Atrophy

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

@Big DreadOkay, I've been creeping on this RP for far too long to not say anything. Would ya'll be cool with adding another member to your big happy family?

Beyond the Storms

[Yells] LET'S START STIRRING UP SHIT!

Beyond the Storms

A happy story. While the practiced, mildly amused look, as if someone had just whispered an unpleasant joke about a person within her vicinity and now she was trying not to laugh, stayed on Constance’s face, there was hints of strain around the corners of her eyes and the edge of her lips. It had been a bluff, really. She had assumed Edward would’ve been like most other reporters and chased after something harrowing or exciting or scandalous instead of falling into the trap of publishing feel-good interest pieces that generally led to a decline in readership. Now she was stuck; she didn’t really have any happy stories, at least none that ended well for all parties involved. She cleared her throat and strung together a few words that sounded as if she was about to start something despite having no clue what to say, a thankful interruption from the intercom buying her another few precious moments to rack her brain for something from her life that she could spin positively.

“Okay, I got you one,” she said with a snap of her fingers and a gesture towards Edward. “A sort of rags-to-riches story. People love those ones, don’t they?” If she attended for the question to be answered, she didn’t give them a chance. “I maybe the great granddaughter of the Devil Diver James Holloway, but even when he was alive his family never had much wealth and, well, disappearing is a good way to let your loved ones be torn apart by the teeth of loansharks.” It was a tactic she had been accused of using before. She laughed lightly, although there was a hint of bitterness in her voice, and shook the thought from her head. “By the time I was born our family wasn’t just destitute, they were practically revelling in their poverty. I could never understand as a girl how my parents could never scrape together enough coins to properly feed us yet how my mother always seemed to find herself a bottle and my father always seemed to find a buy-in for a card game.”

“In the Bottoms—my hometown, Edgenook, sorry—there was only one way a child could really survive, and that was by working. Mostly in factories, even if they paid you rubbish and treated you as if rubbish was what you were. They’d deduce wages at the slightest offense; for slacking off, for talking, for breaking a product, for getting caught in the machines.” Constance looked out towards the horizon, as if she was trying to forget factory life, and then continued, “Another way to survive was to band together with other children and do whatever was necessary. Beg. Steal. Threaten. Most of them acted out of desperation, but I saw enough of them that actually enjoyed it that to this day I’m certain I’ll never have a child.”

“I just worked in the factories, but I had plenty of friends who went the other route. They were forced to do it, actually, because they weren’t allowed to work in the factories. Mostly for their fault, I guess—got caught stealing food from the foreman’s office, talked back to their supervisors, that sort of thing—although I remember there was one who had lost an arm to a set of gears at work and they fired him because he could no longer properly do his job. However, I must’ve felt bad for them; I practically begged Paxton to let me give them a hand.”

She paused abruptly and turned her head. That was a name she hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time, and for good reason. Any story involving Paxton was, by definition, an unhappy one. Reflexively, her teeth peeled back her lower lip and her eyes narrowed, only for her to quickly correct herself with a few blinks and a polite laugh.

“Anyway,” she said, sucking in air and then rushing through the next words, “it turns out that the real way someone survives in the Bottoms is to get out of it, and that’s what I did once I had saved up enough money through hard work and dedication. I was fortunate enough to meet a businessman who saw my potential, yadda yadda yadda, and now I can buy up all the factories in the Bottoms if I wanted to—except they aren’t really profitable, so, well, you know.”

She smiled, and then quickly moved to change the subject before anybody could point out how phony the rushed ending of her “happy” story felt. “Luna, I must say that you did an absolutely fantastic job of patching me up; Officer Raoul hardly did anything at all except talk my ear off. I swear, it was ready to jump overboard. Most girls I know just become nurses with hopes of finding a way to worm themselves into a doctor’s heart and, well, his pocketbook, but I can tell that isn’t your case. But still, it seems like an awful amount of work for almost no recognition—Raoul pretty much broke his hand patting himself on his back for the job you had done. I must say, I was rather bothered by it. I don’t know if I could stand someone taking credit for my hard work.”

“I have to ask,” said Constance with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “does that sort of thing happen often in your line of work? I’m sure Eddy’s curious, too, aren’t you, Eddy?”

Carvings of the Galaxy

@beyond visionsWe're wrapping it up. Should be fairly soon, but I can't say for sure.

Carvings of the Galaxy

Note to self, don't drink the water.

@Eru IluvatarTake care, brother.

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

For six long weeks Vashti had found herself drawn to the bow of the The Hallspeed, her blue eyes scanning the horizon for the darkness that laid beyond it in an almost eerily obsessive way. It was her way to keep herself from losing focus on her divine mission, for there were plenty of distractions crammed into that transport ship. She had expected as much considering the sort of people who often found themselves being volunteered for the expedition, a relief force comprised almost entirely of murderers and thieves and fools, but it was damn well laughable the amount of malice she felt radiating from the conscripts and the men who had been charged with keeping them from turning the ship back towards Ilya. Vashti could feel the gods testing her with each passing day as she overheard the quiet conversations of her compatriots, but she knew that now was the time to stay her hand and be patient. Those kind of men were a necessary evil needed to supply the expedition with plenty of cannon fodder, and she doubted that any of them had a chance of escaping divine punishment in the New World, even if it came in the form of an ungodly beast.

Yet there was no sense of relief when the boat docked in New Stratton. Her hand shot up to her nose almost the instant the gangplank had been lowered, a motion followed by a few others as they made their way from the landing zone. Vashti made a sort of noise, a mix between clearing her throat and forcing back vomit, as they pressed forward, her eyes stinging from the fumes. The elf had always hated human cities because of the stench, and even during her cloistered days she never truly got used to the foul odors that seemingly oozed out of every possible pore that man had, nor did she fall for the overwhelming colognes and perfumes they used to obscure the fact that they were, simply, a disgusting lot of people.

The putrid stench was even present, possibly stronger, in their bunkroom. Vashti was mildly alarmed that they did not have individual rooms, and deeply irked that she would be sharing space with convicted criminals. Even if she was no longer a true member of the clergy, she still had a spotless record—the fact that she got the same shitty bed as people who should’ve been hanging from the gallows filled her with venom. She sat in silence on the bunk that she claimed as her own, her head lowered as her lips moved in silence, her fingers fidgeting with the leaf pendant that hung around her neck. She prayed that the people who she would be sleeping next to would be smart enough to not bother her, or at least smart enough to realize that the claymore that had not left her arm’s reach for the past month and a half was neither ornamental nor exclusively for monster slaying.

If the gods heard her prayers she did not get a chance to interpret a response from them, as a cacophony rose throughout the already noisy barracks when the sergeants began to drive the new recruits like cattle out of the barracks and into the muddy field. It was another thing Vashti loathed about humans as she felt herself pushed and shoved towards the door; they were always in such a damn hurry. She could rationalize it back in the Old World, perhaps. Humans had such short lives and such large delusions that they were bound to accomplish some kind of greatness instead of not even living a life that was worthy of even being a footnote. In a sad way, it was almost adorable. However, here, where the average life expectancy was said to be none, it just seemed stupid to be in such a rush. Death wasn’t going anywhere and, apparently, neither was she, as she found herself standing in some sort of lineup while facing a podium.

Vashti forced a frown off of her face as a man, clearly in charge due to the lack of filth on his clothing, gave a less than warm welcome. He didn’t even introduce himself, either because he was humble enough to believe that nobody cared or realistic enough to believe that none of them would be living long enough to have a need for it, and she couldn’t help but stare at the empty space where his arm should’ve been. She always found wounds interesting for how they would tell of a person’s mistakes even if they themselves were unwilling, and she shook her head as the man talked. An armless man to lead an army; Vashti was no longer lost on how the expedition had made nearly no progress.

Still, while she could appreciate his simple orders the vices that he used as incentives to drive them to slay evil made her nose wrinkle. In fact, she had failed to see anything but dens of vices and signs of sin around the camp during her walk from the docks to the barrack. Was there even a chapel to be found in the camp, or even just some quiet room where one could momentarily take sanctuary? It wouldn’t hurt to ask; apparently everything in the camp cost kills, and if she was going to be charged for a place to meditate then she would like to know now—the barracks were hardly the sort of place that would allow someone to be at peace. At the tell that the man was beginning to wrap up his speech Vashti rose her hand up; when the word “questions” left his mouth she stretched it even higher, making direct eye contact with the man as he pretended to ignore her question and stepped down from the podium. She no longer tried to hide her frown.

“Asshole,” she muttered, brushing a loose bit of brown hair behind her ear before she dropped her hand to her side and waited for her assignment to a one-eyed man named Hoff. Again, she found herself studying the wound and wondering what kind of shit a person must go through before they decide to stop wearing an eyepatch for the sake of others. She pulled her eyes away from the man to look around at the group that she was stuck with, certain that every single one of them except her were here against their will.

Well, all of them except her and the Firehawk. She gave the other woman a glance that wasn’t wholly unfriendly. She had overheard whispers about the woman on the ship saying that she was some kind of hotshot bounty hunter, but it struck Vashti as odd that a bounty hunter would sign up for the expedition. The payday certainly wasn’t worth it, but maybe the Firehawk had heard otherwise. If that was the case then Vashti couldn’t help but to pity the woman, although perhaps it was what she deserved for pursuing a career that was more driven by greed than by righteousness.

She studied the Akvir that spoke up next, her eyes not failing to notice the tattoos on his wrist that marked him as some merchant’s property. Had the poor thing gotten on the wrong ship, or had his master sent him here in some desperate attempt at saving his investments in the New World? That hardly seemed like smart business, but Vashti admittedly knew very little about economics. Still, she couldn’t help but judge the man. She had heard that marking themselves for a life of servitude was something the Akvir sometimes did to show their loyalty to their benefactor, but why one would serve a man when the gods were an option completely puzzled her—it was like being offered gold but taking silver instead. Absolutely foolish.

“Just one thing. What the hell are shamblers? Folk have been tight lipped on just what we’d be facing out here, and I don't fancy running into these things unprepared.”

Vashti turned her gaze to Roland. Oh yes, she knew this one by name. They had talked about him on the boat too, much like how they had talked about her when they thought she was out of earshot. The man was vile; a patricide. Of all the people on the boat that had radiated a darkness, he was without a doubt the one with the strongest presence. Vashti was certain that there was no excuse for the man that made him deserve to live, and there was little doubt in her mind that he would do anything to buy his freedom. As far as she was concerned, she was responsible to see that he did not set foot back on the boat. But until that day they needed as many blades as they could muster, and it wouldn’t do to send a sword out without sharpening it up first.

“Not all folks,” said Vashti, giving Roland a half-smile. “Although I must say that I’m surprised Brother Danidus was actually telling the truth for once; he always did like a good yarn. Shamblers are the undead, reanimated corpses hellbent on destroying the living. They actually were a bit of problem in Yggdrasil before the church and its inquisitors put an end to most of them a few centuries ago. Nowadays those who would see to raise an army of the dead are tossed on a burning pyre before they can even get a single one moving right.” She sighed and covered her nose again. “I guess that explains why this place smells so familiar. Learned the hard way that we had to burn the bodies to prevent them from coming back to fight for the other side, I’d imagine.”

She shuddered, although the light in her eyes betrayed some kind of anticipation. “They’re ungodly creatures. The sooner we get out there, the sooner we can put them down.”

Beyond the Storms

Well hell, if you two are up for it then I'm up for it. Who's posting next?

The Origin: A Devil Returned (Arc Two)

@Sol Grim

Hider

The Twelve Kingdoms might be my personal favorite out of nostalgia sake, but it does have two arcs that don't really follow the main plot and is littered with recap episodes. Still worth a watch, especially if you're looking for something along the Inuyasha line of normal girl goes to magic world, turns out she's special, fights monsters and shit, but without people yelling each others name every goddamn five seconds.

Baccano and Black Lagoon are also pretty damn rad and the best dubbed animes I've ever seen. They kill a helicopter with a boat in Black Lagoon; Baccano has a train called the Flying Pussyfoot in it. Loads of violence if that's your thing.

I also liked Flowers of Evil/Aku no Hana, although I can't tell if I actually enjoy it because it's amazing or enjoy it because it's complete shit. The main character spends half of an episode walking through his town at night where no dialogue is exchanged and nothing happens. It also has a weird, sorta rotoscope look to it. It's...it's something. Maybe you shouldn't watch it. The last episode makes it kind of clear that they ran out of budget, because they literally cram the entire story into a flash forward.

Fuck it, just read the manga.

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

Look at this team. We're going to do great!

_{Wait, is Vashti the only one capable of healing outside of Haka rubbing leaves on people? Ha, ha ha, haaaahhhh we're fucked...}

Muskets & Magic - Dark Fantasy RP

Vashti Lestil

Name: Vashti Lestil

Age: 160

Race: Elf

Profession: Priest - Inquisitor

Personality: Vashti, if anything, is a woman of conviction. She fails to see the grays in the world, finding life much simpler if she just qualifies everything as either black or white. She is extremely hard on herself. Vashti doesn’t make excuses for her failures, which have been aplenty, and constantly seeks new challenges to prove her devotion. While this devotion to the gods and her faith is unquestionable, her motivation and methods are dubious at best. One doesn’t have to spend much time around the elf to realize that she enjoys being the one who holds the power. She’s a decisive leader, to be fair, but is way too damned stubborn and refuses to listen to people who disagree with her. It doesn’t necessarily stop there at decision making, either. Vashti is one of those people who is convinced that everything she likes is right and everything she dislikes is wrong. It’d be incorrect to say that an air of superiority surrounds the woman; it’s much more like a choking, poisonous miasma.

That’s not to say that she’s a wholly unpleasant person to be around. She’s polite to strangers, usually, and people who stay in her good graces are often surprised by the wide range of topics she is willing to discuss—including ones that aren’t often touched by seemingly stuffy church types like her. As well, she is an astute observer of people, and has made better efforts to go out of her way to help those who seem to be distraught or defeated. Yet she isn’t one to get distracted, and if going out of her way to be a good samaritan prevents her from completing her duty she will often choose to ignore suffering if doing so serves what she sees as being the greater good.

Backstory: Vashti can still remember her youth in vague pictures that have been obscured by the passage of time. She had a mother and a father that loved and supported her, brothers and sisters that played with and watched after her, and lived in a verdant forest in Ilya where they were free from want. She wasted time painting pretty portraits, gathering bouquets of flowers with her mother, or sneaking behind bushes with boys after nightfall. She would go sell flowers with her mother in the neighboring city, see how humans live, and laugh at their backwards, uncultured way and wonder, ‘What kind of idiots would live in a place lousy with crime and disease, where it was so loud that one couldn’t hear their own thoughts, and it always smelled like a dirty latrine?’ It was no wonder her family’s flowers were in such high demand, even though someone could get them for free just by searching the prairies and forests outside of their “protective” walls. Today, Vashti could only look back in disgust at what a worthless little shit she had been as a youth, wasting her time peddling pointless potpourri to poor, pea-brained pissants. Then again, it was only because she was selling flowers in the city that she came to be the person she was today.

She was in her twenties, a child still by elven standards, but Vashti was in search for some fun and decided to slum it in the city and gawk at the desolate. However, she need money since humans were fascinated with useless metals, for some reason, so she gathered some flowers in hopes of making a quick buck with which she would use to blend in with the crowds and pretend to enjoy food made on the streets and juice that had been spoiled. Vashti quickly sold her bouquets and, with pockets full of coin, began her night on the town. Of course, human cities were always prone to danger, or so she had heard, but that’s why she carried a knife like all smart forest elves travelling into human territory did. However, apparently this information did not go both ways, because the look of surprise in the eyes of the cutpurse that had tried to jump her told Vashti that he had expected her to be an easy, unarmed target. He certainly hadn’t expected her to catch him right in the throat, but, then again, she certainly hadn’t tried to kill him.

Vashti would suppose that she should’ve been in shock, or a panic, or sorrowful, but instead she felt a catharsis, as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. It was as if in that moment she both realized that her life had been missing its purpose and had simultaneously found it. Now, Vashti had always been a vaguely religious person, praying to the gods for good fortune and damning them for stubbed toes and thorn pricks, but they had never really been that important. Yet, while she would never claim that they had spoken directly to her, she did believe that day they had acted through her. She was no fighter, her knife could’ve landed anywhere, probably would’ve even dropped from her hand for it had been shaking so much, but instead it had been guided directly into that thief’s neck. It had to be divine intervention, right? The man had intended to do evil, and in doing so she been directed to smite him. Perhaps Vashti would’ve had her doubts about all of this—the notation that some normal girl was used to invoke some divine retribution was something found in the human plays that she so often scoffed at—if she hadn’t developed a potency for divine magic shortly thereafter.

Her eyes opened for seemingly the first time, the girl had to make a choice. She decided to pursue this new awakening. Vashti left her family behind with little ceremony, believing that they would do nothing but question her calling, and began her life anew. Her philosophy was an alarmingly simple, almost naive, one—do good by hunting evil—but her path would be more complex than just that. Sure, she could head from town to town slaying killers and bandits like some kind of unhinged vigilante, but there were a few problems with that. For starters she was untrained, and as proven later by the monsters across the ocean it was obvious to her that the gods don’t always step in. More importantly to her, however, was the simple fact that not all killers and bandits were evil, and not all seemingly decent citizens were good. She could sense the corruption on people, feel it in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn’t do anything about without the backing of an institution. Thank the gods for the church.

It wasn’t hard to find acceptance into a monastery in Yggdra. She was young, determined, magically capable, and smart enough to keep her mouth shut about certain things that would raise eyebrows and bring her character into question. Vashti trained for years in the monastery to master her command of divine magic and her skill with a blade, eventually moving from being a neophyte to becoming an inquisitor. No longer bound to the monastery, Vashti wormed her way into being tasked with investigating crimes against the church and the gods. Her work gave her the liberty and materials needed to execute on her philosophy, and with the gods guiding her actions through her sixth sense she found that she was quite a natural at all.

It also provided her with a challenge. Despite having the backing of the church and the insight from the gods, she had to still prove that someone was a heretic. Often enough she had seen some wet behind the ears inquisitor act on a hunch without coming forth with real evidence and end up burning an innocent. Mistakes like that often proved to be the end of an inquisitor’s career depending on how public it was, so Vashti acted with patience and always went out of her way gather the necessary evidence before an arrest or execution. It should’ve always been easy with the gods guiding her senses, but the gods are gods, and Vashti found that they often get bored and enjoy playing with mortals. There were times that they would lead her astray while on a witchhunt; testing her by muddling with her senses, forcing her to determine if she was truly following the gods or just her gut. Yet even in these trying times she would be able to root out evil, and with each wicked person she condemned she could feel her magic occasionally grow stronger—a divine reward, surely.

Even if Vashti was truly being gifted by the gods, it did not prevent her from being despised by mortals. They saw an inquisitor and assumed it was her duty to bless their harvest, or cure their sick, or officiate their weddings and bless their wives so they can spit out even more babies despite not being able to take care of the ones they already had. Vashti paid little mind to the whispers or curses she heard whenever she refused, which was almost always, and she turned her cheek when angry gentiles spit or hurled rocks as she dragged their wicked cousin or sister to the hangman’s perch. She didn’t raise a finger against them; it wasn’t evil to be ignorant, even if their ignorance did get in the way of her doing her damn job. So Vashti ignored the pleas, the bargains, the insults, the criticisms; after all, they were words coming from stupid simpletons, while she was acting directly as the hand of the gods. It was clear which side was the right one.

However, while Vashti was unwavering in her ways, the church had been changing over the years and they had been receiving complaints about one of their inquisitors for over a decade. There was no one single infraction that pushed everything over the edge, but when tens to hundreds of their flock demand the excommunication of one of their inquisitors they are forced to listen. However, Vashti had served them for over a century and her record, outside of her poor public relations, was rather spotless—the only skeletons she had were the ones she had made in the name of the church and the gods. Still, the leaders of the church knew that they had to get rid of her, or at the very least get her out of the public’s eye, so they ‘promoted’ her. Vashti was recalled to the monastery that she had studied at, where she would now act as one of the head trainers.

Vashti saw through the ruse and was upset, naturally, but she was no idiot. It was better to be kept in the fold of the cloth where one day she could perhaps return to the duty that she had been born for than to be completely shut out without any hope of ever returning. She expected that she would teach swordsmanship, magic, or even forensics, anything to help the new recruits combat the creatures that were appearing across the sea. Instead, she was made to teach history of the church. It was obvious that the church was trying to make her resign out of boredom, but the only resignation that came from Vashti was the acceptance of her fate. She taught glassy-eyed students about Cardinals So-and-So and Bishops Doldrums while her sword hung on her wall, untouched except for the times she took it down to the training yards to take out her frustrations on wooden dummies that bore the faces of the snot-nosed brats she taught. Still, as the years began to pass she did not question the church for removing her or the gods from letting it happen, at least not until her divine magic began to wane in power.

At first she was distraught, knowing that divine magic was related directly to how favored one was by the gods. Vashti firmly believed she had done no wrongs and that she had willingly followed the path the gods had sent her down, but regardless she was losing favor. Slowly a revelation came over her: her magic had waxed and waned before when she was an inquisitor, growing when she had being challenged and diminishing when she was slogging through easy foe after easy foe. Vashti realized that the gods had once again been testing her by leading her astray, and she had failed to recognize it for years. A life spent behind a podium was an easy one, a safe one, but it was the wrong one, and for that her power had been greatly crippled. If she wanted to appease the gods and win back their favor she would have to do something magnificent, something absolutely herculean; wringing the necks of a few sinners like she had before wouldn’t make the cut, it had to be something grander.

Vashti knew the way. She shirked her responsibilities and left her post at the church under the cover of darkness and, with a few personal effects, made her way to her homeland of Ilya. After all, the institution would do nothing but question her new calling and hold her back, and she did not need their protection where she was going. Her philosophy had not changed, it was still the simple ‘do good by hunting evil’, but her path had taken her across the sea to the New World. Vashti knew she should’ve been full of doubt, having abandoned the life she had lived for years on a personal whim, but when she stepped on the boat to the Expeditionary Camp she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, quite similar to the first time that she had dispatched wickedness. It was as if strings had been attached to her limbs and, like a marionette, she was being moved once again by the gods. She could feel the divine magic blooming like a flower inside of her, and knew for certain that she had made no mistake when it had come to her decision to crusade against the evils of the New World. In fact, to call it her decision was incorrect; she was just following the will of the gods.

Skills and Abilities:
Intuition - Sixth sense, second sight, clairvoyance, detect evil, call it what you will, Vashti will sometimes get hunches that something isn’t as it seems, that there is danger afoot, or that someone is clearly evil. The accuracy of this ability is faulty at best, but she’s convinced that this is the way of the gods guiding her so that she can act in their stead. Still there’s no actual proof in any of this being more than nonsense, but who needs proof when you have faith?

Investigation - Okay, well, some people do require proof, especially when you are accusing their loved ones of high heresy, and Vashti has spent decades training her eyes to spot the things most people don’t see. There’s nothing magical about her abilities, she is just uncommonly observant and patient when it comes to spotting things that should or should not be. She’s no tracker, however, and even in the old days she would tend to outsource to third-party help to find someone who had gone into hiding.

Close Combat - Vashti has a century of training underneath her belt, and her physical prowess on the field has not dampened over the years. She can go blow for blow with the best of them, and her divine magic gives her the edge she needs to win fights with what would otherwise be equal or better opponents. That said, her fighting style is that of rigid church discipline and fairly one-note, leaving her to be rather predictable while in a scrap and susceptible to dishonorable techniques.

Divine Magic - Vashti specializes in spells that destroys her enemies and strengthens herself through prayers. Each prayer requires constant channeling through chants, so she cannot cast prayers simultaneously or if she has somehow been silenced. The gods enjoy hearing their praise, after all. As well, prayers are spiritually draining, and how long a inquisitor can pray without becoming completely exhausted is determined by how much favor the gods show them. Currently, Vashti is fairly limited in how long her windows of prayer last.

• Prayer of Exorcism - The first spell an inquisitor learns, and the only one they ever really need. Vashti can call forth the heavenly power to bring down holy light that smites the enemies of the gods in an area. Stories have told of inquisitors who could lay waste to entire towns of heathens in one blinding blast, but even at her best Vashti could only hope to erase a large orc in one blow. Now, she can probably just punch some rather painful holes through the enemies of the gods. It’s still effective in combat, sure, but she misses being able to exorcise an evil being completely from existence.
• Prayer of Vigor - Vashti can beseech the gods to help her exert herself physically that comes in a form of a dull light that surrounds her body. While in this state she can easily shrug off some hits that would’ve normally knocked her off her feet, strike with a strength unnatural for her size, and push herself to fight harder for longer. It also temporarily eliminates the need for what a body naturally requires to survive. Stories tell of inquisitors who went years without having to eat or sleep in their quest to destroy evil, but at her peak Vashti has only gone a week (and the week after was rather unpleasant).
• Prayer of Mending - An inquisitor’s line of work is dangerous, and those who aren’t partnered with a cleric or chaplain often find themselves stuck in a bad spot unless they learn how to take care of themselves. Vashti can use the favor of the gods to heal herself or others of physical wounds and to expel some toxins from her body. Stories tell of inquisitors who could survive deathblows and resurrect themselves in the middle of combat, but even at her best Vashti could only heal light wounds while being active. Now she could probably stitch together herself or someone else if given the time and place to meditate, but in the heat of the moment it’s practically useless.

Equipment:
Inquisitor’s Claymore - The standard two-handed sword of an inquisitor are often engraved with runes and blessed by chaplains to keep the blade sharp and to help inquisitor’s complete their duty of smiting evil. The runes and blessings on Vashti’s sword have long since faded and the blade has grown somewhat dull and misshapen, but it is still her most trusted tool.

Inquisitor’s Breastplate - Resistant to blades and infused with a brass alloy to dissuade those pesky mages, an inquisitor’s armor is quite something even before it gets heavily blessed. For decades an inquisitor has to watch out for brigands who would kill them just to steal their armor, but its ineffectiveness against firearms has thankfully seen this trend fade. Vashti’s armor is a bit weathered, but it still holds up.

Expeditionary Uniform - Vashti would’ve preferred her coat in red, but apparently the expedition quartermasters don’t take special orders.

Short Rune Pattern Ethergun - Vashti’s supposes that it’d be pretty hard to miss with a gun if she fires it point blank. Otherwise, maybe it can serve as a bludgeon if she loses her sword.

Leaf of the Great Tree - A brass religious pendant shaped like a leaf that is worn around the neck by a beaded chain. They’re a fairly commonplace item and actually offer no real benefit to the wearer, although people like to convince themselves that the gods will cast a protective eye over wearings of the necklace as if it were some kind of good luck charm.