’t easy to sever a head from a man’s body. But this thing … this was no man. No bones to cut through or organs to splice open. Despite that though, she was sure it was no easy task, and would certainly be more difficult for one to achieve with simple daggers, no matter their enchantments. The others seemed too preoccupied with their own going ons, but they caught on quickly enough. She noticed Marcus unsheathe his sword; it was likely he saw it as well. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips as her movement quickened towards the last faceless. Perhaps she could help out, or even slay the monstrosity first. A little friendly competition never hurt.

She quickly scanned her surroundings, looking for anything that may aid her in her attempt. Ideally, she needed to gain height, but there was nothing around to support her. No rocks, no trees, nothing. A grunt of frustration escaped. It was as if they had fallen into a dream, or an empty canvass, the picture only becoming complete as they finished their quest. She was sure the smoke and fog around her wouldn’t be enough to conceal her, and even if it was, these were super natural beings they were dealing with. There’s no telling what their strengths or advantages were at this moment. But she had to try something. She was hoping at the very least that she could use her speed to save her, or that someone would be not far behind had her attempt been unsuccessful.

She came up close behind Nicholas and Fiona, as to cause distraction. She circled around them once before finally coming upon the dark and faceless figure that had been struck by the priestess's arrow. Ducking, as if to dodge any attack coming at her, she gripped the hilt of her poison dagger with her left hand, the blade aligning with her forearm, she swiped at its midsection as she passed. But it wouldn't have stopped there. If she was quick enough, she would have turned just afer passing him, rising to meet its gaze, the momentum in her spin adding force to her jab as she thrust her dagger into the its throat. Even if no damage was done, it would have set up a winning shot for the next move.

If all went how she had hoped, she would've been able to retreat, a hit and run tactic was her best option if she was to stay alive. It would have also allowed the poison to take root, if it were to even have any effects at all. At the very least, she had made someone else's job a lot easier if they came to finish the dark matter off.

[Rockette]

Y T O N E

^{"The divinity that knows no name, the righteous mutated by despairs; all this leads to the glorious dead and depraved, bound by The Law of Subjugation."}

Unknown Location — Test of the Faceless — 250 — 8 / 8

^{And so my dearest. . .}

Deep down it begins to stir,
a fissure of ooze that bleeds black and red;
scarlet edges pool around numbs fingers each struggling
against their rot. Pain is glory; pain is eternal and she
feels the darkness inside her, like
a w o r m. . .

Reality returned in sworls of darkness, each vagrant shade billowing smog and myraid of hues dulling into ebonies feathering against one another, coupling to depress and swelter into terrible wraiths of malcontent. From the wreaths of gloom and fabrications of despair, figures would descend, wrought in leathers that bore the imitation of tempered skin; mortal membranes swathed over spindly arms and broad shoulders, poured into colours of soiling muck and dried blood. When pools of silver lift, hesitation is found in the vast, crushing desire of penance and to pay right to these apparitions, and suddenly the whorls of obsidian combust, fusing and conglomerating into one being. Ytone's gaze shifts, peers, endlessly intertwined with flames that do not reap red, but instead pulse with silvers and greys, smudges of black and soot coat her stare until she meets the eclipsed visage of her own self.

And then. . .

She rapidly banishes the illusion of herself, darkened and wreathed in flame with sudden plumes of red decorating both lips and cheeks. Arachnid fingers spear and pull on her countenance, raking back into the thick, wispy lines of her hair to pull on the reins of her existence here, rather than the false visual of what had initially greeted her. The air was thick with the tangible pulse of mana, she could feel that much crawling against her skin, slick and probing at her own veins and innards tangled within the infestation of magic. It bade a peculiar expression of her lips twisting, brow folding over the depths of her silver appraisal until her attention was severed prematurely by the voices that droned across the fabricated environment. Their capes and cloaks of scarlet, adorned in pauldrons and ebonette armour befitting legendary Templars that she had heard whisper and rumour of from long, long forgotten stories. The slurring insult of heathens feathered across her thoughts, pouring from her lips with ease as Ytone fluidly, and slowly rose up from her prone position against the trembling and scorched soil. These were ill-favouring individuals that paled in comparison the effect of the dark—robed Gaki, and any sort of intimidation and wonder that spurned the others of the traveling party immediately waned and dissipated from metal festooned shoulders rising and falling with her rapid inhales.

Ytone felt oppressed here, this realm that sired the trio of red cloaked shades that mocked true fear and reverence, and she did not like. Almost on reflex, bidden by instinct and implanted subjugation, her fingers twined and pulled, flexing against the hilt of the Raksha blade and freeing it from the ebony sheath straining in her opposite grasp. Integrated hours of pain, torture, and blinding fury wove a tapestry of skill and finery into her swordsmanship, she recalled hours of practice beneath a pulsating moon of yellow, of burning fingers that sang with her ache and blood, and the grueling reception of sparring — slicing — the double-edged blade into flesh, fur, and bone. Swiftly, she attached the chain of the Tessen to Raksha's hilt, the bladed fan landing softly at her feet before she ran the length of the connected links gleaming within the provided sun of false origins. Her brow furrowed, deeply, at the utterance of this being a test, and her lips blossomed wide and bore teeth of shimmering bone and bite.

A test!

As if they had the right and rule to put her through another trial, another method of proving her worth, to gauge the capability of her sword and mana poisoning that was boiling in her veins like tar. She had endured so many tests. . . So many. . .

"I've proved myself hundred and hundred of times over. . . Who are you to test me." Ytone rallied, intent on striking down the remaining recipient of her sudden offense before they too vanished into swirls of smog and shadow, leaving deformities of magic and mana in their wake. Ytone's expression stilled and narrowed, eclipsing into her concentration as her fingers poised over the chain of the Tessen then cinched tighter and her arm began to whirl. Muscles flexed and burned as she spun the ligament, flexing her grasp to increase the rate of which the weapon spun, slicing air and crafting a humming tune that sang of her intentions the moment the faceless, groaning shambles of man began to arise.

She had seen similar manifestations before, not in the shape of the mortal constitution, but the bestial rage of beasts that bore faces riddled in rot and skin, piles of flesh warping over into layers of oozing sores and pain. Her grip abroad Raksha burned thrice as her — she cringed — companions began the leagues of striking the opponent, thus spurring their wrath. Some were intelligent to try and forsake the initial blow, but Ytone scoffed at their attempts at lame pacifism. The enemy was provided, and it was in the form of man that was unworthy, powerless, and overall beneath her. If these were great beasts and creatures of the realm, then she would've bowed and offered herself.

But, this was not that. This was a mere jest at pegging them to attack. And Ytone would answer.

The first wave provided vital information as she continued the spin of her bladed fan and chain, The Raksha almost singing in the desire for penance and blood. One fell to the blade of one, a girl whose name she knew naught and cared none for, and she eyed the festering swell of ebony pus and good that boiled over the broken earth. So, decapitation was the ill intent, the sacrifice to these... abominations. Ytone took that into stock, allowed the second wave to commence until shrieks and moans wailed behind layers of flesh, muffled cries of fury and helplessness that spurred the others to answer in flashing blows of sword and righteousness. Silver eyes narrowed, dangerously so, mere slivers in the planes of ebony and pale skin until her grasp on her chain grew lax, fingers flaying open to unleash the projected force of the Tessen at it flew, singing iron that rivaled the torrential capers of the Faceless.

The bladed fan acted as a weight tethered to the end of a rope, mimicking the engineering of a grappling hook or tread and slung around the pale, veining neck of one brutish vagrant adorned in rusted armour and wielding a mace of equal deterioration. The chain looped once, twice, three times and she followed suit, her fingers cinching about the connected links once more to pull taut on the lead and force the chain tighter, summoning a gurgling roar for her efforts. Her lips merely flattened at that, deadened simpers gracing naught her features as she charged, the Raksha angled in her one-handed vice and pulled on the chain more so, as if herding the creature to the fury of her weapon as it came down; a swoop of grace and elegance bathed in precision and death aimed to impale the whorls of flesh containing the cries of the woeful being.

^{. . . will you then ask for my name when the world has gone.}

[agentmanatee]

Erickson of the God Eaters

Unknown location-893 HP-3/4 Stamina

Erickson recoiled from the stone fisted blow, the solid fist crunching and warping his visor shut. He backpedaled with the blow, cursing as he did, dropping his smaller blade, working at the latches of his helmet and pulling them lose one by one until he threw off his helmet, his face now bare to the world. Blood dripped from his mouth as he scowled at the faceless brigand, before the cruel smile returned to his face.

Worthy flesh! Finally he would... then the creature already slain had bubbbled into nothing... no body, no flesh, no bone... just magic. Erickson roared his fury to his opponents, his size giving the sound much needed volume and bass, his allies no doubt hearing the guttural noise of rage. Again he rushed at his opponent, moving quickly but taking his time not to charge and leave himself open. Wielding his large longsword in both hands so as to bring his full strength to bear. He realised impalement would not work, so a beheading would be necassary.

Once within range he took a quick step forward, moving the blade as if to bring a simply and extremely telegraphed wild swing meant to lop off the brigand's head. However, he pivoted, the attack had been a faint meant to leave his opponent open as he had learned so long ago, and the blade was instead brought higher up, quicker and more controlled to a point where the creatures head would simply be cut in half, Erickson imagined that this would be adequate enough. Besides, he was the only one hit! He would not be shown up by the rest of his party, he was a God Eater and God Eaters were not weak, and they did not fail.

[Garden Gnome]

_Senua

Unknown Location ♦ 500 HP 5/6 Stamina

---

As her broadsword swung in the air, it's heavy weight swinging down onto the unsuspecting neck of the faceless creatures, what followed next was something that was totally unexpected. Senua had decapitated foes before, be it beast or man, and she knew what it felt like, but this, this was something else entirely. As her weapon swung down onto the neck of her victim, the blade cleaved through the flesh like a knife through butter, with hardly any resistance one would usually expect from a creature with muscles and bones. The feeling of this was akin to slicing through a large chunk of de-boned meat with a sword. She watched as the head fell from its body, the part rolling on the ground, blackened ichor sprouting from the gaping wounds. The stench it gave off was putrid and rancid all at the same time, and it took the best of her willpower to prevent herself from gagging right there and then.

Senua had certainly not expected to be the first to fell such a creature, when there were more seasoned warriors within the group, but it seems like fate had chosen to give her something to be proud of. One of the youngest in the group, the girl had definitely not expected to not only be the first one to fell a faceless one, let alone the only one to manage to do so. Thankfully, her surprising feat had boosted the morale of her entire group, rallying their efforts against the faceless bandits. That was great, however unplanned it was, the girl was jubilant that she had managed to raise the spirits of her comrades and prove that these creatures could be felled. Concentrated efforts were now directed towards the heads of these creatures and would no doubt be met with similar successes. Should have went for the heads first. Her pa had always told her, "Cut off the head and the body dies." Senua had always kept that phrase to heart as she has on many occasions seen the merit of it.

A quick glance away saw the giant, who was also the most heavily armoured in the group take a hit, but she had no doubt that he would be alright. He looked like a really tough guy, that one. Once again, strikes were made to the head. They were all aiming for the head now as they hoped for similar successes like the one she had achieved a while ago. The sooner they were done with the likes of these, the better. Just aim for the heads. Positioning herself towards the back of yet another faceless creature engaged with one of her comrades, she swung her sword hoping to catch yet another faceless creature by surprise.