Atrophy

The Gladiators of Arlen

A discord would be cool. I've got no opinion on what we do with Ansgar.

Beyond the Storms

The goodest.

Beyond the Storms

I'll probably skip this round of posting, so feel free to move a little ahead. @Mercenary Lord

The Gladiators of Arlen

Ashley Wyatt Harper

The rest of Harper’s day was the largest test of self-restraint with which he had ever dealt. His new team’s owner had made it clear that he would not tolerate any underhanded business, and Harper had extended that from fixing games down to even playing games. The market that he was now walking through, forced to be nothing more than a window shopper unless he began pawning off his equipment, was pulling him every which way. Here were some woven scarves from Tyren, there were some necklaces from Ashar. Any discerning eye could see that they were likely counterfeit, cheap knock-offs given exoticism to bump up the price, but even with that thought in mind Harper still coveted them.

However, he was broke. They was nothing worse than being broke, forced to watch the roasted kebabs with the forlong look of a distant lover or simmer with jealousy at the large man going for his third, his third, turkey leg. It was so unfair. Even worse, still, was the implicit knowledge that in such a crowd one could easily find a group of unsavory looking characters huddled over a pair of dice rolling for a few extra coin and that Harper, now an upstanding member of a gladiator team, could no longer rub shoulders with them. He could only huddle up next to them now, peering sideways at their game while watching and waiting to see if anyone pulled a knife. He sighed and moved away as a man rolled a seven to the cheers and jeers of his peers, fearful that the temptation to join in would be too much for him to handle if he remained.

He had questions to ask Ignis. He had them early, actually, but knew that it was uncouth to bring up the issue of money (especially around those who clearly had it). How were they to be paid? How often? Were they only to be granted payment upon a victory, or would this be a salary situation? Was the prize pool being split evenly between everyone on the team, or would Ignis be taking a bigger cut for himself and then dividing the rest amongst the others? Would it be too much to ask for an advance on the first paycheck? And would it be considered a violation of their agreement if Harper were to spread rumors that their team was absolute trash to increase the odds when it came to betting for his own team to help supplement his income? He felt that they were all good questions as he neared the arena, bumping up and worming his way through the crowd until they began to thin out as he neared the gladiator’s entrance.

Yet before he stepped out of the crowd he hesitated. The last few times he had gone to an arena had been, at best, disastrous, and if seeing Angus was any hint of things to come Harper was certain that there may be other gladiators that would recognize him. He shifted uncomfortably at the embarrassing thought of being chased out of the arena in front of his new compatriots. After all, they would have no reason to back him up, as the last thing any new team needed was unwanted attention and the ire of their fellow gladiators. Harper grimaced and closed his eyes. He normally wasn’t the praying type, but now he felt as if he had to reach out to the Mistress and strike a sort of deal: keep me from being beaten to death now, and once I’m back in the arena I’ll take all sorts of falls for you. And, as the crowd faded away, he heard nothing in response. Still better than a no, he supposed.

The crowd faded back in, and then he heard an eruption of cheers and gasps as the corner of his eyes caught a puff of fire. Harper looked back over to the lone Ignis and then back to the crowd that had circled around the flame and drums and pipes. Well, as long as he wasn’t the last one there he wouldn’t be seen as unreliable, he justified to himself as he slid his way into the thick of the crowd. Ashar dancers moved to and fro, spinning and twisting while they swung around slings of fire to the beat of the music. It was much different than the traditional dances held in Noctis, which were slow and somber, and Harper almost found himself nodding along to the rhythm before he noticed the source of the flame cloud. Kailea, wasn’t it? One argument with a teammate and already she had found another gig, it seemed.

Harper stifled an outburst of laughter as she clumsily wrapped up her otherwise fine dance before applauding with the rest of the crowd. He had to give the woman credited, she was not one for shyness. He could see her faring well in the arena when it came to warming up the crowd—he smirked at his little accidental pun and pocketed it away for later—as long as her magic went beyond parlor tricks that impressed simple townsfolk. Mages were always a fans favorite, and a smart team knew to build their composition around setting them up so they could deliver an explosive finale. Swords and bows were nice, but immolating a minotaur with a single flick of the wrist would always win out.

She was leaving, and it looked as if she was heading towards Ignis. Good, that little spat earlier had not dissuaded her after all. He tried to fight his way through the crowd to catch up to her, but soon gave into the ebb and flow and let himself be eased out towards the other side. By the time he had finally broken free and made it over to her she was talking to Ignis.

"...Come on! I don’t see your nursemaid about, so why not have some fun before the others arrive? You look as if it would do you some good!”

“You might consider taking her up on that, milord. I can stand around and look pensive while waiting for the others in your stead,” said Harper, a shit-eating grin on his face.

The Gladiators of Arlen

Out of town for the weekend, but I will be able to post midweek

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

ISSOco

The Iris-Sakamoto Corporation

In 2030, the UK based Iris Medical Technologies and the Japanese based Sakamoto Group merged together and form the Iris-Sakamoto Corporation. The company’s vision was to create a international medical corporation that, with the help of cutting edge technology, would build a better world for tomorrow if by building a better world it meant building a bigger bank account for its investors. In its early days the company was known for following the letter of the law to help with its expansion, driving up prices through handshake deals without forming actual monopolies or lobbying to gain political support for their goods without directly bribing politicians. Thanks to their strong legal team, the company managed to tread the line of legality fairly unscathed.

Still, by 2050 the corporation was almost universally hated by human rights activist and other bleeding hearts, but it wasn’t until their stock started to dip that they did anything to change their methods. Once it hit red the board replaced its CEO, rebranded its vision, and renamed itself to ISSOco. The new CEO, Ingrid Robertson, was a young, charismatic, public-facing figure that gave off the persona of a visionary, openly admitting to the company’s past mistakes and promising to do better in the future through a series of very explicit interviews. A number of charities were formed under her leadership and overall she improved the public’s impression of the company, although little actually changed when it came down to how it conducted business.

Personnel & Structure

ISSOco is a medium sized medical corporation with joint headquarters located in both London and Tokyo as well as a number of research labs and factories located in Cape Town, Tehran, Hong Kong, and Sopahn. They employ around 100,000 people worldwide, from legal and sales to research and security. They are a publicly traded company that is run by a board of twelve individuals split between the two HQs. Since the switch in CEOs, the company has begun to provide employees with housing and transportation on top of their salary, and most employees report a high-level of job satisfaction.

ISSOco contracts are notably dense and fairly restrictive, and employees are very discreet when it comes to their work. The corporation is broken up into various levels of access. Level 1 Access is for the baseline employees, giving entry only into public areas and the floors focused on sales, HR, and IT. Level 2 Access is broken up into three separate divisions: 2A is for legal, 2B is for security, and 2C is for research. Level 3 Access is restricted to board members and people chosen by their discretion.

Resources, Relationships, & Associations

The company has pulled in quite a bit of assets from its past predatory business practices, and the charities they now run are also for-profit and add a little bit of revenue to the company’s coffers. However, they still largely make most of their profit through selling medical supplies and technology to hospitals, although in the past few years they have begun to branch out and sell supplies directly to consumers. Occasionally they will partner with governments or other businesses, but largely they operate independently. The company has a few factories that allow them to produce some of their materials, but largely they partner with local distributors to lower cost and “support local economy”.

Part of the reason that they have begun to sell directly to consumers is because the company’s past actions of price gouging and having a negative reputation has slightly burned them when it comes to dealing with some medical conglomerates. This is largely true when it comes to the West. Their market in Europe is fairly small and their presence in the Americas is almost nonexistent. Therefore, the company has shifted its focus to the developing world and has doubled-down on its African and Asian markets, selling cheaply produced and highly marketed over-the-counter antidepressants, cold medicine, skin injections, and “male enhancements in addition to the various projects its research teams are working on. As of late, they have recently begun business talks with various private security companies and military tech developers.

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

Sashi Shah

5’10” 135 lbs	Sashi Shah Age: 35 Gender: Female Citizenship: Indian Date and place of birth: July 15th, 2024. Mumbai, India. Official occupation: Head Researcher & Biomedical Engineer for ISSOco’s Sopahn Division

Profile

Residence: The Northern Pointe, penthouse apartment. The name is a bit of a misnomer, as the Northern Pointe apartment building is located in the west end of Harbourfront. The ridiculously expensive rent is coupled with a ridiculously gorgeous view of the ocean; it's arguably the most beautiful sunrise money can buy. It also offers a rather sobering view of the flooded parts of the city, although some tenants find that there is something powerful about looking down at all the desolation from the safety of their ivory tower.

Affiliation: Corporate - ISSOco

Appearance: Nobody’s perfect, but that hasn’t stopped Sashi from crusading against the natural faults of her body and try to transform herself into something statuesque. Anti-aging cream, injections, and experimental gene therapy has kept her skin smooth and relatively healthy looking. Precise surgeries fixed the shape and size of her nose, improved her lips, straightened her teeth, lifted her brows, widened her brown eyes, shaped (or rather, gave) her breasts, flattened her belly, tightened her butt, and defined her arms and her legs. Sashi is the human ship of Theseus, and everything that expensive surgeries, creams, and pills cannot fix she hides underneath clothing or makeup. Still, despite all of this, she walks with her head down, folds into herself in public, smiles with her mouth closed, and generally tries to imitate wallpaper.

Background: The bad thing about being born rich is that all of your accomplishments are met with someone exasperatedly sighing and saying, “Well, no shit, they have money.” The good thing about being rich is that, well, no shit, you have money. If Sashi wanted to she would never have had to work a day in her life, coasting off of trust funds and, later, inheritance. Of course, Sashi’s parents made it clear from the beginning that they expected a lot out of their daughter. However they didn’t expect the best, only for her to just try the best she could. They were supportive. Sashi knew that she was lucky, that karma smiled upon her, that she was born privileged, and she knew this because her parents instilled that sense in her. She wasn’t born better, she was born with a better chance. And, since she had it so good, it was her duty to do good. That’s what they wanted.

Of course, just because she was dealt a winning hand that does not mean she didn’t have struggles throughout her life. Much like everyone else in the whole entire world, Sashi can look back and pick out key moments in which it felt as if her life was hanging, if not plummeting head first without a bungee cord, over the edge of ruin. Unlike everyone else in the entire world, Sashi can look back and pick out those moments with a perfect memory. Like, an actual perfect memory. Ever since puberty she was able to remember nearly everything that she had experienced. So, while other people were eventually able to bury and forget all of their horrible, awkward teenage years, Sashi to this day can vividly remember every pimple, every period, every bad kiss, every sweaty hand.

She might remember it all, but what she focuses on the most from her youth is the bullying. Sure, children are monsters, but taken from a bystander’s point of view it honestly wasn’t even that bad—but, since the memory is fresh even twenty-something years later it feels worse than it really should. Sashi was convinced that she was ugly by a peer back in middle school, and that thought has permeated inside of her ever since. And, let’s be clear, Sashi was ugly back in middle school; she looked like a long two by four with bad hair, greasy skin, and braces. Let’s also be clear: she didn’t have a lot of friends, but she didn’t try to have a lot of friends, either. Much easier to just read a book or watch a film than to actually try and talk to someone.

Yet, the lonely girl convinced herself that she would be happier with friends, even if she did not want to put in the effort to make them, and so she decided to get rid of the one issue that she believed was holding her back from blossoming into this beautiful social butterfly. That one issue just happened to be her whole entire body. Fortunately, Mumbai had a burgeoning cosmetic surgery scene. Her first surgery was to take care of acne scars, and it would only be the start. Throughout her undergraduate at the University of Mumbai she went to the plastic surgeons multiple times; it seemed as if after every break she would come back with some part of her body changed. Boys would even talk to her now. Naturally she didn’t know what to do in those situations, so they would often move onto somebody who could at least have a proper conversation, but it was a start.

Maybe it would go better next time if she got a rhinoplasty.

Of course, everything would change when she went to America. Sashi did want to honor her parents and do some good in the world, and so she decided to study biological sciences with hopes of becoming a biomedical engineer. The girl had lofty dreams of editing genes to improve the well-being of all humanity and other idealistic bullshit that would eventually be mostly beaten out of her by reality some years later. She got a scholarship to MIT and saw it as an opportunity to further change herself. No longer would she be the Sashi, who ate lunch alone in the bathroom with her feet up on the toilet seat so that nobody would know that she was there, or Sashi, the girl whose breasts grew three cup sizes over a weekend. Instead she became Sashi, the quiet girl who, after spending a semester sitting next to you, would eventually warm up enough to talk to you about the last movie she saw.

Still, with only so many people in the program and a large number of them being other international students who now all shared the common, terrifying problem of being in a foreign country she was able to make a small group of friends. She finished her program, took a tour of Europe as the third wheel for two of her friends that had become an item, and then went back home to India without a single fucking clue of what to do next.

Mumbai did not have many opportunities for a young geneticist, but salvation came in the form of a job offer from a company establishing itself in Sopahn. ISSOco was the name of the company, a Japanese and UK based medical company that had recently made headlines through a series of further and further floundering business moves by its now former CEO. The new CEO was looking to expand the company out to different markets, especially ones that did not associate the name instantly with the company that had bought the manufacturing rights to a new kind of cancer-treating drug and then price gouged the ever loving shit out of it. Sashi had heard about all of the nastiness associated with the company’s name, but she was convinced that they were trying to turn over a new leaf.

Plus, she was truly enticed by their offer. Sashi was offered a position where she would be the head of a lab developing and testing new technology. Considering all of the other work opportunities she had were entry level at best and overpaid coffee runner at worst this was a huge deal to her, and after talking it over with a few people she took the gig. She got her corporate picture taken, got her biometrics all scanned and filed away into their corporate system, moved into her corporate apartment in Sopahn, met her corporate team, and setup pictures of her college mates on her big, wooden corporate desk. Then she went to work on what she declared would be the start of her solving all of the world’s problems through genetics, with the first issue on the table being the greatest problem that currently plagued society: ugly kids.

Well, that’s how she sees it when looking back on Project Cybele. During the development cycle of the project she was a bit less cynical about the whole thing, remembering with red, embarrassed cheeks how she used to think that the device would be a godsend to parents everywhere. Project Cybele was ISSOco’s attempt at making an artificial womb, a piece of tech that was already being used in some hospitals, that could be purchased and operated by consumers. Then, with the help of a CRISPR and a simple user interface, would-be parents could pick and choose traits that they would want their child to have or, in other words, Sashi was making a machine that made designer babies. Oh, she told others that the project had so much potential to help parents who were unable to have children naturally or to help guarantee that a consumer’s child would be born without any complications or prematurely. However, ISSOco intended to market the machine as a premium product and sell it at a premium price.

So in short, no more ugly rich kids. Perfect.

Time passed. Tests followed by tests followed by tests followed by tests. The first year and a half was fairly banal, focusing on programming and experimenting with genetic modification on a granular level, making sure that every i was dotted and every t was crossed. Then, the prototype was manufactured, followed by a second and finally a third that actually worked. After that, Sashi’s world turned into a Cronenberg film as she watched life try to grow inside of the artificial womb. She cannot look back on it today without getting sick to her stomach when she thinks about how many failed attempts of which they had to discretely dispose, harvesting stem cells from lumps of flesh before sending them into the incinerator.

Eventually her team made a breakthrough and the first child, Manu, was successfully born from the consumer-grade artificial womb. A dozen other child would be created shortly thereafter, raised in the laboratory so they could be monitored for any defects or issues later down in life. However, an early project document was leaked onto the Internet and soon the company came under heavy fire from conservative and religious groups and were accused of violating basic ethical rights by liberal groups. Artificial wombs were already somewhat controversial when in the hands of trained medical professionals for the use of assisting with childbirth; the thought of turning one into a luxury item for rich people that wanted perfect babies was reprehensible. Common belief in the company was that a rival medical corporation had bribed a member of the lab to leak the information, but no rat was ever found. An ethics committee was called against the company, and investigators came and picked over the lab with a fine tooth comb.

They didn’t find much. ISSOco had dealt with controversy in the past, and over the years they had perfected their method of crisis control. They clearly implicated that if Sashi did not assist in the clean up efforts that she would certainly be made to fall on this sword. Almost immediately after the leak the lab had been scrubbed clean, any information outside of the original project document burned from the servers and dropped into oblivion. Prototypes were destroyed, equipment was repossessed, and personnel was shifted around to different labs in different countries. Mock projects were generated, some pulled from other labs, others completely fabricated on the spot, anything to make the lab look more like a medical think tank than a place that had been solely focused on one project for several years. As for the children? They never existed. The company avoided a disastrous turn of events, and Sashi avoided being crucified in front of the medical world. As a reward for her being so complicit, the company gave her a six-month paid sabbatical.

During her time off her mood fell into a dark hole, a type of postpartum depression. Project Cybele had been her baby, her world, her entire life, and now that it was canned she could only look back on the past few years and realize how unfulfilling they had been—every day had been the same, someway or another consumed entirely by work. Now that she had nothing to work on, she had nothing period. Sashi, having lived and breathed Project Cybele for nearly her entire time in Sopahn, found herself alone in an unfriendly city. The people she had worked with were gone. She found it increasingly difficult to speak to her friends about their work, feelings of jealousy stemming from their success and the need to constantly censor what she said about her failed project leaving her stripped and hollowed by the end of their conversations. To combat her growing sense of loneliness she signed up for a copious amount of dating apps and sites that successfully led to several strings of first dates, one night stands, and her sending bitter text messages that were promptly ignored Nothing, it seemed, was going her way.

She felt as if, after escaping from it for nearly two decades, she had been transported back to her awkward teen years when she had once before been consumed by a crushing feeling of extreme desolation. When she looked in the mirror she did not see the plastic perfection that thousands of dollars and dozens of doctors had molded, but the ugly little girl hiding beneath all of that work. Everyday the feeling of loneliness pulled forth vivid memories that were as fresh as they were the moment they were happening of her uncomfortable youth. Bad memories piggybacked off of other bad memories and, with no work to distract her, Sashi found herself being dragged out and beaten by the past day after day. Nothing could drown it out.

And, in a way, she didn’t want to drown it out. Her obsession with the past gave her an excuse to not deal with the present. She did not have to acknowledge that she, as a person, had grown stagnant if she was too busy panicking about an awful conversation she had years ago or an argument she should’ve held her ground on. Nor did she have to consider the fact that the company she worked for was morally gray at best and her association alone with them would speak more about her than anything she could ever hope to accomplish through working their channels. Still, these thoughts would seep through, pulling her out of the dredge just to slap her with a new wave of doubt before she went tumbling back under.

In fact, the feeling of stagnation was one that wouldn’t leave her alone. Thanks to the free time letting her relive the greatest (read:worst) hits of her life she saw that while she had changed physically she had never truly gotten over her social awkwardness or her anxiety. She was older and wiser, but in a way she was like her project: full of potential, but unable to get out of the development stage and into the public domain. Two weeks remain on her sabbatical, and all that she has accomplished on her break so far was the consumption of several cases of wine, around fifty half-watched TV series, twenty dogeared books, a tummy tuck, and an overwhelming sense of existential dread. With the threat of a new, life consuming project looming over her head in the not so distant future Sashi has promised herself that she would fight through her slump and make something out of her last few days of freedom before she slips back into her old ways.

Starting tomorrow.

Outlook and Motivations: Sashi is an idealist struggling against the tides of reality, moments away from giving into exhaustion and letting the current pull her under. She wants to use her knowledge to help improve society, and tends to have a borderline transhumanist ideas when it comes to what improving society means. She tries to do good, and if doing good is not an option then she tries to be good at it. Still, she almost constantly doubts her actions, both in her personal and professional life, and tends to view successes as the results of others and failures solely as her own fault. She could be seen as a bit of a perfectionist and is her own harshest critic, vigorously noting any flaws in her body or her work, and embodies the spirit of self-depreciation wholly. Lately she has been overcome with an extreme feeling of lonesomeness and has found it more difficult for herself to get motivated. Seemingly, the only motivator in her life is fear that she would inconvenience others and warrant their disapproval, which is something that’d certainly crush her.

Capabilities

Language(s): Hindi, English, and very stilted sounding Japanese.

Skills:
Unforgettable - Sashi has hyperthymesia, a condition that gives her an incredible autobiographical memory that allows her to recall in vivid detail just about every day of her life since she was a preteen. This ranges from the mundane, like being able to remember what podcast she was listening to while making breakfast sixteen years ago, to the useful, like being able to recall the entire text of a case study she read three months ago.

In The Flesh - While Sashi has an expansive knowledge of human biology, her first and foremost focus is on genetic engineering and modification. Given the right amount of time and the proper equipment Sashi can easily recode DNA, cutting away the undesirable trait of an unborn child and replacing it with a wanted one or modifying cells to better combat cancer and other diseases.

Save Me - Although she is not a health practitioner, Sashi does have an above decent ability when it comes to first aid thanks to corporate mandated certification classes. She can easily take care of minor scrapes and bruises, help clean and stop the bleeding of moderate wounds, and attempt to resuscitate and stabilize seriously wounded individuals.

Flaws:
Blue Monday - Time heals all wounds unless those wounds are constantly being torn at by the talons of an uncanny ability to remember. Sashi is obsessed with the past, and cannot go a single day without regretting the minor actions she has taken years ago. This has helped cultivate a heavy level of depression and self-loathing in the woman, and so often feels low on energy as a result of it.

Dancing With Myself - Sashi isn’t great with other people. She backs down from confrontation almost immediately and tends to overthink even the simplest of conversations when it comes to having ones with strangers. She seems to be unable to maintain simple eye contact, and is the office wallflower when she is forced to make appearances at company parties. She may know a few languages, but she is truly only fluent in the art of mumbling.

I Wanna Be Your Dog - Sashi may not be great with people, but that doesn’t mean she’s misanthropic or antisocial. In fact, she almost constantly seeks the approval of others, and a little bit of praise or an unexpected kindness is all it takes to win over Sashi’s trust.

Connections:
Corporate - ISSOco is an international organization and a medical giant, and Sashi has access to their vast network of corporate resources and contacts. However, ISSOco primarily plays in the light, meaning that any help Sashi gets from within will likely be heavily documented and under surveillance. After all, the reputation of the company is greater than that of one individual, and any person found acting unbecoming as an employee of the corporation will soon sense the ax above their head.

Collegiate - Sashi was able to make a small group of friends while studying abroad. They have drifted apart over the years as they grew older, delved into their careers, and (some) got married and had kids, but she still communications semi-regularly with them online. Of course, with most of them living in the States still they cannot offer much more than morale support.

Anonymous - Sashi is a member of a forum that was originally designed to assist bounty hunters named 3B, and like all things on the Internet it has since been twisted and corrupted into an absolute hellhole full of memes and shitposting. Most posts that aren’t just complete filler or spam are just people gushing over both bounty hunters and the wanted criminals, although there is the occasional post with actual useful information every once in awhile. Still, Sashi’s been an active member of the board for a few years now, and she regularly chats with a few members about rumors surrounding their favorites.

Accomplishments:
Project Cybele - ISSOco was primarily concerned with shifting to commercial products, and Sashi worked nonstop with her team of researchers and engineers on “Project Cybele”. The goal was to create an artificial womb with a user-friendly interface so that they could bypass hospitals and directly market the device to consumers. As well, consumers would be able to easily pick and choose which traits their child had, even if neither of the parents had it in their own DNA. Simply put, she created a designer baby machine that was about as complicated to use as a dishwasher. Although it was completed, the project was scrapped before going to market and the publicly issued statement regarding the device was that it never even made it to the prototype phase.

Crimes: Although she and her team had been under investigation, no charges were ever brought to them and as far as the law is concerned she is an innocent woman. Sashi, as an employee of ISSOco, is contractually obliged to agree with that statement.

Inventory

Cash, saving and debts:
Inconsequential. Between personal investments, inheritance, and a company credit card money will not be an issue for Sashi unless, somehow, she manages to break her contract and lose her job. She typically pays via her phone or through biometrics scanners, but carries enough paper rupees on her to buy an expensive meal and pay for a cab fare home for emergencies.

Tools and weapons:
Pepper spray. She’s yet to use it, but she never leaves the house without it.

Electronic devices:
The JNH Atlas, only the most top notch smart device that will be on the public market coming this December. It has all the bells and whistles of any modern device, a biometric locking system, a holographic projector, an integrated headphone jack, and comes installed with the newest version of Cookie Cranks. It can also, allegedly, make phone calls. Being a prototype, it’s battery always seems to fall instantly to the twenty-percent panic zone, and it’s too big for most pockets.

Apparels:
Sashi style of dress falls on the conservative side of business casual, expensive but not flashy. Button-ups and blouses, tailored pants, modest heels, the occasional cardigan depending on the weather, and thick-framed glasses for reading. Color scheme is almost always black, white, or grey. She wears a labcoat while on the clock. There are some traditional clothing tucked away in her closet for certain occasions, but largely her dress is influenced by the West.

Credentials and ID cards:
ISSOco Level 2C Access Card, ISSOco ID Card, Non-Drivers ID card, Passport (locked away in home safe).

Jewelry and valuables:
Sashi’s only worn jewelry is a watch with a blue face and silver band. Otherwise, she doesn’t bother with necklaces, rings, or bracelets, and has never gotten her ears pierced. She does carry a jeweled compact mirror that would probably fetch a decent price in a pawn shop.

Consumables:
A pack of sugar-free gum to keep herself from chewing pens and biting fingernails.

Load bearing equipment:
A black purse cluttered with makeup, prescription medication, napkins covered in notes and doodles, and a variety of other useless shit.

Illicit goods:
None.

Vehicle:
None. Sashi relies on company cars, taxi apps, and the occasional public transportation to get around.

Pet and animals:
Sashi doesn’t have any pets, but she does see a cat going through the dumpster behind her apartment building every couple of nights. This cat she has affectionately named “Garbage Cat” and has on more than one occasion left food out for him.

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

@GcoldWord! I should have some time tomorrow or the day after to touch things up and then I'll send you the new character sheet.

The Gladiators of Arlen

Ashley Wyatt Harper

Harper nodded his head along to Ignis’s speech, a slight flare of a nostril and a twitch at the corner of his lips as the noble wrapped things up. Protect their allies, really? Most gladiatorial pep talks that Harper was used to revolved around the ripping and tearing of guts and honoring the Mistress by giving her a bloody death. The lack of gory details was quite refreshing, actually, especially after having such a large lunch. The big guy with the shield made a mention about dying before there would be a chance of interpersonal problemss. Harper snorted. Everything would be gravy as long as the others listened to his “sage” advice and as long as—

"I disagree with the Tyren, Lord Ignis."

—something like this didn’t happen. Harper sunk into a chair as Shoeless began to bicker with Shielded, a wrinkle forming on his forehead as he stared at his plate. The most dangerous thing for any gladiator wasn’t a sword, a stave, or a sling; it was pride. The gig did require some levels of portrayed cockiness that undeniably had grown out of actual arrogance, and using it to indoctrinate the crowd to your side was second only to knowing how to hold a sword. Yet when it leaked out like a miasma outside of the arena it often did nothing but poison your fellow teammates. Locker room spats led to bar room brawls. Harper had seen it before.

Shit, Harper had lived it before.

“So much for dying before the interpersonal problems develop,” he muttered under his breath, watching the pyromancer try and not appear as if she was storming off. He imagined he saw smoke streaming off of her as she left, the other girl leaving soon after her new friend. Harper had to give it up to Ignis: the moment the women left the man put the kibosh on the festivities. Judging by how quickly the noble turned and left it wasn’t hard for Harper to imagine that he had partied with men from Tyren before. It was time to go before he got stuck in a drinking contest which he had no hope of winning, let alone surviving.

Still, there were two things he had to do before hitting the road. The first was to make a to-go plate, which he had already begun to meticulously build. The second was to try and nip the growing discontent between his teammates in the bud before it blossomed into something terrible and thorny. Like Ignis said, he had to protect his teammates.

“A friendly word of advice: the most unassuming looking gladiator is often the most dangerous,” said Harper, making eye contact with each Tyreni even though his words were directed more at shield-bearer. “And, speaking man to man, it’s never a smart idea to upset a lady, especially if there’s an extremely high chance that said lady knows even a morsel of magic." He held his fingers a centimeter apart for emphasis. "I’m not saying you need to apologize to her or anything, but...just food for thought,” said Harper, shrugging with a full loaf of bread that he was most definitely taking with him. He turned and slung his pack over his shoulder with a grunt, grabbed his plate, and waved the loaf in the air as he headed to the gate. “Ta!”

It wasn’t until he was a ways down the road, mouthful of bread, that Harper remembered he did not have a place to stay.

The Origin: A Devil Returned (Arc Two)

The Hermit’s Abode, Kyora

It was after midnight. Nia always preferred the nighttime over the morning. It was colder, fires looked brighter, and there were less people around to see her slipping in and out of shadows. Softly, quietly, she unlatched her door and pushed it open, making sure to not have it give away any creaks or groans that would ring out in the silence like a shot in the dark. The hall was empty. Perfect. She made her way down the hallway, her footsteps silent as she passed by door after door, a Sentinel, both official and not, snoozing behind each one. She counted the doors, all the way up to eight, and then stopped. She rapped her knuckles lightly against the wooden door and waited to see if there was a response. Even if the occupant was asleep, she could easily pick her way into the room. Still, best to keep on the right side of the law for now.

The occupant that she was looking for was, in fact, not asleep, and of course was the King of Barcea. Though Cyril had made a sort of show of heading to bed, making sure that the members of the Sentinels had seen it and would think he was actually getting rest, he knew it would be hard coming. He had to think and to plan. Sleep could wait.

With only a single candle lighting the room, he had his map of Kyora opened on the table. There were already plenty of markings over it, sectioning off the city-state into different pieces, for what would be searched and in what order. On the margins he had notes to remind himself of the mountains, the farms, and the docks; Yaguar could be anywhere, not necessarily inside the walls.

Yaguar, who had ordered Yihira killed, had Remade so many people. Yaguar, the Gifted turned to evil, turned to seeing his goals accomplished no matter the cost. Gartian had been made beyond help, was barely more than a dog sicced on Barcea by the Manu Propria, but whatever madness didn't inhibit him, only strengthened him and his resolve. It was not the first time that Cyril had seen or even known of such a monster, but it was the first time he was going to face one.

When the knock came, he nearly knocked over the candle and bit back a hiss. He had been quiet, he knew that much, so no one had heard him; had someone stepped outside and somehow seen the light through his window? If it was Alasa, Sampson, or Gortul he could deal with it, but if it were Vesta or, Ambrosia forbid, Diane he didn't know how he would talk his way out of it...

But when he arrived at the door he learned it was not Vesta, or Diane, or anyone he thought it had might be. Instead it was Nia, and after his surprised blink he smiled as he normally did, bowing his head ever slightly. "Ah, Ms. Tucela, I apologize for the delay. I wasn't expecting anyone tonight. Is everything alright?"

"Well, we are currently hunting down a murderous monster that can magically manipulate people into becoming his psychotic servants so...I'd say everything's about average?" she said lightly, looking past Cyril to the map on the table. "Well, well, well, looks like somebody's burning the midnight oil. Mind if I..."

And with that she slipped past Cyril and into his room, closing the door with her heel as she made her way over to the table. She studied the map briefly as she steadied herself against the table with her hands. So, they really did have no idea where their friend Yaguar was hiding. That was good, well, at least that was good for her. It made her more valuable; gave her more leverage. Grabbing the candlestick, Nia turned back towards Cyril and leaned against the table, making the flame of the candle dance with her fingers and sending shadows stretching across their faces.

"I've come to talk to you about earlier today. Remember when I said that you needed my help? I did not get to say everything that needed to be said, but it did not feel right to do it with so many other ears in the room at the time," she said, her tone growing more serious. In one quick sleight-of-hand she snuffed out the candle and ignited a flame above her own hand, making it appear as if she had simply grabbed the fire from the stick. She stared at the fire as it smoldered above her glove. "The thing is, I also need your help."

"You will help me," she said, looking up at Cyril over the flames. It was clear that she was not asking a question.

For the most part, Cyril only carefully watched Nia as she spoke and slipped her way in. His polite smile remained on his face, but all the while he was simply observing. He didn't mind her making her way in, and seeing what he had done.

But when the conversation turned to help, his arms slowly crossed as he leaned back against the closed door. He should have expected something like this, probably had in the back of his head, but he hadn't thought about it, not with so much already going on. But here it was, and furthermore...

She wasn't asking him for his help. She may as well have demanded it, have gotten into his face and screamed at him with spittle flying. And for a brief moment, it felt like that, and he felt something that he didn't expect. It was there, hissing behind his thoughts, coiled like some sort of snake in his gut or hanging like a bat in his very lungs.

It was a red feeling that didn't belong, and so he pushed that red back down and away. The most that got out was how his hand came up, and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly, as if he were physically relieving some sort of pressure from his sinuses. And then the moment was gone, and his hand was lowering as he smiled once again, gently now, looking back to her.

"Of course, Ms. Tucela. If it's something within my power, I'll do my very best. Of course, that's assuming you're not asking me to, say, hurt someone who doesn't deserve it, anything along those lines. Then I'll just have to say no."

He kept smiling, but he didn't laugh.

"Please, I would never ask for such a thing. All I need is information," she said, matching Cyril's empty smile with one of her own as she rolled the fire from one hand to another."You were in the H'kelan capital when Revali ascended the throne, were you not?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you heard about the little massacre that occurred shortly there after. A room full of power hungry war hawks eradicated like that."

She snapped her fingers.

"It's quite convenient that any who would oppose Revali's rule or try to continue the war with your kingdom were put down like that. Understandably, it made some people a little suspicious," she said, her eyes lowering. "I am seeking some illumination regarding what happened in that room, if you would be so kind."

There it was again, that red, like bile rising. Once again he pushed it down, and then he shook his head slightly. "I wasn't there it when it happened, when she rose. I left just before then. I had nothing to do with the ascension of Queen Revali, only gave a warning that if they let another Gartian rise, I would be there again. The news of what happened... Only reached me afterwards."

And the details of what had happened were horrifying. So many brutally killed. If they were the war hawks, Cyril hadn't known it, or had really cared in that moment; his focus was on other things. Whoever had done it was someone or something else.

Something red...

He shook the thought off, sighing. "I honestly don't know what happened. I don't know how Revali took the throne, or if she had help. I'm sorry I don't have anything more definitive to give you."

"How annoying, said Nia, the fire reflected off of her glaring eyes. Then, with a sigh, her look softened and she smiled bashfully. "Still, I believe you. I will still go speak with the governor. I've already given you my word and, honestly, with this Yaguar being so close to my home I can't just stand to the side."

Nia lit the candle and then smothered the fire she was holding between her hands, letting the room reset to its soft, comfortable light.

"I'll let you get back to your work," she said, pushing off of the table.

---

King of Barcea and Spy for the Kirun parted ways, but it was only for a brief time. After the sun had risen and the group had begun to both gather and split off for the tasks of the day, Cyril found Nia once again, stopping her by a gentle grip on her arm. Quickly, he dropped a ring into her hand, his ring which bore the cross sigil of Barcea over a sapphire. Nia plucked the ring out of her hand and held it up to her eyes, looking between it and Cyril in obvious bemusement, a small, nervous smile on her face.

"Take this with you. That should get you in to see the Governor, let them know you're telling the truth."

"For a second there I thought you were trying to propose to me," said Nia, laughing as she slipped the ring onto her left hand. She held it up to him as if he were supposed to admire it. Nice rock; she imagined it would sell for a real good price. Perhaps if she was lucky the King would forgot that he had loaned it to her. Taking it off of her finger, she tucked it into her pocket.

"Cyril!"

And with a call from Alasa the King was gone as quickly as he had arrived, brought back to the very map he had been pondering over the night before. From there, Nia was left to her own devices. She took her time in town, dipping into various shops and inns, and then around midday headed to go find the Governor.

Finding the Governor's Estate wasn't even slightly difficult; set towards the middle of the city-state, there was nothing else that the mansion set there and surrounded on all sides by heavy metal fences could possibly be. Three floors high and made from a off-white stone, the mansion seemed almost like a series of columns placed side by side and connected, alternating between circular and square segments. With an angle roof of cobblestone above, windows were set throughout, and at first it seemed the mansion was made of equal parts glass and stone.

Guards wearing the colors of Kyora (a faint orange) were set both inside and outside the fences, some patrolling and some stationary. Four stood together in front of the gate that led into the yard and up to the front steps.

When the ring was revealed and her purpose declared, one of the four quickly departed and entered the house. She was made to wait outside for another ten minutes, and then the guard returned, this time followed by the Governor herself. There was no one else such an extravagant person could have been, dressed as she was in silks and jewelry. She was also confident, composed; like she owned the entirety of the city-state around her, and all in it.

Considering that Kyora kept its independence through its economy and that the Governor was always the most successful business kingpin at the time, perhaps that wasn't so far from the truth.

Already, Nia's impression of the Governor had been soured by being made to wait. She didn't care how much money Kyora had, a royal emissary was a royal emissary—even if they were running messages for a kingdom to which they did not belong. When she saw the woman appear in her fine, flowing clothes and with her chin turned up ever so slightly the messenger bristled, sensing an immediate enmity growing between the two of them. Nia, as she was one to do, had primped and preened for this meeting, but there was only so much one could do with a limited wardrobe that had been slightly soiled thanks to her committing to the Wanderer's brisk pace. She didn't like being the second best-dressed in the room; she may as well have been wearing the rags of a beggar.

"So this is the representative then, yes? Of the King who managed to slip into my borders without any fanfare?" Though she grinned, something about the amused expression seemed calculated, as if the Governor was making sure just to let the right amount out. She gave a sort of fluttering wave with both hands, and the guards quickly moved, opening the gate and standing to the side so that Nia could directly approach the Governor.

"Nia Tucela. A pleasure," said Nia with a curtsy, being as polite as possible despite her immediate dislike of the other woman.

The woman bowed, both hands out to the side, quickly rising afterwards. "Myra Quloan at your service! Come with me, come in, please. I would absolutely love to learn why the King of Barcea happens to be in my city today."

"And I would absolutely love to tell you once we are in private. Lead the way," said Nia.

Together the two women walked towards the mansion, Nia taking the time to observe the guard patterns and any alternative means of entry or exit. At the same time, she made small talk with the Governor, little comments about the city or the architecture or the weather, anything to make her seem amicable. They entered the mansion. She tried her best not to look a second time at the two guards trailing behind her, although between the feeling of their eyes on her back and the soft sound of their feet on the floor she knew that they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

The inside of the mansion was absolutely immaculate and brightly lit, the sun shining off of the polished, expensive looking decorations in the entrance hall. However, the decorations and cleanliness did not end there, and as they continued up the double staircase and down a hall Nia was certain that she had not seen a single speck of dust. Servants, and there were servants here and there, would stop and bow as they passed, and from the corner of her eyes Nia saw that they did not throw the looks of disgust that most servants do whenever their master's back is turned. All of it was a stark contrast to the Cade manor back in the Kirun. Even in its best of days the place had a sort of dark dinginess to it, and ever since the death of Ennis's father it was more of a mausoleum than a mansion.

The pair came to a large, oaken door. Myra produced a key from her pocket and unlocked it, and the women proceeded inside. Much to Nia's relief, the guards closed the door with themselves on the other side, likely posted up and ready to come in at a moment's notice. The room, like the rest of the manor, was neat, although it wasn't completely perfect. The desk had a few papers scattered across the top of it, and the bookshelves that lined the walls had a few stacks of books lying down flat as opposed to being properly put away. Behind the desk was a large window that overlooked the backyard of the mansion, offering a nice view of the fountain and the gardens in it. They both took a seat at the desk, facing each other, and once Nia politely (and regretfully) turned down the tea and cookies the Governor asked her question yet again: why was the King of Barcea here?

"Honestly, I want to ask him that same question. You think a king would be busy, I don't know, running a kingdom, but apparently he much rather distract himself with manhunts and goose chases." Nia smiled. "So, regretfully, I cannot say why he himself is here exactly. I can say, however, that him being here will, at worst, have absolutely no effect on the safety of your citizens or your city's profits so long as you do nothing to stand in his way or the way of his men."

Nia let the words hang in the air for a moment and then relaxed her posture.

"Of course, I know there's no way that you would ever approve of a foreign leader having absolute freedom in your city on the promise of good faith alone. I'm not an idiot," said Nia, her eyes narrowing, "and neither are you, I take it. So, I am here to barter with you. Information for information; favors for favors. And since, allegedly, you failed to notice a foreign leader infiltrate your city until I arrived at your lovely mansion, I do believe that it is your turn to offer me some information."

Nia shifted her weight and propped a hand underneath her chin, almost as if she were bored with the conversation.

"So, do you know of any Gifted that have entered your city?"

There was one thing about the office that set it apart from many others: the models of ships that were positively everywhere. Smaller ones were set in bottles with some water, charmed to look like they were sailing at full speed while remaining perfectly stationary. More of the larger were set on stands, intricate and thorough in their detail from the stitching in the sails to the wrapping of the rigging.

The two that were obviously the prized positions (and also the largest, both being nearly a hard long) were both set on the largest of the bookshelves, one on the bottom shelf and the other on the very top. The one of the bottom both seemed like a ship vaguely speaking, but it was rounded over the top save for a very small railed area, there were no sails, and it seemed to be made of metal.

The model above, meanwhile, wasn't meant to represent a ship for sailing the seas but rather one that sailed the skies. Set with sails, this was clearly a representation of one of the newer models; rather than great balloons full of helium or some other gas that was lighter than air, the engines set in the back were clearly what kept it afloat through the careful harnessing of both science and magic.

Though both of the models were much, much larger than the others throughout the office, something about those two ships made it seem like they weren't simply set at a larger scale, and that the size difference would be equally as impressive if the real ships happened to be nearby.

Myra sat with her fingers folded in front of her face, creating a sort of triangle where the digits crossed. She thought for a moment, and then she shook her head.

"No, and believe me, we'd do our best to be aware of it. The last time a Gifted sneaked in it was over a decade ago, but Kyora still remembers what it was like when the Phantasm lurked in our streets."

She leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing a little.

"Barcea made it their business that time then, too; so, is it the Phantasm your King is chasing? Is that menace back in our streets? Wouldn't be surprised that he's here to settle that grudge."

"Let's be clear," said Nia, holding up her hand as if to pause the conversation. "Cyril is not my King. I am from the Kirun. Like you, we have no kings. I am simply helping the King of Barcea out of the good of my heart and nothing more. That said," she lowered her hand and placed it on her knee as she sat upright, "your intuition is right: the King of Barcea did follow the Phantasm here."

Nia gauged the woman for a reaction and then leaned forward, lowering her voice ever so slightly as if she was ready to tell a juicy rumor.

"That grudge you were speaking of...is that as in one the Phantasm would be holding against an individual? You certainly couldn't be referring to the King; I'm pretty sure he was still in diapers a decade ago. So, who's the guy that the Phantasm would come out of hiding for just to track down?" She sat back in her chair. "I feel like it would be in both of our interest to warn them, don't you?"

Confusion briefly flitted over the Governor's face, but by the time Nia finished it had gone away. It seemed that everything was clear to her now, with the unspoken assumptions replaced by what Nia had to say.

"Not your King then? So no wonder you misunderstood me, allow me to explain." She settled back in her chair some, going on, "The grudge I'm speaking of is Barcea against the Phantasm. When the Phantasm was here to hide during the God King War, Olain Serio was already in the West and striking against both the Rebellion and the God Kings. When those still in Barcea learned that the Phantasm was in Kyora, well... He was continued to be much too close, and was hunted. There was a lot of killing involved."

One hand came up, spreading her fingers across her face. "But it sounds to me that isn't the case at all? That the King isn't acting on some sort of miniature crusade related to family honor?"

"Right again. You are very good at this," said Nia, a hint of condescension in her voice. "All I can say is that the King is concerned with something greater than honoring the dead."

Truth be told, she was growing slightly frustrated. She had hoped to pull some information about Yaguar out of the Governor without volunteering that he was, in fact, the reason they were there. A nagging voice in the back of Nia's mind told her that there was a chance that the other woman was in league, knowingly or otherwise, with the bastard, but she could tell that there would be no way of determining that with this current line of questioning. Swallowing a sigh, Nia decided to just proceed on with the deal that Cyril had sent here there to negotiate in the first place.

"Lady Quloan, there is a..." Nia's eyes wandered as she searched for the right word. "A cancer here, growing in your city, and from my conversation with you it appears that you either do not know of the kinds of people who make there way into your city's gates," she paused and then, with a hint of accusation in her eyes, added, "or you enjoy pretending that you do not know. Honestly, it doesn't matter either way. The only thing that matters is that you tell your men to let the King of Barcea and his men continue to have access to your city, and that they are not hassled during their stay. That is all. I am not asking you to help us in anyway. I am only asking that you do not hinder us."

Nia's eyes narrowed.

"Do we have a deal?"

Both condescension and accusation alike rolled off of the Governor like water from stone; Myra didn't even blink at each of those moments, her eyebrow just remaining raised in polite curiosity as she watched Nia and patiently waited for her to finish. With the proposition of the deal, her hands went down to gently pick up one of the smaller ships in a bottle, holding it up to her eye to examine it closely.

"Kyora works a little differently. We don't mind who arrives, just so long as they remain within the realms of the law. So long as you and yours aren't planning to, say, take over the city-state, sabotage us, or just in general be a nuisance, I don't really see any reason on my end to stop you. Especially if this 'cancer' you keep vaguely mentioned, don't think that's slipped by me, is as bad as you say it is. However!"

She suddenly sat up some, and with it came a quick flash of a grin, one that was just a little mischievous. "None of that means I don't want to meet the King of Barcea. In fact, I see it as my civic duty to do so. So, you do your investigation, but I want to meet the King.... say, tomorrow night, at War Against the Gods! It's supposed to be one hell of a performance, and I think it would be the perfect backdrop to our meeting. Of course, anyone who would like to come along with him may, free of charge, but he simply has to."

She tilted her head to the side slightly. "Please pass that along to him. You will, won't you?"

"We'll see. I'll show myself out. Have fun with your toy," said Nia as she dismissively flicked her hand towards the model ships and made her way to the door. Her pace quickened; a feeling of unease had crept over her. She had gotten what she had come for, although she was almost certain that she had ultimately made things worse.